Angry land owner lady person

River
So, they were hanging out. And she had been invited over.

He's seen where she lives, or at least he's seen the hotel room. She now lives in an apartment again, lived in an apartment before that but she hadn't been back since Farrah died. The place she was living now was largely void of furniture; she had an air mattress and a book shelf she'd gotten from someone's yard sale and she might have been saving up for an actual bed, but it wasn't really high on her  to do list. At least she'd stopped sleeping in the bathtub.

But no, she had been invited over, given instructions on how to get there and, as one could expect from visiting a man who is incredibly easy to misplace, she needed assistance in actually getting where she needed to go. River knows nothing of spacial relations, hasn't known anything about how distance and Correspondence works for the last several lifetimes. She doesn't remember remembering anything about it, and lived in an age where her own lack of directional knowledge could be made up for with superior technology and the knowledge of how to use a folded map.

It's actually a pretty nice night, all things considered. She's got boots on and leggings, along with a dress that might have been a shirt. River is a person who believes leggings can also be pants sometimes, she also works in a profession where shirts are occasionally dresses. Who knows what she thinks constitutes as clothing. The coat is lighter than her I'm preparing for the snowpocalypse coat, and is a bright coral color.

It makes her easier to spot when she inevitably has to get retrieved from some guy's pasture.

Samir
[corr/mind 1: WHERE YOU AT. -1 practiced rote.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (3, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )

Samir
Between the fact that they both have cellphones and he has an attuned lay of the land it does not take long for Sam to both realize that River has gotten off course in searching for him and to tramp out into the wilderness and find her himself.

One would think given what had transpired out here a few weeks ago that he would be afraid of the woods. The woods don't frighten him any more than the park or the urban jungle frighten him. Bad things can happen just as easy in isolation as they can happen going out into the world and waving one's arms around. Sam has gone into Quiet sitting at home working on his Code on his own before. Didn't go into Quiet any quicker than he did the night that he was mingling his Code in with his friends' and the wires got crossed and too much hungover Paradox came crashing down on him.

He can either be afraid of everything or he can keep a deck of things to fear. Draw lots when he needs to. Sam has enough to worry about picking his battles. Today is not a battle. He pulls on his boots and his ski cap and he keeps texting River while he gets a bead on where she is.

So she's drifted a little further south than she was meant to go. Doesn't matter. She can feel that stitching resonance of his as he comes out of the north and sees her silhouette cut against the snow-hardened field that lay fallow this past year.

"Hey!" he calls out. Neither cold nor humid enough for his breath to plume. He throws up an arm like to flag her in and when she draws near enough he pushes his cap back and gives her a smile. This is the first time she's seen him since he clawed his way out of Quiet. "You made it."

River
He calls out and she trots over, doesn't think anything of it, seems more happy to just bridge the distance and have human contact than to stand out in the middle of nothing and wonder which cow she may have passed. There weren't a lot of cows out here, honestly. This wasn't prime ranching territory, that was more the middle of the country; the Rockies don't make for particularly nice grazing territory.

He pushes his cap back and smiles, and she beams in return- but then again she is always beaming in some sense. Bright and warm and insistent. The sun doesn't go away, not for good at least. It's not capricious. This is the first time she's seen him since he came out of Quiet, and she looks elated.

"It's beautiful out here- you can see everything," except, you know, the trailer, which she can't be too far off from, but far enough that she needed to actually have help getting there. She slips in and gives him a quick hug, but then is more than happy to get on to walking.

Looks sideward at him and just grins. Adjusts her purse over her shoulder and shoves her hands into her pockets.

Samir
It's cold. They have seen each other divested of clothing. She has seen him when he was mad enough that he could barely see her and she has lain with him despite the moral grayness of that decision. It is cold and that is not enough for most people to forego physical affection.

But the man who River has come to see today is a Virtual Adept with limited experience with human relationships period let alone intimate and passionate ones. He is happy to bring her into a sidelong embrace and to hold her there as he guides her away from the field. Kissing though. Quick yet warm kissing is still outside of his purview. Bringing a girl back to his trailer is enough of a departure for him.

She knows now that his madness takes the shape of mood swings and an obsession with cleanliness. Compulsive counting and checking. That he will become so wrapped up in what it is he's doing that he foregoes food and sleep. That he will hallucinate and become delusional on top of that.

Today he is himself. She has him to herself. No sharing with madness today. His arm stays around her shoulders though her hands go into her pockets. Learning to be comfortable with closeness.

"Yeah," he says to the matter of seeing everything. Steering her north and east to get back to where his trailer is hiding in plain sight. "The sunrise is kind of insane. If you're still here in the morning you might be able to catch it, it's way pinker and orangier than back in the city."

River
Kissing was quick, but warm, and she laughs like she's delighted to see him, like she didn't want to do anything except be in his presence. She missed Samir. She missed being around him when she doesn't have to try her damnedest to keep him focused on her or get him to eat or do whatever she could think of to do to get him to sleep.

She would have taken the whole week off if she could but employment can be kind of precarious; when River actually makes it to the Diamond Cabaret she makes decent money. Given the number of hours she doesn't work, it's surprising that she keeps herself afloat with little trouble. It's not too surprising, she doesn't need much. Doesn't have credit cards, goes month to month on a cell phone- she could drop off the face of the earth one day and there wouldn't be much of a trail to follow. She liked it that way.

His arm stay on her shoulders and she keeps looking back at him with that expression of delight on her features. And delight is the correct word.

"I'm usually up by sunrise one way or the other- I either stay up or get back up in time to see it," she tells him. "I'm a very sunrise-y kind of person."

Samir
"You seem pretty sunrise-y."

Not just in the sense that her resonance speaks of springtime and the renewal come with it. Maybe he is speaking more of her personality than of her resonance.

The occasion he came to the hotel suite she was sharing with the other Chakravant he had kept her up most of the night attempting to alleviate the stress of seeing another of her friends disemboweled in as short a period of time comes to mind. Ihsan had summoned him but it was River who was awake early and entertaining the idea of room service before they set themselves down to begin investigating the Cult of the Bloody Tongue.

Sam on the other hand does not prescribe to a schedule. He goes to bed when he goes to bed and he gets up when the caffeine level in his bloodstream dips too low. Some days he stays up for forty-eight hours straight and proceeds to sleep for twelve. He does what he wants.

This is neither here nor there.

"The trailer faces... whatever way you want to face, I guess. I found a treehouse upstream, it's got a pretty sick view."

River
"Is it still on wheels or have you... I don't know... done that thing that people do when they've decided they're anchoring their mobile home?"

This is the difference. It's a trailer, not a mobile home. Trailers operate differently in that they're a little like the intermediate step between a camper and a mobile home, but it all often gets lumped into the same category as trailer. There is a world of difference there, and one that River is not entirely aware of.

He says he has a tree house, though. Well, not that he has a treehouse, that the land has a treehouse and he has, in fact, come upon said treehouse and the view was pretty awesome.

She does not disguise that this idea intrigues her. She's curious about the anchoring question, and is trying her best not to explode with the idea of going and seeing the tree house right. this. second.

It's really hard, though.

Samir
It's a valid question. Not one he intends to upend by going off on a tangent about all of the adventures he has already had in that damned treehouse. That was where he learned he had a line when it comes to touching another man. Multiple lines. He will not let another man blow him and he will not tie another man's tie.

River was not far from the trailer when she realized she didn't recognize any of the landmarks Sam had given her via text message. They tramp past the orange No Trespassing sign. This is where most people begin to ignore signs of human life. Sam does not go about his daily life hoping for people to outright ignore or forget about him but out here it comes in handy. He is trespassing.

This is not the middle of nowhere in the strictest sense of the word. A few kliks to the north is a roadhouse. Farms stretch on on either side of him. Cherry Creek winds dry yet promising through the forestry and the canyon. There are few signs of civilization anyway.

"I mean, I kept the wheels, because you never know. If I stay out here much longer I might build a deck. You know. Make it look like an actual place someone lives. I think you need building permits for decks, though."

Joke. Samir doesn't believe in permits.

River
He does manage to get into town through the clever use of the mass transit system, he can't truly be in the middle of nowhere, but it is far enough away from somewhere that the space is nice. River grew up in places like this. She'd lived in motels and in campers and in guest bedrooms of friends and friends of friends and people who she'd never met nor would she meet again. She's seen a good chunk of the United States and been the mouthpiece of two very intelligent adults who had to contend with a language barrier.

She likes being away from a city, doesn't quite know what to do with herself sometimes, though, because she's very much an urban creature. Knows the ins and outs of those particular places, and being out here? She didn't have to worry about turf or what was going on down the street. She's thinking about that when he says that he kept the wheels on. Because you never know.

"I wonder if the Camry could pull it," she muses, knows it probably can't but she thinks about it anyway, with the right modification and the judicious application of magickal talents her camry could be a fucking tank.

"If you built a deck and then moved, it could be like a modern Stonehenge," except, you know, not as cool, "if you plan on doing it, let me know? I can... uh... be moral support? Wander around outside naked? Be generally distracting, I know nothing about construction outside of legos."

Samir
I wonder if the Camry could pull it.

The thought makes him huff out a laugh. Makes him think about how comfortable it is to have his arm around his shoulders. How he isn't really thinking about it until he makes the conscious choice to think about it and then he decides that since it's comfortable it doesn't warrant thinking about.

Or maybe he's making a conscious effort to just be in the moment and not think. It doesn't take much effort. He's getting better at this.

"Maybe if I took out all the furniture it could."

As for if he built a deck:

"I don't know shit about carpentry. Reddit makes it sound like if we drink enough beer and take a shit-ton of pictures we'll be okay."

And then there it is. His gleaming metal castle on wheels with its outdoor shower and its view of the mountains and the canyon and the creek. The fortress of solitude to which he has invited her.

River
The sound that River makes is not unlike a distressed parrot.

This is the person that Samir has decided that he likes and is comfortable having his arm about her shoulders. The woman in the coral coat who makes awkward happy noises and laughs at his jokes. He's comfortable around her, and she is more than comfortable around him. When River looks at Samir, she looks like she's happy to see him. She sounds like she's interested in what he has to say. She also has a horrible luck with keeping her friends alive, makes questionable decisions, and has devoted her life to ensuring the karmic balance of the universe.

She takes a few steps away from him and goes from the creek (which is too cold to walk into, but she considers it, she's got boots on), to the mountains, to the outdoor shower and-

"Your shower is outside?"

Somehow, she makes this sound like it is a selling point, like this is pretty much the greatest thing and she bounds back with this sort of half excited gallop. River takes his hand and looks around. Then at the sky. Then back at him. There's a grin on her face that can only be described by eeeeeeeee.

Samir
Not only is the shower outside but it's encased in what is proving to be Samir's fledgling steps into the world of carpentry. It's a fluke. He's managed to if not master at least half-ass the art of securing studs in concrete poured into the earth. Made a stall out of corrugated sheet metal and a curtain he Frankensteined out of a few different curtains.

The option for a shower exists inside. There's a closet for that. But Sam decided he wanted to try something scary that also had the added benefit of possibly helping him get over his obsessive-compulsiveness so he had a moment of Fuck It and moved the whole thing outside.

That River is enjoying this as much as she is makes him laugh that self-conscious laugh again and squeeze her hand in receipt.

"You are like, the only person I can think of who would get a kick out of that."

River
"You can go- well, it's wading, not really swimming- but! You can go get in the water, then you can shower, then you can go inside without having to track creek water everywhere," or you could, you know, not get in the creek to begin with, River, do you have any idea what is probably in that creek? No. No she does not, and she probably wouldn't care even if she did know because she's the kind of girl who swims in lakes and goes camping because she actually enjoys camping. Has it on her enormous to do list to scale a mountain in the Himalayas.

she'll probably practice on a couple in the Rockies. Because, you know, she needs to learn how to actually climb a mountain.

River looks back at the shower. Maybe she has naturist tendencies. Whatever the case, it does cross her mind that she could probably walk outside naked out here and nobody would care. She turns her attention back to Samir.

"Do I get to see inside, or do you want to go take me to the treehouse?"

Samir
On a warmer day Sam might have suggested she walk around naked just to test out the surrounding area's cloaking capabilities. It isn't that the cold is stopping him. He went down on her in near-freezing weather many miles northwest of here while they were in a park in the city.

They were stoned though. She was riding the coattails of her self-imposed emotional numbness. He had just convinced her to drop it. Vulnerability is an aphrodisiac to some people.

Maybe a warm day will reveal the Mercurial Elite to have similar naturist tendencies. Today though he's hinging on what she says and not on what he picks up from her. Does she get to see the inside.

"You should see the inside," he says. Lets his hand trace the length of her spine beneath her coral coat. There's a hip nearby. He holds her closer to him once he realizes she isn't going to pull away to go in up to her ankles in the creek. "If it sucks we can go to the treehouse."

River
"Let's go inside," she confirms, he's holding her closer and she steps into his space and is content to be there for the time being. It's starting to get a little cold, and she might want to take her coat off at some point.

She's curious to see the inside, she's seen what the outside of his place looks like, but the inside could be a completely different story. There are things she suspects. She knows it'll be clean, because River wouldn't expect anything less than neat and orderly bordering on too neat and orderly. He's inviting her in, though. The fact that he's invited her into his space is certainly different than the two of them spending time together in a park or the various times she's enjoyed his company in a physical sense at the hotel.

No, there is something quite different when you are actually going somewhere that another person lives. She wouldn't have dreamed of bringing someone home where she and Farrah were living, rarely had overnight guests in San Diego or Chula Vista (the latter largely because she was living with her parents and they were still very much of the belief that her girlfriend at the time was just her girl friend and not a girlfriend. We digress)

Samir
One day he's going to be able to say of the space he inhabits that it's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. He is a reality hacker and has a proficiency for the Sphere of Correspondence. River saw some of the work he was doing on Mind Code when she was over the last time. The beginnings of it handwritten on a legal pad that felt as though he had conjured it out of the ether.

By the time Grace came by the next day he would have filled nearly half of that pad and taken a break only so she could feed him lemon tofu and rice and made sure he didn't pose a danger to himself. Sam's Quiets are dangerous. Quiet is dangerous enough to an otherwise healthy person but Sam is mentally ill. Working to constrain it sure but mentally ill all the same.

She wants to see the inside. No one else has seen the inside. Barely enough room on the inside just for him and a sense of intimacy comes along with stepping foot inside another person's trailer.

The inside:

Green-and-white tile floors. Yellow paint. To the right as she walks in sits a big leather sofa next to a chair and table congested with computer monitors and other devices. Overhead storage compartments reveal books and more electronic equipment. Mostly books. The refrigerator is straight ahead. A four-range stovetop with a teakettle and nothing else atop it to the left. The sink is set into a vintage hexagon-tile countertop with a matching backsplash. Across from the sink a little closet containing a toilet and shower for when the weather gets to where going outside just to take a piss would be suicide.

The curtains have cowgirls on them. They aren't curtains Sam would have chosen and since Sam doesn't know dick about interior decorating he's just left them there.

To the far left as they walk in sits the bed. It's a queen-size mattress atop an antique iron frame. Electrical outlets within reach and two windows flanking the thing. The bed looks comfortable and as if he spends little time in it.

"Tada," Sam says behind her. It's not stifling hot inside but the warmth is noticeable. Same as his resonance is noticeable. Once they're both inside Sam takes hold of the door and hauls it shut behind them.

River
Sam mentioned once that he had been in Quiet before, and that it was part of the reason why he'd left Los Angeles. The episode she had seen shouldn't have surprised her but it did all the same. She didn't know he had a mental illness, didn't know that his compulsions and the desire for things being a certain way hadn't been born out of the episode itself. He seems fine around her (he busts his ass to seem fine around her.)  It had scared her all the same though, is something she'd rather not see again but almost anticipates it as something that may happen. Sam came out okay this time; River knows that this is not always the case. Sometimes, you don't make it back.

Once they're inside she is in his space, not so much because she felt the need to invade it but rather because it's a smaller space to begin with. She's lived in places like this, doesn't seem to think anything about it, doesn't seem to think that it is cramped or anything of the sort. She is taking off her coat once she notices that it is, in fact, warm out here. Her dress is blue, zips up the back. The tights are patterned.

"I lived in a camper for a long time," she told him, holding onto her coat for now if only because she didn't want to just discard her things all over the place. When you live in a small space you can't really throw things anywhere you want. "We would go where my parents found work, so we would just park and live somewhere for a few months then... pick up and-" she gestured outward away from her body with a little whoosh noise, like the vehicle was taking off somewhere "-we'd lived by peach groves and camp sites. We even lived at Yosemite for two weeks until the park rangers figured out that we weren't on vacation."

Samir
Sam does not think he has game.

There are no mirrors in the place. He has lived in places that have had mirrors before. Besides the mirrors into which he has glimpsed before he has eyes and those eyes have always worked. Sam knows he is a good-looking young man. He has also been in his skin the entire time he has been alive. He has seen the Youtube video he made with his friends back in Cairo when he was an adolescent boy who thought being funny would offset his nerdishness.

Being good-looking and funny and smart doesn't make up for the fact that he has never had a girl in his space before. Not like this. Amanita let herself into the apartment he was staying in back in Los Angeles and it was a last-ditch effort to convince him not to go. She was an Initiate of Mind by the time he got it into his to leave and she had been with him all through his Quiet. Stayed with him through Kayf's return and his calling in the priest to banish the Paradox and Perez's death which had nothing to do with Sam's Quiet but stained the affair all the same.

He had been in love with Amanita. Having her in his space was not the same as having River in his space. Different times and different moods and he only thinks of Amanita for the four seconds between their entering the trailer and River's saying something.

She lived in a camper for a long time. Her parents were migrant workers. He remembers her mentioning this. He lets her hold her coat for now. He peels his off and drapes it on the arm of the leather sofa like to act as a cue for her to do the same.

"What was Yosemite like?"

River
The things that River doesn't know about Sam could be written into volumes. It does not mean, however, that she would not like to know these things. She likes him, she's said that she likes him. She's shown up and hasn't been able to get the smile off her face since she got here. River does know about his departure from Los Angeles, hasn't learned about the details; she may ask at some point, maybe when there's time. Maybe when there's a moment to breathe and the occasion comes up.

Knows better than to poke at things, doesn't know if it's a scar or a bruise or if it's an open wound. It's not something you figure out by probing too hard and seeing what makes someone pull away.

So, instead, he asks her what Yosemite was like. (Well, there wasn't a real instead, he asks. She replies, isn't thinking about the same timeframe he is) River has to think about this for a moment, but not for too long. She lingers only to place her thoughts into sentences, takes her time to figure out how she's going to say what she does. When she's in a hurry to speak, River misses things. Leaves gaping plot holes and fails to hit her mark. The coat goes over the arm of the sofa and she steps in far enough that she can get a better look. Turns back to look at Samir.

"It's full of colors," she tells him, voice filtered through the lens of childhood nostalgia made real by a woman whose experiences spanned lifetimes, "it has these waterfalls that- the really good ones, you can't really hike to. And there are these pools, like the one at the base of Wapama falls that... it's turquoise. And then?"

She laughs, "there are just these meadows and there were deer. I remember wandering out right when the sun came up because I wanted to see them and my parents were furious because, well, you don't just go wander off in the middle of a national park.

"But everything there was like a box of crayons. The green was green The blue was blue The flowers were all little yellow-and-red things. I wish we could've stayed longer."

Samir
His eyes are not brown in the strictest sense of the word. In certain lights they are the color of whiskey. Right now with the afternoon light streaming in and the yellow of the paint and the happy mood he's in they are warm but they are closer to amber than they are to earth. River has seen his eyes when they have been the color of earth. When he has been more interested in scrubbing baking soda off the inside of a never-cleaned oven than stopping and talking to her.

When she came awake later that night and saw his hands wrapped around hers she could see the damage done before a moment of clarity made him reconsider what he was doing. He had scrubbed his skin down to where his cuticles were collateral damage. Blood tinged around his nail beds. River knows what color his eyes are when he hasn't had enough sleep.

Yosemite is full of colors.

And Sam is listening to her. He's gazing at her sure because her face is interesting and beautiful to him and the way she pauses in her sentences and puts the emphasis in certain places catches his attention and he feels a magnetic pull towards her but he is a strong young man and though he wants he does not act. He does not know how to stand once they are relieved of their burdens. Tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

His jeans are black. His Doc Martens are burgundy. He wears an untucked black t-shirt. No logo on it. It came out of a pack of three. His arms are thin and bare. No tattoos and no jewelry. His hair bound tight at the nape of his neck like it had not been during his Quiet.

A small smile at mention of her parents' furiousness. God he wants to touch her right now. He doesn't though. He's listening to her.

"Would you want to go back?"

River
She thinks his eyes are beautiful. Hasn't said it out loud, hasn't told him that she is captivated with the color and the details of his face. She's seen his eyes when they are darker, when he is darker and the color scheme goes to match. It had been a feat to try and get him to pay attention to her. There are things she regrets, things she doubts. Calls she's made that she questions whether or not it was right right thing to do.

She'd seen his hands when she woke up, looked at it and buried her face back to where it had been. With her face placed at the juncture of where his shoulders might meet if he stretched the wrong way. Stayed there and wondered what she would do when he woke up. She counted it as a miracle that he'd slept as hard as he did, that he finally let exhaustion overtake him.

Yosemite is full of colors.

He asks her if she wants to go back. He's watching her face and he is listening to her and he wants to touch her and she must know that. She isn't an emotionally unaware creature, or rather she takes another step back through the place, meanders towards the bed because it looks comfortable even though it doesn't look like it sees a lot of use.

"I would go back if there weren't people there," she replied, "you can't really have a place like that to yourself. I met some really nice people, to be sure, but there's something about tourism that makes a place feel different. Like... the sheer volume of cars and foot traffic and the repercussions that come with that... just kinda seems like you'd be hurting something you love."

Samir
And he can think of all the places he remembers that he would not want to revisit. When they first moved to Madrid he was twelve. 191 people died in a bombing at Atocha Station seven months after he and his mother moved to Spain. His tutor had been planning to take him on the train that day but he had had an attack of nerves the night before and had had no sleep because he had been rearranging all of the books in his room until he found the right order. Twelve years old and he had protested so heavy about leaving for an errand that required the train that the tutor said "A la mierda" and just left later than they would have otherwise.

Compulsive behaviors become compulsive behaviors for a reason. On the one occasion twelve-year-old Samir insisted on checking the lock twelve times before they left the house it kept them off a train that later turned into the site of a terrorist attack. Never mind that he had insisted on checking the light switch or the faucet eleven times in the past. He did that shit quietly. On this particular instance though.

He can remember Madrid even though they left it when he was 14. He had friends in Madrid. They went on adventures in spite of his derangement.

Then there's Cairo. The city where he lied to his mother so that he could leave her house.

He's listening to River in spite of the ghosts of dead conversations echoing around him. Carry-over from Quiet or just his own guilt eating at him. He hears her. You can't have a place like Yosemite to yourself.

So he takes another step towards her. Towards the bed. The inevitable end that awaits them and yet he does not treat it as inevitable. He wants it. He wants her. But he wants to talk to her too.

"Sure," he says. "I guess going during off hours wouldn't make that go away, eh?"

They could go at three in the morning when no one else was there. They'd still know the feel of human interference though.

River
"It would make it better. People are always going to be somewhere, and I can wish that other people would be more... aware of how they interact with the world around them? Wishing doesn't fix it." They both know how to fix that, but she doesn't come out and say it, "it could be a different sort of beautiful with people there."

She sighs, more thoughtful than wistful.

"It would be a beautiful, lonely planet if you had it all to yourself."

River is a person who takes her clothing off for a living. It's a portion of what she does, but it is the most notable aspect of that particular career choice. People don't think about the amount of time she spends talking to people, the amount of time she spends working a room and building relationships. They don't think about the listening or the athletic portions of pole dancing or the boundaries she very strictly enforces while she's giving a more private showing.

No, what people think of when they think of River's job it's that she has found new and artistic ways to get out of her clothes. She's very good at what she does. While she's talking she's dealing with the zipper of her dress. She reaches back, carefully starts it while it's at the top of her neck, then reaches back to ease it down the rest of the way.

The dress goes slack in the sort of way things do when you are still wearing them yet you could very easily not be wearing it.

Samir
Despite his attempts to maintain some semblance of suaveness Sam has a visceral reaction to seeing River start to unzip her dress. He's listening to her sure but he also draws a deep breath because the unzipping speaks of the coming physicality. It is no longer news to her that Sam is attracted to her.

And he has no idea what she does for a living. Knows that she's a dancer based on things she's said when they've been smoking weed but Sam is not a dancer. That time she dropped him on his ass attempting to dip him won't soon fade from his memory.

"When I was younger I used to think it would be easier, if there were nobody else around." He steps into her space to help her get the sleeves off her shoulders. It isn't as if she needs the help. Sam just wants to be close to her. "This is pretty close."

But it's not easier.

River
There are very few reasons that a woman would be unzipping her dress in someone's trailer. She isn't shucking her way out of the damned thing because she's trying to urgently get to spilled red wine.

He steps into her space, helps her ease her way out of the shoulders of the dress and she relaxes just enough that the fabric drops on the floor. Her bra is black- she doesn't have a lot of variety. River has a black bra, a tan bra, and a bra that doesn't match anything in her closet and she lost the matching bits to go with it. She keeps that one because it gives her completely epic cleavage and every woman needs the option of having epic cleavage should she so desire.

Everything else she owns is covered in sequins or has rhinestones on it or is some degree of ridiculous and doesn't actually need to be worn under actual clothing. Some things she has sewn sequins onto because, believe it or not, you can't just buy some of the things she wears to work. There is a lot of customization involved. She does a lot of sewing, is handy with a needle and thread, but that actually just came from dancing in general. She's worn some ridiculous things.

She doesn't really have a use for the number of leotards she has. Nobody needs that many leotards, and yet.

He tells her that, when he was younger he thought nobody else being around would be easier. She's looking him in the eyes when he's talking, doesn't wander away from his face and she's tuned in to whatever it is that he's saying. River is listening. She likes to listen to him, when he's willing to talk.

"Do you think the same thing now? That it would be easier?"

Samir
It doesn't take much to get River out of her dress. It's the rest of it. The articles that go into keeping a woman packaged up underneath her clothes. That's the bit he often struggles with. The clasp that keeps the brassiere closed and the snaps that keep the garter attached to the tights.

Far easier to get Sam out of his clothes but he's often just as happy to slip off her pants and lie between her legs. The number of times he has taken her to bed but not taken off his own pants is not quite high enough for him to have developed a reputation for it. It's hard to have deep conversations that way.

They're looking each other in the eye when she asks that question. The No is plain in his gaze. Not only does he not think that it would be easier but he knows better. In an apocalypse scenario the only person Sam would have for companionship would be himself. And Sam knows himself. He's fucking crazy.

Instead of giving her a proper answer Sam anchors his hand against the place where her jaw and neck meet. Fingers at the base of her spine. That had been the touch that made his brain erupt into violence when she came to Grace's to check on him. That doesn't happen today.

He kisses her soft and even in the softness manages to cement his answer.

River
The clothing that she does wear can be a little difficult to get off, even for someone who spends most of her day finding inventive and provocative ways to take remove said clothing. She's perfected the art of unclasping a bra with one hand as such that she can do it while hanging upside down but your mind goes somewhere else when you're not invested in the person around you.

Were she the type to gossip, Samir would have a horde of eager women lined up to wine and dine and bed the Mercurial Elite. Not just one horde, either. But she is not the type to gossip, doesn't discuss what she does behind closed doors. Wouldn't deny if asked but, at the same time, would probably flatly inform someone that she does not discuss her romantic life in the context of any number of situations. For all the time they've spent together, they haven't had a number of deep conversations.

They get distracted. Oh, darn.

He puts his hand against the place where her jaw and her neck meet, and she leans into it. Remembers the last time he'd done that he'd pulled his hand away from her so fast that one would think she'd burned him. That she was cursed and temptation had given way to one's better instincts and there would be retribution rained down. Not from her, but still. She sighs, knows the answer from the entirety of the experience.

She'd unclasped her bra at the very least, chose to hook her middle and index fingers through a belt loop and pull him closer to her, so their bodies were flush with one another.

River pulls back for a moment, her lips still close to his, eyes closed and she asks, "do you like it out here?"

Samir
They have divulged some heavy truths to each other in the scant time they've been in each others' acquaintance but of the two of them Sam is the one who prefers to listen. Not that River does all of the talking. In the beginning she had had a mind effect going that blunted her own affect. Kept her from feeling anything at all let alone anything negative but he had picked up on it and he had called her out on it and that had been the tone-setter for the relationship in its nascency.

That may have given her the impression that Sam doesn't have a lot of time for bullshit in his life. That he's busy or he prefers honest conversation if he's going to leave his cave to spend time with someone. She has seen him Work. The man is capable of concentrating in spite of distractions. That concentration has an almost insular quality to it. Like he shuts out everything else in the room so that he can work on penetrating the layers between himself and the information he seeks.

People do not give up their secrets as easily as computers do. And he wouldn't want them to anyway. It's only because he gives a shit about River and wants to know her and be known by her that he's made any effort at all insofar as getting through her barriers goes.

Pressed up against him as she is River can feel his wanting her. In the muscle at the base of his belly. The racing of his heart. His breath is hot when it flows over her skin. He leans into her. Her back meets the bed a second later.

"I had a nightmare the other day," he says. Punctuates the sentence with a kiss. "I was wearing overalls." Another kiss. "And I voted." Kiss. "Libertarian."

River
He's a good listener, it's part of the appeal really. It's rare to find people who are not spending their time waiting for you to stop talking so that they can say what it was that they needed to say. In those sorts of situations, she is often drowned out, doesn't say anything or puts things away for a later date so that she can process later. Her personality isn't forceful; there are few subjects that she is not willing to engage in negotiating.

When River is adamant about something, or deigns that the world will Hear Her Now, it is usually an issue so integral to her being that people who know her understand how important the matter must be. Despite this fact, it's nice sometimes to feel as though someone isn't going to run over you in conversation.

And there she is all thigh highs and boots pressing into him and he presses back, she bounces a little when she hits the bed. He kisses her lips and explains his horrible nightmare- words punctuated with amorous attention.

And he voted Libertarian.

It makes her laugh, collapse back on the bed while her hands go to cover her mouth. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing is a little labored.

"Is this going to end in a role playing session where you're an angry land owner and I'm a lemon-stealing whore?"

Samir
Oblique reference to a video only those who spend their lives on the Internet would understand and Sam groans against the side of her neck. They're still clothed below the waist. He's still wearing his shirt. He wants to feel her skin against his. This is as good a place to sit up and start undressing himself as any.

Somewhere in the haze of his last Quiet he understood that River wanted to use sex to keep him from spinning out into space. She was his gravity that night but he had not been conscious of it. As far as he had known he had been giving into the fucked-up thoughts he could not fight off.

Today he is himself. His mind is quiet. His thoughts are quiet. The world is quiet. There is a difference between quiet as an adjective and Quiet as a state of being. The thought of being trapped in Quiet scares him.

Sam holds himself up in a half-assed push-up position in the hopes River will grab his t-shirt and pull it over his head. If she doesn't he's going to have to sit up and do it himself.

"You know..." Shirt gone now he lowers himself again. Starts kissing her neck. Running his fingers through her hair. "... if anything, I'm the lemon-stealing whore. I don't own shit."

River
He groans, and her reaction is to titter as though she has accomplished some grand feat at getting him to groan in the first place. How she had come across this video, one will never know. River can barely figure out how her phone works most days. She texts, dials, and takes pictures. Occasionally Skypes because someone had explained to her how the app worked.

She'd been so desperate the only time she's seen him in Quiet. Has made questionable decisions but would stand by them because she thought she was doing what was best. Had hoped to be some source of stability and had succeeded on some level. River could call it a success in that regard, hopes that she may never be needed in such a capacity again. Doesn't understand that this will happen again.

He doesn't need a rock tonight, doesn't need something to grab onto because he is himself. Samir has his own gravity, his own pull and in that sense he can be captivating. Why shouldn't he be? He's a rare creature.

So, there he is, holding himself up in a half-assed pushup and she takes the hint, pulls his shirt off and discards it... uh... somewhere. To the left. Left seemed like a good direction and he lowers himself again, kisses her neck and he gets a sound of approval, her own hand finding the base of his neck and liberating his hairtie from its prior duties.

"What? Why aren't you buying into consumerist culture?" not like she actually cared. She pushes herself into him, takes one leg and pulls him closer to her body. River is no stronger than he is, but she can be insistent when she needs to be.

Samir
That insistence is met with compliance. He leans heavy into her. Moves his hips like he's trying to scratch an itch without making it obvious that he's scratching an itch and kisses her again. Slips her underwear down off her hips and rolls to the side so he can help her wriggle free. Might as well get her tights and boots off while they're at it.

No urgency in their disrobing but Sam is starting to lose his capacity for intelligent discourse. Only so much blood in his body and his brain is having a bitch of a time keeping enough for its cerebral functions.

"Pretty sure they'll take away my anarchist card if I ever do anything legally." Boots hit the floor one after the other. Excellent. He looks down to watch his hand as it runs up her leg over her knee along the inside of her thigh. He traces the space between them before making new heat with his fingers. "You wanna be the angry land owner?"

River
It isn't the most graceful of motions but her underwear inevitably goes to live on the floor with his shirt and the rest of her clothing. Boots disappear (though she makes a quick check to make sure that she didn't mess up his comforter; it seems fine) tights go with them.

He's pretty sure that they'll take away his anarchist card if he ever does anything legally, she's breathing a little heavier, heart beating loud in her ears and there is anticipation. Her legs are smooth, they always are. She's a very tidy person; there is a lot of upkeep that comes with being River Vasquez. There is a small sound, like she had something to say but it got caught in her throat.

She exhales, almost like laughter but certainly like anticipation; it is not unlike the tension and delight that comes from anticipating a jump scare for a horror fanatic. River is tinged with that sort of pleasure that comes when you know what is happening but still crave the sensation like it's still new. She moves her hips with his motions.

"I'm very upset about the hike in property taxes- you trespassing is just icing on the cake," she grins. Playful and amused- yes, she can be an angry property owner, even though she has no idea what land owners complain about.

Samir
He's intent upon what he's doing. Reading the reactions to how he touches her. He touches her not like a disoriented man trying to find a light switch in the dark but like a lover. An inexperienced lover sure but he's a quick study and he's paying attention to her breathing and the way she moves in response to how he touches her.

It's hard not to smile like he thinks he's so fucking funny when he times the sliding of his fingers inside her to coincide with his retort. Watching her face.

"Trespassing? Madam, I'll have you know I have the... ability to conjure up the proper permits, if someone comes asking for them."

River
River is of the belief that, if you enjoy something then let the person know. Praise is given where praise is due, and while he may not be experienced one can not deny that Samir gives the impression of a man who learns quickly and isn't deterred from a pursuit in which he has decided he wants to excel.

She inhales sharply once his fingers slide in, and her muscles tense. He's watching her face and that pleased and playful grin stays on her lips. River tries, though, to put on her best face that says that she is not amused with his antics.

"I'm not asking for your permit, sir, I'm demanding it," she tells him, as forceful as she can get without breaking character and laughing at herself. "And I'll have you know if they're forged, I'll press charges."

River puts on her best indignant woman face, something that is only interrupted by a flutter of breath and a stifled moan, "I. Know. People."

Samir
"Oh, word?"

Sam has even less experience dealing with bureaucrats and the people who subscribe to it than he does with pleasing a woman in bed. He hasn't ever had to talk his way out of a speeding ticket. If anything he learned from being Kayf's student that with the right Spheres or strict adherence to a nontraditional schedule that you can get the cops or anyone else to do pretty much whatever you want them to do.

That wasn't anything he'd ever had any interest in pursuing. That kind of power has always terrified him.

Playing along at being the lemon-stealing whore to River's angry land owner is amusing. It's turning into a game to see if he can get her to come while she's still in character.

"Well, ah, see... problem is, ma'am, they're in my pants? And I'm kind of busy right now, so..."

River
River's parents didn't much care for governmental officials- a very real fear in her life had been that her family would get sent back to Cuba and she wouldn't have anywhere to go because she was, technically, a US citizen. A busted tail light or a speeding ticket could turn into a very unpleasant situation. Gaining citizenship for them had been an ordeal, but one she got to witness.

Nobody does bureaucracy better than US Citizenship and Immigration Services.

Luckily, she could parlay childhood fears into some very official sounding jargon if the need ever arose.

He's paying close attention and the game has shifted- he might be able to make her come while in character, but she is holding fast. Is committed to the idea that no, she is still an angry land owner and this man is very clearly trespassing and stealing her lemons.

"What could you-" oh! "-possibly be doing that is so important?"

She her hands move, and she's making good work of toying with the top button of his jeans, "if you're so busy I can get them myself."

Samir
Staying in character is difficult for him not only because he can't lie worth a damn but because his jeans are getting awful tight. Watching her refuse to break character just because he's touching her the way he knows she likes to be touched is making it difficult for him to focus on anything else.

He can imagine that her childhood was difficult. Her parents came here in hopes of giving her and her siblings a better life. Her family is back in Chula Vista and she's decided not to go back because of what happened with her mentor. That's something he can understand. They've talked about that. But he's kept details of his own family life to himself thus far. All she can really say with any certainty is that he had a mother and his mother moved them a few times because she was a college professor. A renowned college professor. A renowned female college professor in a field dominated by men.

Part of him wants to angle his hips so it's difficult for River to undo his pants. The greater part of him wants to have sex with her. It's a real conundrum.

"I'd hate to have to make you--" Again with the timing. Using his dumb fingers and his knowledge of her body and the way it responds to pressure against her. "--press charges."

River
She doesn't know where all he's been- she knows he was Canadian, lived in LA at one point, and somehow Egypt factored in somewhere. She was not clear on the specifics. Might be more-than-interested in hearing about his globe-hopping adventures. He's been places she would love to go, seen things she would love to see.  River was not one to consider her little corner of the planet to be the only one worth exploring.

It's really hard to stay in character, though. She's not an actress by trade and the premise is ridiculous but damned if it wasn't fun to pretend; who's to say one's sex life shouldn't involve whimsy? Even if their whimsy did involve angry land owners. He applies pressure at the right time and she cries out, most assuredly not in pain but as though the building of pleasure was somehow a surprise to her.

One of the things about pleasure is that it makes your fine motor skills get a little rusty. The thing with desperation means that one half fumbles through their gestures. The end result meant that it was an actual effort for her to get his pants unzipped. He could tell it was an effort, she's moved with his motions and she slows for a second, looks like she might cry out again-

"Going to court is incon-" at this point she loses the word for a second, stalls because she can't quite focus but she powers through "-inconvenient. My time is money and I don't have time for-"

Oh god, what does she not have time for? Her breathing is a little more labored. He can practically see her thinking of baseball and cold showers and Margaret Thatcher.

Samir
As incapable as he is of committing to a moment of comedy he is not self-conscious as they lie like this not taking the act of intercourse itself seriously. With as much else as they have going on in their lives and as close as he came not only to dying but to losing himself to permanent insanity a couple weeks ago Sam is not in the mood to take something as ridiculous and necessary to their species's survival as sex seriously.

It's hard not to let himself get distracted by how his feelings for her are beginning to multiply. Canted up on an elbow watching her persist with the charade despite what he's doing to her Sam is looking her right in the eye and she can see the threat of a smile looming.

He's supposed to be a trespasser. She's the angry land owner. Trespassers don't laugh unless they want to go to jail. She's not having much luck with the tab on his jeans but he isn't going to help her with it.

"I'm not stopping you," he says. His fingers are at odds with his words. "If you're having trouble I can get that permit for you, ma'am."

River
She hasn't had this much trouble with a pair of jeans since the time she got drunk and forgot she had fake nails. It had been a bachelorette party the day before her brother's wedding and his soon-to-be wife had invited River along for the ride. Hair. Nails. Booze. More booze. Then drunken eyebrow waxing which actually turned out a lot better than it sounds. Whatever the case, River's sister-in-law had been there by her side to help the poor darling with her problems.

River was not thinking about her sister-in-law at this particular juncture. He looks her in the eyes and he has the threat of a smile on her face and she's on the edge of breaking character or laughing and there is something almost humorously indignant about her expression when she realizes, or perhaps makes it clear that she does realize, that Sam's sense of comedic timing is pretty good.

Which is to say, in this situation it's horrible. So horrible.

"Oh no, it's fine," she says, voice wrought with that waspy oh my god do not be undignified aire, because she is in character and she somehow suspects devolving into a series of indistinct positive affirmations would not get her that permit in her hands.

She manages to get the tab on his jeans to finally yield and she actually exclaims- "Ha!" Triumph!

"That certainly seems like some very extensive paperwork."

Samir
He would very much like it if she would get his fucking pants unbuttoned enough that he can extricate himself from them but if Sam didn't derive some sort of intrinsic pleasure from the act of pleasuring her himself he wouldn't be making it his mission to get so good at it. Less than half the times they've been with each other has he actually been inside her. One of those times he was deep in Quiet and the two of them existed in a gray area for a few minutes.

Though he has not come out and confessed as much to her River has witnessed his quirks and seen them amplified by his Quiet. Quiet does not make a man become obsessive-compulsive. This man started out that way. He is getting better at conquering his intrusive thoughts and ritualistic behavior but the fact remains that he continues to suffer from them.

All this means is that he didn't lock himself in the bathroom and masturbate four times before leaving the trailer today. He wasn't planning on leaving the trailer today and he didn't have enough time between receiving River's text and her arrival. Maybe he would have had time if he hadn't been in the middle of something.

Now he is very much in the middle of something. Historically he has been content to just focus on her. If River wants this to be a reciprocal sort of relationship she has to undo his jeans herself.

Which she does. It's enough to almost make him laugh.

That certainly seems like some very extensive paperwork.

"I mean..." Torn between wanting her and wanting to get her off. He shifts his hips but doesn't otherwise help her with her task. "Between the visas and everything..."

River
And she did want it to be a reciprocal relationship- not that she didn't enjoy the amount of attention he paid to her. Far from it, she could count the number of times that someone had paid half the attention to her physical desires as Sam does and the number is pretty damn low.  One could almost feel guilty about the fact that she had yet to really reciprocate, and she would have felt perhaps a bit more guilty were it not for the fact that Samir did seem to enjoy himself.

He didn't get her off for brownie points. He got her off because he liked getting her off.
Conversely, River didn't want to get Sam off tonight because she thought she owed it to him. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, it was hard to deny that River was pretty dang into Samir.

He shifts his hips and his watch hand is still between her thighs and her breathing is heavy and her mind is reeling and every bit of her is screaming notyetnotyetnotyet because as much as she wants to have that moment of toppling ecstasy, she would rather share it with him.

This is using most of the reserve power that her brain has. He shifts his hips and she readjusts herself, coaxes his jeans down as best she can. Her fingertips do their own bit of exploration.

"Did you have an attorney prepare this?" as though the thought of consulting legal help to prepare your appropriate documentation was enough to bring someone to near orgasmic bliss. Oh no, nothing to do with what his hand was doing at all.


Samir
"No."

He uses one heel and then the other to kick off his boots. One Doc Marten and then the other clunks on the floor and he takes her cues to start shifting their bodies. He has never asked her if she is on birth control. The first time they were both stoned and caught up in a moment of vulnerability and the last time he didn't even know what planet he was on.

Now ought to be the time for him to ask but third-wave feminism has ensured that they have options in the event that they come to their senses and realize they didn't do a damned thing to avoid a pregnancy. His senses are just fine where they are right now.

"The Internet helped."

He uses his knees to nudge hers apart and eclipses her body with his. Between the two of them they are able to get his hand out of the way and when he leans heavy into her the effort to stay in character collapses. Sam gasps and slides an arm under her shoulders and lets that gasp go as a sigh in her ear.

"Is everything in order here, ma'am?"

River
She doesn't seem terribly concerned about this being a potential health hazard or career-inhibiting move. Either she is caught up in the moment or she is completely confident in her ability to not accidentally end up getting pregnant.

He says the internet helped, leans into her and there is that moment where she inhales sharp, sits up a bit and holds onto him for support. His arm is under her shoulders, and he asks if everything is in order. Calls her ma'am.

"God damn it, I love it when a man is thorough," she breathes. It's an actual true statement, a smile stays on her face and she closes her eyes for just a moment, rocks her hips so as to affirm the physical connection there. She turns her head and kisses the place right below his ear. She can't see his face but she doesn't need to. Seems completely content to be a breath apart.

River
[Stamina!]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (3, 7) ( success x 1 )

Samir
[stamina!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Samir
And there passes the last of their charade.

With that breath in her ear and her lips pressed to the crook of his jaw the two of them abandon their roleplaying. Over her Sam is thin and not terribly athletic but capable of moving like this so long as she remains conscious.

Their bodies respond to each other. They are not used to moving like this together but the two young adults know each other and they know the tone of their breaths and moans and when River's orgasm comes to claim her Samir is not far behind her. He does not cry out as he had the day they fucked on the banks of Cherry Creek in Washington Park but he does gasp and breathe heavy and loud and lean back to gaze into her eyes.

He's falling for her. In that moment she can see it in the way he looks at her. Sam is falling for her and just as he can't do a damned thing about falling into Quiet neither can he do a damned thing about falling for River.

So they have a moment's respite to lie on their back and smoke cigarettes in each others' arms. Then Sam sets the ashtray on the floor beneath the bed and hauls her on top of him.

They are young and the world is going to burn whether they do anything about it or not so they may as well go for one more round.

London, pt 1

Mickey Mahoney
Previously:

Though the girls are aware of the cruciality of time whenever cults and assassins are involved they have plenty else on their plates. They went back to Denver to regroup before following up on the leads they had gathered from Jackson Elias's editor and close friend and then got a bit sidetracked by the happenings in the mountain city.

Nothing major. Nephandic hostages needing Good Deaths and boyfriends being in Quiet and cops mistaking them for Technocrats. The usual.

As all things do the crises ended and the girls were able to return to their investigation. Maybe Samir asked Ihsan what was going on with the Kenyan dudes who killed that author guy when she was asking him if he would help track down a cop who didn't want to be tracked down. Doesn't matter. They board a plane and fly it over the Atlantic and then there's London.

You know: fish, chips, cup o' tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins. London.

Jet lag and caffeine withdrawal have them pursuing the lead that seems the least labor-intensive. The Sun is a weekly tabloid whose offices are right by the River Thames on London Bridge Street. The receptionist does not give them a terrible time before sending Mahoney's 'cousins' back to talk to him.

Oh yeah. Cousins. By marriage of course. They have to wade through the bullpen and its cigarette smoke and cacophony of accents in order to find the desk belonging to the Irishman. It is not a long journey. Just a bit unpleasant.

He's on the phone when they roll up to his desk. Leaned back with his tie thrown back over his shoulder and a bemused expression on his unshaven face. Though he's wearing a button-down and tie his jacket is a shabby tweed number. His computer is old enough that it would give their Virtual Adept friends a collective stroke.

"Yeah, and if a frog had wings it wouldn't bump its arse when it hopped, ya fuckstain."

Receiver slam. Oh. Visitors. Straighten up.

"Oh, well, hello there. Who might you two be?"

River Vasquez
River has a passport.

That passport doesn't actually have a stamp in it for the United Kingdom, so this was actually something of an experience for her. She slept on the plane, took a picture of herself with a flight attendant who seemed more than happy to pose for the picture, and generally amassed quiet instagram fodder for later because seriously, it wasn't like she was sneaking away to London under cover of darkness to do shady deals.

Besides, she'll figure out if she's actually going to post things later. You know, when she's done investigating things.

She still is a little weirded out by the way people drive and, frankly, is more than a little tired when they managed to get to The Sun. What she lacks in coherence she made up for with makeup. Anyone can look sunny and alert with the right bronzer/concealer combo. Off through the bull pen, and soon enough to Mahoney's desk.

"Mister Mahoney," what was the problem with adding her own accent to the mix of who-knows-what that is going on around them, "my name is River Vasquez, I was a friend of Jackson Elias? I was hoping to discuss some of your work?"

Ihsan Ghali
Mickey didn't need two women asking for the same thing at once, so she let River take the wheel from here.  As she said herself, Jackson had been her friend after all.

Instead Ihsan stood along with them and didn't introduce herself.  River would no doubt get to that if asked.  In the meantime Ihsan looked around curiously.  She'd slept heartily on the plane and was doing okay, but was cutting the entire crash off at the pass by cradling a cup of coffee in her hand as well.

She eventually landed on Mickey and the desk he inhabited.  Noticed his computer.

Grinned.  Snapped a picture, and would eat the international costs to text it to Samir that instant.

Mickey Mahoney
"My work."

Like even Mahoney realizes that tabloid journalism is hardly legitimate work. Maybe he had work at one point. Or a career or passions or whatever it is that journalists have before they end up at a bloody tabloid. He says it with a scoff and then cants back a bit in his chair to zero both of them in his sights even though one of them isn't talking. He locks his fingers over his midsection and flicks his eyebrows. Alright.

"Well, a friend of Elias is a friend of mine. Which groundbreaking bit of work were you hoping to discuss?"

In a few moments Ihsan will get a response to her picture message. This is the response:

https://forum.userstyles.org/uploads/FileUpload/11/2331.gif

River Vasquez
There's a second where she looks a little sad, a little steeled and she exhales. They have information that they have to get, yes, and judging by the man's demeanor she presumes that he won't be terribly shaken by the news she is about to give him- perhaps he's already aware of the situation. Perhaps he and Elias played Words with Friends together and Mahoney has been able to gather by the forfeited games that something horrific has happened to Jackson.

"I know that he was interested in what you had to say on the Carlyle expedition. He'd mentioned your name in a letter he'd sent."

She decides, instead, to stick with the facts and can explain the gruesome murder details later.

Mickey Mahoney
Well now that's interesting.

Mahoney doesn't seem to make much of her sadness or if he does he chooses not to comment on it right this second. This is not a bad place to discuss sensitive information. No one in here is going to steal anyone else's story. That's how people get food poisoning. They have to put their name on the shit they put on the Internet.

"Carlyle expedition?" he asks. Then the lightbulb: "Oh, right, that. No, he didn't want to talk about the Carlyle expedition, he came to me about some evil cult--" They can practically see the sarcastic campfire-story finger-waggling ooOOoo around the words. "--he'd heard about being here and wanted to know if he could have a look at my files. As far as I know he only pulled three of them." A flinch. "I may have rewritten them a bit from old stringer copy, just to give them a little extra whoosh."

River Vasquez
"He didn't make off with your files, did he? I'd love to look at them."

Like she didn't care he gave them a little extra whoosh. Or, rather, didn't know what old stringer copy was but she did know what rewriting something was. It meant she was going to have to pick bullshit from even more bullshit in a tabloid paper.

Mickey Mahoney
"Nah. At least, I don't think he did. If he did, I know where the bastard lives."

No. No Mahoney has not gotten the memo that Elias is a statistic now. For a journalist he doesn't spend much time conversing with his fellows. Twitter blew up when it happened but looking at the setup that The Scoop has half the staff here either doesn't know what Twitter is or has been shunned from blogosphere.

He has to push back from the desk and lead the girls to a filing cabinet is the point of that story.

River Vasquez
"When was the last time you saw Jackson?" she asks, heading over to the file cabinet with him and continuing on with the work that they have to do. You have to ease into these kinds of things. She doesn't know this guy, doesn't know if he's a gentle approach type or if he's a pull-off-the-bandaid kind.

The wrong approach gets you shut down, and it means that this lead dries up. If she lets the lead dry up, they could potentially walk into a bad situation blind. She didn't want that. River Vasquez doesn't fly several thousand miles across the globe on a whim, she did it because she had shit to do. If she lost this thread, the only thing that would make up for it would be a lucky break or taking selfies with Queen Elizabeth.

Mickey Mahoney
"Christ..."

A strong invective considering his accent pegs him as an Irelander and the majority of his countrymen are Roman Catholic. But he's in London. No one in London gives a flying fuck about religion.

They reach the file cabinets and Mahoney rubs the back of his neck as he thinks. Abandons the effort and starts digging through to find the ones Elias wanted. That she refers to the man by his first name and had previously said she 'was' a friend of his must have registered as her being an ex-girlfriend or something.

"Middle of October, maybe the end. Aha."

Found them. The girls can peruse the three stories later. They are titled "The Derbyshire Monster," "Slaughter in Soho," and "A Serpent in Soho," respectively. As he hands them over:

"He seemed like he was in a hurry, said he had to get back to New York." A beat. His old instinct starting to tingle. He frowns. "Why? What happened?"

River Vasquez
The girls can peruse the stories later, and the presence of said stories does put a weight off of her shoulders. No need to go hunting for royalty to indulge her instagram account. The last two titles do catch her as odd, possibly a bit of foreshadowing.

He seemed like he was in a hurry, and said he needed to get back to New York.

She exhales, catches the frown and concludes that the best approach here is to just go for it. They were friends enough that Mahoney seemed familiar with him. She lets the beat hang, puts a fermata there until she decides-

"He was murdered in Denver," River tells him, "we were going to meet up and-" she inhales sharp and decides, instead of talking about wailing on a crazy death cult member with her purse, to clarify "- there have been a series of ritualistic murders stateside, his was the first outside of New York. There's an investigation going on."

Mickey Mahoney
He was murdered in Denver.

His immediate response is, "What?" and it isn't that he didn't hear her. The information hits a brain that last saw Elias alive if not entirely well.

So she goes on. They were going to meet up. There were a series of ritualistic murders in New York. His was the first outside New York. There's an investigation going on.

And as she goes on Mahoney has time to process what he's hearing. He was murdered. Elias is dead. He lets out a breath he may well have been holding for the weight of it and he sags but does not have to lean on anything. Hands in the pockets of his shabby blazer and for a moment he looks sad.

"Fuck me," he says to the floor. Puts a hand to his forehead and looks back up. Smoothes hair back from his brow and pulls out a pack of cigarette. "I suppose you're going to be talking to the police then, aren't you?" Lights the cigarette and pockets the accoutrements again. "Jack mentioned he did an interview with a, ah, Barrington, Inspector Barrington, about this cult..." A dry laugh. "I didn't figure it meant anything, he was going on about the Penhew Foundation and Egypt and..." He drags off the cigarette. "Well." Still has a business to run. No time for sorrow. It stains his voice but that's easy enough to chase away. "If you find out anything, I'll pay you fifty pounds for the story."

River Vasquez
"We should probably talk to Inspector Barrington," she said, nods and gives the man a sympathetic look. She's had time to process what happened- one didn't traditionally surprise people with the mention of dead friends and/or colleagues.

She makes notes to herself, mentally because this wasn't an appropriate time to actually write things down. Penhew Foundation, yes. Egypt, certainly.

"I'll keep you in the loop if we find anything," she tells him.

There's a second when she looks at the file cabinet, considers going back to the articles he'd pulled for her. "You know, if... you're not busy after work, we could have a drink later? I know it was a lot for me to process when it happened."

Mickey Mahoney
The building they're in may be in a decent part of the city but even the decent parts of the city have their dark alleyways and their unpleasant if not entirely identifiable odors. Humanoid masses in dirty overcoats and newspaper shoes shuffling around panhandling in spite of the signs posted near the Tube exits urging folks against giving money to the poor sods.

No one cares if bodies finish out their shifts in places like this. Reporters don't engage in shift work anyway. It's about deadlines. And tabloids operate on a first come first served basis. If you aren't out there chasing down the stories that will nab people's attention then you may as well just go home and sort out your fucking life.

Mahoney considers his prospects and then blows out a breath.

"Hell," he says. "I'm not busy now. Let's go."

River Vasquez
"Can I make copies of these before we go?"

Mickey Mahoney
Of all the fucking questions she could have asked him right now that appears to be the one that is most baffling to him. Doesn't help that he's scowling through cigarette smoke that has nowhere to go indoors.

"Just bring them back when you're done."

Americans...

River Vasquez
She smiles something grateful, and the articles from his files disappear into the gigantic monstrosity of a purse that she carries. It's a wonder how she got the damned thing through customs, she could have probably fit a small child in there if she had wanted.

But whatever the case, she is content to go, content to take the lead and is more-than-happy to go to a right and proper bar to talk to the man about things that didn't necessarily involve his work at the tabloid. River gets paid by making people want to spend time with her, and in a work related context that usually meant getting people to find her engaging enough that they did, in fact, want to see her take her clothing off. One of the things that River actually does like about her job is the fact that she gets to talk to people, has spent an entire chunk of her evening not making money because she'd found someone's conversation to be engaging. It's how she'd become friends with Jackson Elias.

This is not a work-related endeavor; Mickey Mahoney is a journalist like River Vasquez is a dancer. They're both these things, but in their current lines of work the definition of those things is loose.

So, the merry crew goes out, and River engaged the gentleman in an age honored mourning tradition- getting shitfaced and talking about your friends. Hell, she'd even pay for the first few unless it seemed like Mahoney had a wooden leg. But the evening goes on, and for now she is content to try and be present for a stranger and enjoy the company- even if it did come in pretty terrible circumstances.

Beginnings, pt 2 [Makayla ST]

beginnings
The speedway, as it turns out, was a wonderful place to deal drugs and commit a homicide because the surveillance was absolute shit. What happened after that day was of little note, save for the fact that Makayla was informed by a nice form letter that the speedway was under new management and would be opening again at the beginning of December. New management would like to sincerely apologize for the convenience, and here is your check for the time you worked up to this point.

School kept going, even though the break for Thanksgiving was coming up. She'd get Wednesday off. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. They gave a little alotment for travel; Tuesday was a ghost town in class. Makayla's English teacher was phoning it in, deciding instead to put on The Green Mile and wanted the kids to write about it, essay in hand, when they come back on Monday. Math had a substitute teacher who looked like he was probably an ex-football player. He had a knee brace and a bit of a gut, but seemed to really know what he was talking about. Nobody was paying attention so he just kept the work sheets flowing and the class chatter to a dull roar.

Maybe, she dreams. Maybe, she keeps the thought to herself but there is a pull. A tug, something when she looks out the window that reminds her that the world is going dormant and resting- that this is her time and not her sister's (except, of course, that's silly because she doesn't have a sister. The autumn and winter don't belong to anyone and she doesn't have in fucking work to do because her stupid job got closed up because of-)

Then, it ended. Bells rang and she got to go home.

Then, she got to go home. Her mother was working a double tonight- left a twenty taped to the other side of the door near the peephole with the expressed instruction to not bring Greek food in the house because the fridge still smelled like gyros from the last time that happened. Things feel normal... ish.

Makayla
It's been hard to keep focused on school the last several weeks.

Aside from the paper diary she keeps wedged between her mattress and the box spring Makayla hasn't told anyone about what happened. She mentioned that work had been crazy to her girlfriend Emma and that that was why she didn't want to stay on the phone super late that night. Sat in the shower for a really long time and then moved on with her life. Wasn't as if she had any other choice.

It's the week before Thanksgiving and half her class was gone today. Emma is going out to Boulder to stay with her dad and she wanted to hang out before her brother picked her up but Makayla made up an excuse. Said she had to check on her grandmother after school because her mom was working a double.

That wasn't a total lie. It was a partial lie because her mom was paying a Ukrainian woman to take care of her at night but not a total one. Her grandmother still recognized her most of the time and told her stories about life back in New York and those stories always involved wild partying with semi-famous people. But Makayla did not go to see Grandma Brenda on the way home from school. She went straight home to the emptiness and the twenty and the note written in green marker in her mom's loopy script.

Still doesn't feel like home even though they've been here almost a year but other than the lingering numbness it's as if life is carrying on as normal.

She dumps her backpack right inside the door and locks it behind her.

Makayla
[straight motherfuckin' perception]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )

beginnings
It's probably going to be a night full of... well, whatever it is that Makayla does on her week nights.

And perhaps this is how things go, that lingering feeling that something is going to happen. That something has happened and you don't know how to feel. Maybe being in Denver was always going to feel strange. It isn't a digression, though, that something in the apartment doesn't feel right.

First, there comes a feeling. A feeling like she's standing at the edge of a very tall building and there is the sudden urge, the undeniable pull to jump that all human beings have before their better instincts kick in and they know better. It is that feeling like she is going to fall. Maybe that's how it feels off. Maybe that's how it is off.

There is something tangible, though. Something moves in the reflection of a picture hanging on the wall. Just barely out of the corner of her eyes.

Makayla
That feeling makes her heart start racing. She's afraid for no good reason. She's afraid and it feels like the sort of fear that comes not from the outside world but from herself.

After what happened last week Makayla would have thought she had known what fear was. Fear of violence against her does not compare to this fear. She could name Cass as the source of her fear that time. This time she's alone in the house and there's no reason for her to feel like this and all the rationalizing in the world isn't going to do her any good when something moves in her periphery.

She takes a deep breath before she turns to glare at the framed poster of the Tournée du Chat Noir. Expecting nothing but her mind playing tricks on her.

beginnings
What she finds in the glass of that framed poster is nothing more than her reflection. Someone staring back at her with the same expression she was wearing until, finally, something changes.

The reflection blinked.

Makayla
Nope.

Nope nope nope.

She turns away from the picture frame as if that is going to make the image of her reflection blinking at her disappear. Have it un-happen. Clearly she's just tired. It's been a long week and she hasn't been sleeping very well and not having the speedway as an outlet anymore has been messing with her head. Maybe she needs to go for a drive or take a nap or something.

Yes. Nap. That's a great idea, Self.

beginnings
Maybe she does need a nap, because it does solve things. It's early enough in the evening that she could conceivably get some sleep and still be up at a decent time. It's not like she needs to really be up though, or as if that even matters because there isn't any school tomorrow. Emma's off in Boulder doing whatever. Her mother isn't going to be home until the sun comes up, it's just a normal night.

And so, sleep comes... eventually.

--

She stands at the front of a city, walled high and the bricks of the outermost wall gleaming sandstone. The air is cold- the kind of cold that one feels when you're standing in a desert in wintertime. There is a sun in the sky but it doesn't appear to be bathing down any sort of light. Doesn't appear to be blotting out the pinprick light of the stars above them. She's on a path, though no travelers pass through.

The road is long, and leads off to nothing.

At the other side there is a gate, a tall arch with azure bricks and high doors. Torches light the front and the air smells like amber and frankincense. It's a feat of architecture, albeit one from an ancient time. There are the sounds of people talking, just beyond that first gate.

Makayla
This is the age when youth begin to feel the weight of nostalgia. As if in her eighteen years she has experienced enough that she can look back and the distance between where she is and where she was makes her yearn for what she had to leave behind. Growing up is hard.

She remembers the desert outside Las Vegas. She's been to the desert outside the city. Wind sweeping across a barren plain and the cold sun overhead and Makayla tries to wrap her arms around herself.

It doesn't feel as though she's dreaming.

When she turns to look back to see the path's beginning the wind tugs at her hair. She shivers. Turns back around and underneath the chill of the night that scent. She shivers again.

The idle thought that if she goes through that gate she won't be coming back.

She walks towards it.

beginnings
The desert outside of Las Vegas is beautiful in its own rights; people tend to overlook it in favor of the lights of the strip and the visual of coming in to a place like that for the first time. The desert, though, has its own beauty. Its own colors, its own life and this place...

It sounds like there is life. She heads for the gates; she can see people from beyond the walls, a face occasionally peeking down from the small, round opening along the top of the gate. Then, she can hear jibberish from the other side. There is a tension there, as those watch her, unsure if she is there to be a threat to their great, walled city.

The doors do yield, though.

When she steps through the door she is met by two male figures- or at least outwardly male. Masculine is the best word, with darker skin and eyes like starlight. They were clothed in feathers, almost avian in their appearance but they looked at her with a sort of ancient knowing.

Dropped to their knees as though she were royalty.

One spoke-

"Enter, my lady: may Kutha give you joy. Go in, my lady. Such are the rites of the Mistress of Earth."

- and produced an ornate box for her. Carved and inlaid with gold, the same azure as the gates. The same coldness as the sun.

Makayla
This has happened before.

Sharper than she has ever felt déjà vu does Makayla feel as if this has happened before. Not to her. Maybe to her. She has the narrowest definition by which to hem herself in.

She sucks in a breath as the two feather-dressed men approach her and though she wants to back away from them a part of her clings to the notion that this is a dream. It feels like a dream. Real and yet separate. They go down on their knees and she wants to ask them what they're doing but she can't find the breath to make words and then it's 'my lady' this and 'my lady' that.

"What...?"

That box frightens her. Further and further away from the point of no return and if she opens the box she won't be able to put back into it what comes out of it but this doesn't feel like the Greek myths they studied in English and Social Studies three years ago. This feels like something older.

Makayla takes the box and enters the city.

beginnings
The gates yield- all of them, and into the city she goes.

It's large- it's large enough to contain a whole world and Makayla has an innate sense of knowing when she steps in. She knows where her feet fall, she knows each stone on her path. She knows the plants and trees and gardens that hang there. It is a city, but it is not a living city. It is not a dead city, either. This place simply... is. Approximations of people seem to be going about their day. Life has gone on here.

She is met, of course, by another man in robes. His hair is long and his beard is as well. He's not wearing a toga- though he does have quite a lot of fabric in his clothing. They are colorful and seem to be of a high quality. Linen, you see, not wool. He certainly isn't some common creature.

His expression when he sees Makayla is fond.

"The world above doesn't suit you, your majesty. Must you have left so soon?"

Makayla
Your majesty.

The title chafes. She doesn't want it. Her mind is that of an eighteen-year-old girl even if her soul may well be as old as the oldest star. This isn't anything she's ever thought about. Spirituality isn't in her cards.

Emma went to church every Sunday. Emma didn't have much of a choice. Her mother was a devout Catholic. Divorce was nothing she was going to go for and though Emma's parents were separated and living in different cities they were still married. For a time Emma experimented with every religion she could get her hands on. A couple times they smoked pot and giggled their way through a tarot card reading but that was as close to religion as Makayla ever got.

She didn't know the first thing about Mesopotamian mythology. 'Kutha' means nothing to her. It is in her and she could find her way through it as if by muscle memory. But there's dissonance.

These people think she's royalty or something. This feels like the plot to a Disney movie.

"How long have I been gone?" she asks. Playing along and genuinely curious at once.

beginnings
He opens his mouth, as though he would most assuredly have an answer but-

He stops. Quirks his mouth to the side like he doesn't much know how to answer that question. How long had it been.

"Dear lady, in your absence a day feels like an eternity, and you've been gone long enough that I felt the sun blot itself from the sky and return yet again.  Inanna feels that your dalliances in the world above are an insult to her," he rolls his eyes.

Makayla
Inanna. Sounds like a jealous lover or a bratty sister. Neither of which Makayla has ever had to deal with being as Emma is not the jealous type and her mother had an IUD put in after she came along.

"Heh," she says. "Well... maybe Inanna should get out more."

Makayla
[lol straight perception again]

Dice: 3 d10 TN8 (1, 7, 9) ( success x 1 )

beginnings
He laughs, as though this is one of the funnier things he's heard today and, in truth, it was. One does not receive much in the way of humor in the underworld. They continue walking, unless Makayla stops. There is still a world bustling around them. Scribes taking notes. Potters doing their work, shrines to be tended and what-have-you.

There is, however, something that pings at the back of her mind. A sound that doesn't seem to fit with the rustling of society moving around them. The sound was truly hard to place, but only remarkable in the sense that it was out-of-place.

The vizier stops, long enough to give Makayla a look like he heard it, too.

Beginnings [Makayla ST]

Makayla
A closing shift at the speedway concession stand on a Monday night was better than going home. This place paid their employees above the national average and all she had to do was make sure her apron wasn't covered in mustard and she changed her gloves when she went from the register to the hot dog bun bin.

This time of year business was slow. She could get away with working forty hours a week during the summer but labor laws weren't so lax when she was supposed to be in school.

Makayla Waltz is one of the more popular of the speedway's employees. She stands five-foot-four and has brown hair that a combination of sunlight and chemical assistance has turned to flax. She keeps it braided Star Wars-style so she can cover it with a baseball cap when she's behind the register. Between the fact that she has a pretty mean right hook and has the foul mouth of a merchant marine she has plenty of admirers. Thus far in her high school career it has helped her procure cigarettes and alcohol and time down in the pit.

She's supposed to be mopping the floors right now but Makayla is pretty busy watching a couple of girls from her AP Economics class call each other names on Facebook and waiting for Jerome to text back about whether he's coming over later. Hashtag priorities.

beginnings
"Hey, Makayla."

That was a familiar voice. Bev was her manager- a rotund woman who smoked a pack a day easy and didn't seem to mind that she was working with a teenager. She hadn't found anyone who was willing to work Mondays and the kid did come in and do her job. It was something to be proud of, to say the least. Bev rarely had to, if ever, ask Makayla to get off her goddamned phone and pay attention to the people coming up to the register. No, she figured the kid wanted to be here during the week, so she took pains to be sure that she could get her there during the week.

It gave Bev some time to fuck off, to say the least.

Bev's husband ran the joint, which meant that she was the one who held all the keys. Mister Marley couldn't be fucked to show up at any given time, so he had handed most of the speed way's day-to-day operations to the woman with the weathered face and the Tom Waits voice. She had a business to run here. So there she was, preparing a hot dog (no mustard, extra saurkraut) so she can go back and start balancing out the books for the evening. It was getting to the end of the night. She'd have to send Makayla home soon unless-

"You sweet talkin' those dumbasses in the pit tonight?"

meaning: are you going to take a few laps around the track at the end of the shift.

Makayla
Even if she knows deep down Bev doesn't give a shit if she catches her hunkered behind the soda machine firing off a text message it doesn't mean Makayla doesn't startle at the sound of her manager's voice. Standing where she is means she can see the registers and throw her phone in her apron if someone comes shuffling up to order. That hasn't happened in nearly twenty minutes and there's only so much she can clean without wondering if her skin is going to fall off.

So her phone is back in her apron before she can finish hounding Jer. He's been answering her with emojis lately anyway. That means he thinks he's being cute. He isn't cute. He's a pain in the ass.

"Hey," Makayla says over-bright because she just got busted slacking off. Puts on gloves so she can start peeling up the floor mats.

You sweet talkin' those dumbasses in the pit tonight?

"You know it."

Meaning: Yeah the money's nice and all but if you want to cut me early I sure as shit ain't going to protest.

beginnings
"Ehhhhh get the fuck out," she said with a smile, the kind of smile that indicated that her command to get the fuck out was born very much of a loving go be a kid, it's still an early night place and not a place of actual ire. Bev, as far as Makayla had seen her, never actually lost her temper. She was always a lot-laying level of cantankerous that most people presumed was angry but, really, was just curt.

She was too old to deal with bullshit. Too old to put up wioth people who were incompetent, and too old to purposefully go out of her way to make her employees miserable. YOu keep the good ones, and keeping the good ones too late often meant they might not want to stay for much longer. So, you let them go like it's a Disney song and call it good.

"I'll cash you out and we can close the stand early. Jake's been dying to talk to you since he got on shift tonight."

Jake was new, you see. He was another one of the guys who worked in the pit but he was a little jittery, a little hard to handle at times but he seemed to be a decent enough guy. Just a guy who probably took too much meth at one point and never really came down. That or he mainlined Red Bull and he just couldn't be bothered to come down. He was one of the last guys to be working tonight. The other was the guy who got him on at the speed way- Cass. Cass was short for something, but he never bothered telling anyone. One of the old pit guys called him Cassie and came to work with a broken nose the next day.

Cass had a temper, but Cass kept to himself. Seeing Jake on was actually a surprise; who woulda thought that Cass actually had friends?

Makayla
Before she can get both hands gloved up Bev gives her permission to get the fuck out of here. The girl's eyebrows lift up but there's a hopeful cast to her gaze. An early out on a Monday night isn't anything she's going to scoff at. It's rare that they ever have events this early in the week. If it gets too much slower she's only going to be able to pull weekend shifts. Weekend shifts don't do her any good.

She almost expresses her gratitude. And then.

"Jake's here?"

About the extent of Makayla's mother's contribution to the cause has been telling her that she doesn't want to be a grandmother before she's 40. Makayla's grandmother was a grandmother before she was 40. That seemed to be the curse of the Waltz women. But Brenda Waltz had told her granddaughter that men are only interested in what's between her legs and it's a badge of honor for Makayla to have made it to 18 without a missed period.

There's a reason Makayla prefers not to go home after school.

"... is Cass here too?"

Makayla could handle Cass. He'd made her cry one of her first days working here but she was fifteen then. By now she had a callous. A Cass callous. Jake she was still working into her paradigm.

Didn't matter. Getting the fuck out.

"Thank you so much, Bev, you're the best. I'll see you on Wednesday."

beginnings
Bev didn't have children.

If Bev did have children, she didn't talk about them, save for maybe to complain that they don't call enough. Bev, all things told, wasn't really even that fond of the fact that she had a husbanmd but she did love the speedway and they were born in a generation where you didn't get a divorce. Ever. One of you went out in a blaze of glory and until then you just hoped you were the one who didin't die.

"Yeah, Cass has been stayin' late this week. Said he has some certification exam coming up or some shit. I don't care, he said he'd pound on the office door when he left," she shrugged.

Bev laughed and gave Makayla a dismissive wave, "yeah, yeah, I'm the best. Remember that int he summer when you're workin' doubles on a Tuesday, okay?"

Makayla
She can't help it. She hasn't applied to any colleges. She might just enlist at the end of the school year. Go off and get paid to work on tanks and shit. For all she knows though she'll still be here at the speedway in June looking for work and not knowing what she wants to do with her life.

So Makayla can grin the sort of grin only teenagers and the terminally innocent can pull off and not look like they're being a smart-ass. Genuine gratitude for a positive interaction with another carbon-based life form. Makayla has no idea what suffering is.

"Okay," she says. Deal. She unties her apron and stuffs her baseball cap into the pocket. Transfers her phone into the ass pocket of her black jeans. She's out of here. "Bye!"

And with an enthusiastic wave and a swipe of her time card she's off to the pit.

beginnings
The track was always pretty well lit and the pit was manned by only two people this time of evening. Jake and Cass.

Cass was a big man who had all of his teeth and a scar that ran low acroiss his throat. Said he'd gotten in in a bar fight but, realistically, he shouldn't have survived whatever that scar was saying. There was motor oil on his hands as he waited for a stock car to come careening through needing service. It wasn't going to happen. Everyone was on the final lap and the crowds were already starting to go home long before the race had actually ended.

For now, it was just Cass and Jake and Makayla. Jake wasn't a bad looking guy, his skin was a little sallow and his eyes seemed to focus on anything but the person he was talking to. Nervous, nervous was the best way to describe him, if nervous could have a physical personification. His wrists were thin. He clenched his jaw  when he was nervous but, for now, he was actually just busy talking to Cass.

He had a nice smile. For all his faults, the dark haired man with the slender build had a nice smile. Maybe not in appearances but certainly in content. He didn't seem the type to be born for malice, but he was a little more naive than he let on.

"Hey, Makayla," he said, bright smile. Sat up higher, straighter, "wanna see if they'll leave one of the cars tonight? We got an engine overhaul coming up."
"Do you want your girlfriend to fuckin' explode on the track," Cass grumbled, "besides, we can't stay late. There's business."
"What kinda-"

Cass gave Jake a hard look, then looked at Makayla, "Bosds let you out early?"



Makayla
Business.

She could zone out so hard in the middle of English class when she was supposed to be paying attention to what her essay was supposed to be about but the second someone behind her says something that's none of her damned business it's like Hitchcock levels of zoom-in on her attention.

This is none of her damned business. She can tell it's none of her damned business. She doesn't want to incur too much of Cass's wrath.

"Yeah," she says and adjusts the weight of her knapsack where it's slung over one shoulder. "We were pretty slow tonight. What kinda business?"

beginnings
"Cass is negotiating a raise," Jake said, idle and brainless like the straw man he was. Didn't think too hard about what kind of business there was going to be. Besides, Makayla was nice. Makayla was also pretty and she was there and she seemed interesting and he would have given anything his a little speed-addled brain could think of to get her to notice him for more than ten minutes.

"Figured I'm overdue," Cass said, though.... Makayla wasn't stupid. Jake might not have been very bright, but he seemed to believe that Cass really was talking about getting a raise, but the man exhaled hard, took a few steps to the side and waved a smoking car in. The driver was done for the night, finished fifth and could have very well made a decent bit of cash for the night- enough to probably cover the damage he did to his freaking car.

The drivers didn't usually hang around to talk to the pit guys. Especially if Cass was there. The lanky cowboy behind number 47 was happy to toss Jake the keys and give Makayla a wave, "don't kill my darlin', Bess does me better'n my ex wife ever could."

It made Cass laugh, but it was a short lived thing.

"Figured I should get the standard bump."

There are things that Makayla knows- knows that people get a raise once a year for cost of living, a small percentage and it's back along. Bev didn't get out raises willy-nilly and Cass has been here for... five years? All she knows is that it wasn't his anniversary, so that standard bump? Sure as shit wasn't happening in November.

Makayla
Plenty of things in life Makayla can figure out by virtue of her intelligence and her curiosity. Experience can't make up for everything else. Understanding jokes about marriage for example. She knows better than to laugh when the cowboy makes a joke about how his ex-wife did or didn't do him. Just because it was an objectively funny joke didn't mean it was appropriate for a teenage girl to cackle at the laconic wit of a guy who was old enough to be her father.

A scoff of a laugh is the most she musters.

Cass figures he should get the standard bump.

"Oh," she says. She chews her lower lip like it's only just now occurred to her that Bev doesn't usually shuffle her off this early. Something else must be going on. Which means she is faced with the question facing the modern girl raised by television:

What Would Veronica Mars Do?

"Well, how late is 'can't stay late'? Do I have time for one lap?"

beginnings
"Sure you got time," Jake chimed in. It made Cass give him a hard look in comparison.

There is an awkward moment where the two of them exchange glances. Cass was an intimidating man, objectively one could say that given his size and his sheer presence. The man gave the impression that he got what he wanted, was accustomed to getting what he wanted and that Makayla taking a lap around the track was not what he wanted.

Except, of course, Jake was oblivious to the fact that his friend was terrifying. He either knew and didn't care, or didn't know and was just the right kind of oblivious that there was no counter to it. The things we do to try and impress a girl, and this was one of those things.

"She doesn't have time," Cass reiterated.
"C'mon, her top time last time was- what was it? You can take a lap in under ten? It's just ten minutes," Jake reminded Cass.

Cass seems to think about this before he frowns. A harsh expression, "you can take five but you better not fuckin' crash. That's it. Then I'm closing up."


Makayla
If she had a little notebook for occasions like this Makayla would have totally jotted down that Cass wasn't happy about this and Jake was oblivious to the unhappiness. Maybe not right in front of them. That would have taken balls and an obliviousness of her own. But she totally would have written it down later and used it as further evidence if this was in fact something that she ended up sticking her nose in.

At the very least it's giving her a chance to hone her feminine wiles. Jake may end up being a stalker junkie rapist with a string of priors in other states but right now he just seemed like a bit of an idiot.

Cass thinks she doesn't have time. She doesn't bother giving the pouty eyes to Cass. Jake though. He gets the pouty eyes and the slight nod of agreement. Of course she can take a lap in under ten minutes. It's the Westminster speedway not the Indy 500.

When Cass relents she curbs her enthusiasm. Can't quite contain the grin that bursts forth but she knows better than to act too happy about anything in front of the old codger.

"Five minutes. I won't crash. You'll barely even know I was here. Thank you thank you."

And then she's tearing off to stash her knapsack and gear up.

beginnings
Five minutes and she wouldn't crash.

Jake seems happy enough with this fact, gives her a smile and a wave while Cass is picking up a beat up jansport backpack to head on his way. Probably to go... somewhere. He was continuing along his way, the young dork oblivious to the fact that somethign may be going on.

Or, perhaps, just too caught up in the moment to have his head in the came. Cass elbowed Jake in the ribs hard, enough that it brought him back on track. They were headed off to the concession stand, content to let Makayla do whatever it was that she wanted to do. She was going to be out of ear shot for five minutes, better do this fast. Right?

[want to roll me a Per+alert?]
Makayla
[perc + alert!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )

beginnings
Looking towards the concession stand, she could see Bev walk out and fold her arms across her chest. There wasn't much that she could see, but from the distance it looked like Bev was... waiting on Cass? Maybe?

Something does catch her attention, though, and it's a glint of metal at the back of Cass's pants, tucked into his waistband. Maybe it was a wrench? Or something? Pit guys could carry all sorts of tools with them, who cares where they put them, right?

Makayla
It catches her attention but she's caught up in the charade of pretending to go to retrieve a go-kart so she can take a lap around the track. She has done this a hundred times if she's done it ten but tonight is the first night Cass or anyone else working in the pit has tried to hustle her out of here.

Come to think of it Bev has never suggested she leave early either.

One lap won't hurt anything but for the first time since she first strapped on a helmet she can say that something more interesting than a race against her own time has presented itself. She gets into the go-kart and waits until Cass and Jake have left the pit before she begins the task of sneaking back to the concession stand.

Surely they won't notice her.

beginnings
Makayla Waltz is a good kid. When she shows up to work, she shows up and she works. She calls out when she is actually contagious and doesn't want to give people at the speedway her gross germs. When she says that she's going to do something, especially when it is something that people know she likes to do, she doesn't dick around more than the average girl her age.

So, when she says she's going to go a lap around the track, nobody thinks anything of it. It gives her plenty of cover to go and sneak up on the concession stand.

Bev practically drags Cass and Jake inside, quick to shut the door behind her but the place is a little popup building. Makayla can hear them through the shitty window unit AC, can likely even see in if she positions herself right. Someone's pacing, by the sound of it, it's probably Cass.

"It's three grand now and the rest when it's done Cass, I ain't goin' back on our deal."
"And I ain't goin' back- I'm pulling a lot of fuckin' weight for you, I brought a lot of business for you, and you think a measley three grand is worth risking my parole?"
"Yeah, having a bunch of hood rat n-"
"You ain't fuckin' complained when you get your cut at the end of the month."

Bev mutters something, and Makayla can smell cigarette smile coming from the inside of the place.

"Why don't we just do that?" Jake offers. God he sounds hopeful, "you got good insurance on the place-"
"'cus he won't be dead without a guarantee and do you wanna fuck with Marcus when he finds out he can't deal here because you two fuckin' rednecks wanna torch the joint?" Cass laughed. The sound was harsh.





Makayla
Of course Cass had put the fear of God into her right away but it had nothing to do with the rumors going around about him or his appearance. It was because he was a surly bastard who was good at giving intimidating speeches. Now that she hears about his parole from the man himself Makayla fears him a little more than she fears God.

The rest of the conversation doesn't do much to assuage that.

She strains to hear what Bev is saying. Catches what Jake says without a problem. Her eyes go wide and while before she had been peeking through the window that question and Cass's answer has her ducking back down so the air conditioner conceals her.

Some guy named Marcus is dealing something here and the three of them want someone else dead. This spying thing suddenly seems like a not-so-bright idea but she doesn't leave yet. It doesn't sound like they're done.

beginnings
"We shouldn't have been dealing with Marcus in the first place, dude!" Jake all but squeaks that out.
"Just wait until he gets here and then we'll handle it, two birds and one fuckin' rock," Bev replies, that hacking cough comes up so one can presume that she's the one who is smoking.
"Like you ever risked your neck for-" Cass started before he was interrupted.
"Didn't I fuckin' take care of that private dick who came around snooping for you, huh? The one from Reno?" Bev snapped at Cass. "Three grand for the bullshit I deal with because of you is more than fair."

There's a long silence, and Makayla can see him reaching into his waist band to retrieve a wrench. Holds it tight. Can see Jake look between Bev and Cass but the man takes a swing at her with the wrench. The sound that it makes when it connects with the side of her skull is a  sickly, wet sound. She goes down before she has a chance to really push back against the man, but he doesn't stop swinging when she goes down.

Jake is protesting. Trying to pull him back, but it doesn't do any good-

"What the fuck are you doing?!"
"Has to look like a robbery-"
"What the fuck do you think this is?! You're gonna kill her!"
"Three grand-" he swings "-isn't fuckin' enough for shit."

He walks away, leaves Jake to stand there with the body while Cass exits the concession stand and heads to the main office.







Makayla
Instinct says to scream. That's how primates evolved to let other primates know of a predator in the area. Humans though. Humans still scream but in situations like this screaming will alert the predator to a teenage girl's presence and that teenage girl doesn't think he'd kill her but she also didn't think he'd hit Bev with a wrench either.

She starts to scream. Then she claps both hands over her mouth and drops down into a crouch. Even crouched down and stifling her own panic she can hear what's going on in the concession stand. Can hear the wrench each time it connects. It isn't until then that she thinks she ought to call someone and has no idea who to call.

As unsupervised as her childhood has been and as much fucked-up shit as a person can see on the Internet these days Makayla cannot say as she has ever heard the sound a blunt object makes when it collapses a person's skull.

Oh shit. Cass is moving. Where is he going. Makayla wants to stay crouched down here until she's sure they're gone but they might catch her. She's too shocked to cry. She wasn't raised up to be a crier anyway. Screaming is her first instinct. Running away is her second.

But Bev was her boss. She was kind to her. Makayla has yet to encounter evil in her life and if she has she wouldn't have been able to recognize it. Doesn't mean she's had a windfall of kindness either.

Makayla is close to hyperventilating as she fumbles her cellphone out of her back pocket and starts to dial 911.

beginnings
Jake: Did I hear that? +1 diff (OH MY GOD CASS JUST ASHJKSAJ)

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (2, 2, 6, 7) ( success x 1 )

beginnings
Cass: Did I hear that?

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

beginnings
There is the sound of someone fumbling with something in the concession stand. There's a big drain in the middle of the room so there is a solid chance that someone could just hose the place out when this goes down. There is a lot of stuff that is wrong with this scenario and the reaction Makayla was having, while probably not condusive to the survival of someone who is hiding, is a completely understandable one.

Inside of the concession stand, she can likely hear the vestiges of Jake trying very hard not to freak out, but now he's an accessory to what might be a murder and things are going from bad to worse

"911- what is your emergency?" replies a confident female voice on the other end of Makayla's phone.

She can see Cass pause in his determined stalking towards the main office. She notices him turn, and notices that something does seem to catch his attention enough that he is headed back her way.

Makayla
As Cass turns Makayla gasps and clutches the phone tighter. Only remembers to grab onto the strap of her bookbag when the body of it thumps her in the kidney as she half rises and ducks around the other side of the concession stand.

She brings the microphone to her mouth but her throat seizes.

Her current emergency is that her mind is racing as fast as her heart is and she's afraid that if she tries to speak someone is going to hear her. All the dispatcher can hear is rapid breathing.

beginnings
[doobeedoo- they taught me first aid at Job Corps]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 7) ( success x 1 )

beginnings
[Cass: something is fishy]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4) ( fail )

beginnings
"Ma'am?"

There is the steady approach, it feels almost like being pursued by some unseen force. Except the force is very much seen. The force is over six feet tall and weighs about twice as much as Makayla does and just caved a woman's head in with a fucking wrench.

There's the sound of rusting, of a second body leaving the concession stand at a very hurried pace.

At about that time she sees him round the cover, looking for something but... as though fate was kind, or by the grace of a very large trash can, Cass seems to miss Makayla's presence entirely. There's a slight sweat on his brow but he doesn't seem ruffled by this in the slightest. There's still Bev's blood on the wrench.

Makayla
When she speaks it's in a harsh whisper. Enough of her voice in the whisper for the dispatcher to tell it's a young adult on the line.

"He..."

She peeks around the corner as little as she can to catch as much of him as she can. Her palms are slicked with sweat and the phone shakes in her hand. Not until she spoke did she realize her mouth tasted like pennies.

"He hit her, he hit her with a wrench and she's not moving... I don't know what to do, help me, please..."

beginnings
[Jake: Because I need to find Cass and hopefully not Makayla]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

beginnings
"Ma'am, what's your location? We can dispatch units immediately-" because the voice is calm. The voice is collected. The voice knows what she's doing because this is what a dispatcher's job is. Sure, she might not know the full situation "-are you in a safe place?"

This is about the time that quickened footsteps are coming up, looking around. Jake is tall and lanky but he has pretty eyes and actually seems to have done something with the nervous energy. There's blood on his shirt and on his hands and he locks eyes with her for a second, stands like a deer in the headlights like he doesn't know what to do for a second.

Makayla
And Makayla locks eyes with Jake because her extremities have just about stopped receiving blood and the higher-functioning levels of her brain aren't faring much better. She's frozen in place because she isn't sure if Jake is a threat or not and she's shaking and it's obvious she's on the phone with someone. She's holding the microphone to her mouth but the receiver is pointed away from her body because of how high she has the receiver volume set. She doesn't want to have one of her ears occluded by a phone right now.

"Jake," she says and holds the phone against her chest, "please don't hurt me, I--I didn't see anything, I just... I just left my keys in the office..."

beginnings
[Evens and Jake being an idiot standing there doesn't get Cass's attention!]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (10) ( success x 1 )

beginnings
He has his hands up, looks at her like he doesn't know what to do and he looks around quickly. There's panic on his features; Cass doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight and (presumably) headed back to do whatever it was that he was going to do in the first place.

His eyes go to the office quickly, and he heads closer to her. He doesn't seem to mean her harm but that's a hard sell when you're covered with blood and you were just talking about murder earlier.

"You can't go to the office-" he insists "-Cass is there."

Makayla
Doesn't matter if he means her harm or not. Makayla springs to her feet and holds the phone like she's prepared to whip it at his head if he comes any closer. Eyes wide and they flick towards the office when he says she can't go in there. That Cass is there.

If Cass is there that means he's not paying attention to what she's doing.

Makayla slips the other strap of her bookbag over her shoulder so she doesn't lose her calculus homework and turns to sprint in the opposite direction.

beginnings
Jake does not pursue. Jake does not pursue in the slightest because he's pretty sure that he doesn't want to get hit in the head with a phone and perhaps he seems to realize how in over his head that he is.

She is sprinting in the opposite direction, off making her way across the grounds and Makayla hears what appear to be the steady discharge of a revolver. The rest of it doesn't matter.

--

There are always places that one can run and get out of. Makayla knows the park pretty well inside and out. She knows where she can slip through the cracks, knows the exit that some of the other guys in the pit take in order to go back and smoke and get to their cars so they can park closer. The exit isn't hard to find, but it's not one that is particularly convenient for people who are, say, at the front of the park.

True to form, she manages to get her way out, can run and do what she pleases. Exits and smells trash and the leftover motor oil people never really bother to throw away correctly because fuck having one planet we're only alive once.

--

This is not the story of Nergal, though he plays a vital role at one point. Ereshkigal could not attend a banquet held by the gods and sent her vizier, Namtar, her stead. The other gods paid him the heed that a vessel of the queen of the deadlands was due- all save Nergal, the plague god.

For his insolence and disrespect, he was banished to her realm to learn to respect the Queen of the Great Earth.

---

The police do come. It would seem that calm-voiced woman at the other end of the 911 call did her job, truly did dispatch units with little more than GPS coordinates and context clues. Things feel like they might be okay.