Molly
There's no way of telling what the Lasombra is
up to. Molly hasn't spoken to him in a while-- she's been wrapped up in
her own adventures, chasing reflections and Madmen, and she presumed
he'd bee preoccupied with his own adventures and demons as well. Maybe
he was chasing the end of the world, coaxing the monster under the
city's streets and sewers to hurry The End along.
Who know? Molly
certainly didn't. But one night, around two-thirty in the wee witching
hours, she went out on a limb and gave him a call.
Ring ring.
Flood
Ring.
This time, three times, and Flood answers before Miss Toombs is sent to
voicemail. Has Flood ever missed a call from her that was made outside
daylight hours?
Flood does not disappoint.
"Miss Toombs.
Always wonderful to hear from you. I hope circumstances find you well," a
probing opening, leaving her room to petition for assistance if it is
immediately necessary, and entirely innocuous otherwise.
Molly
When
the receiver picks up, Flood's careful ear doesn't catch anything so
far as background noise. Molly was probably calling from home, or some
other place safe. But, really, did she ever call for pleasure?
Certainly, this wouldn't be for the sake of catching up. His
introductory question was (probably) intentionally on the nose.
"Flood,"
she answered. "They find me," was all she would confirm. That she
didn't state she was well would say enough. Her voice was strained and
tired, but even and controlled. Wasn't that just her way, though? So
often she'd try desperately to sound calm and controlled, but the spiral
she had been descending over the past year made sure that 'calm' wasn't
a luxury she could often afford.
"I actually have a question--
needed a subject matter expert." And, without waiting, with a whisper
of rush in her words, she carried on. "What does bagged blood do to
you? Does it suffice?"
Flood
"They always seem to," Flood interjects quickly, when she says they find her, and she asks her question.
"And I am well," Flood answers next. Not that you asked, says a hint of irritation in his voice, though he sounds more amused by her lack of manners than angered by it.
"It
suffices and nothing more," Flood answers. "Bland nourishment, but
nourishment nonetheless," he clarifies, in case his first answer should
prove too ambiguous.
Molly
"Good."
Molly's
satisfaction with the fact that bagged blood does the trick is clipped
up at the end of his sentence. She was in a rush, and there's no
clinging regret to her not asking how he fared. He was right,
circumstances always did seem to find her, and she was probably standing
hip-deep in some right now.
"Thank you," she said, and it seemed like she may end the call that way, but Molly's momentum paused long enough for her to add:
"I'm sorry, I hope you are
well. I've just got...." She paused again, trailed off, and there's a
rustling sound that was probably her scrubbing her hand over her face
or dragging it through her hair. Exhaustion and exasperation warred for
dominance in her entire vocal demeanor. "I'm on a time crunch. You
can probably understand."
Flood
"It isn't to feed
yourself, is it?" Flood does not necessarily sound hopeful, and it does
not sound like it would be the end of the world, though if she does
think him the type to be drumming up monsters to usher it in... Well,
there's always the chance he just hopes she wouldn't be putting herself
on such a bland diet, if her circumstanced had so drastically changed
toward the nocturnal word.
"I'd like to understand better," now all the more curious.
Molly
The
receiver rustles some more, and Flood can hear the faint creaking of a
door opening. The background noise didn't shift, though, so she
probably didn't step outside from wherever she had been.
In
reality, she had opened the broom closet door and was standing with one
hand on the knob, the other hand holding her phone to her ear. Her
mouth pressed into a thin, sad, displeased line as she looked at the
broken, blood-oozing monster propped up in the corner of her closet,
half-obscured by the bottoms and sleeves of winter coats.
"No,
it's not for me," she said, but did not confirm or deny whether or not
she'd been recruited to a legion of pulseless nightwalkers. He wanted
to understand, and she licked her lips and hesitated. But, Flood knew
that she would shed at least a little light on the situation. As much
as she felt that she could, anyways. She did try her best to be fair
about the exchange of information, and was aware of the informational
debt that she owed to him in return for how much he's shared already.
So, she complied.
"It's a.... friend. He's in a very bad way. I
know that he'll need something when he wakes up." Whenever that will
be. "I'm trying to just... mitigate the risk to myself or others when
he does."
Flood
Connecting dots. The last dot is
the risk, notably to herself, and it forms a vague picture. Black and
white, mostly, but it still manages to tell him a story up to now with
its splashes of red.
"Depending on who you could be waiting a very
long time. The longer? The more you may want to reevaluate your
relationship- like whether that friend has any concept of the word,"
Flood says without any hint of irony.
"I'll make a note that my
good friend in downtown has a 'no vacancy' sign up, though," he says in a
way that hints he is drawing down from the conversation. He will not be
making further reconnaissance runs at her, verbal or otherwise, for the
time being.
Molly
A puff of breath in the
receiver marked a sign, and again the rustling sound of Molly scrubbing
her face or hair or something nearby. Running on fumes and loyalty and
blood bonds, she hoped she would sleep for a solid day after tonight to
recover.
"I know... It could be 'any time' to 'a hundred goddamn
years'." She cleared her throat, then added: "Please don't confuse my
home for a hostel, Flood. This is just circumstance."
But, that
was neither here nor there. He had things to do, his tone suggested,
and she'd already told him that she was on a time limit. So, she smiled
weak into the receiver and the expression carried into her voice when
she bade farewell.
"We'll need to catch up sometime. I've been
hearing rumors that I think you'd be invested in. But, not tonight.
I'll see you around. And thank you again.
"Goodnight, Flood."
The line clicked dead after.
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