Give me a name, and all else can be wrapped in.Igraine Member
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Like I said, fine with me, however you like! Give me a name, and all else can be wrapped in.
Give me a name, and all else can be wrapped in.Abigail Larson
Abby poked her head from about the doorway to the enormous pantry with a grin. "Better than we could have ever thought, Park!" she called, and then dropped her voice conspiratorially as she winked to the two men in the kitchen proper. "Well, so long as Josie doesn't make his way back here before we clean this place out. Have you guys seen our Shift head chef?" Abby took a step into the doorway, standing to her tiptoes with her arms high overhead, then spread wide as she nodded toward them both.
"Oh yes, that big! Former football player if I'm not mistaken - watch my back gentlemen! Even I couldn't talk my way out of this, and I really don't want to get broken in half over an industrial-sized jar of mustard and a loaf of wheat bread!"
Abby disappeared back into the pantry, her laughter bright and lilting, belying the darkness that wanted to take root in heart as the psychiatrist spoke. A great deal of what he said concerning Dr. Collini's report she already knew, though she did not say as much. The psychological report of the Second Shift psychiatrist had been a part of the investigative report. Though she was not a medical profession as Dr. Park was, the findings - however slim - only lent to the colossus of unease she carried with her these past days -
For the moment though, it was simply a relief to carry all she purloined from the kitchen pantry. Extra-large bottles of mustard and mayonnaise formed the base of the precarious pyramid in her hands, topped with another bottle of ketchup, smaller glass jars of dill pickles and sweet pickle relish, salt and pepper shakers, a jar of barbecue sauce and that loaf of wheat bread tucked all the way up under her chin. The edge of a package of plain potato chips dangled from between the fingers of one hand, and another package of cheese curls from the other. Slowly she crossed the kitchen floor, carefully, to the nearest countertop.
"A little help here gentlemen? Condiments here - and I think I'm going to leave hunting down our meat to the men folk of our little tribe," she quipped with a helpless grin over top the bread, a smile that slowly faded as she waddled her way toward Gavin and Park and relative safety.
"But you know... Seriously, the one thing that always bothered me... About Sylas Adams? The guy is just so... Ordinary. Socially awkward... Yes... He's the one the victim... Identified, fended 'im off too... With extreme prejudice I read. But he's just... Yes, just so damned ordinary."
Pauline Weber
It was simple enough really, for Pauline to see that Antoine was being completely sincere as he spoke. She had thought as much before, and his actions only confirmed all she suspected: Antoine really was incapable of telling untruths. If she hadn't realized this, she honestly would have thought the guy was having a go at her, seeing just how gullible she really was.
But he wasn't, and she wasn't, and Pauline could not help but marvel at Antoine's words. Something was... Off. Really badly off about the young man's explanation. She did not know what, she did not know how, and worst of all, she did not know enough to wonder what it was she did not know, but listening to Antoine's tale of his surgical enhancements left her with the most uneasy feeling. Not that Antoine himself made her the least ill at ease or nervous - far from it, actually. If anything, his explanation that he'd once been a soldier only raised his personal estimation in her eyes, after all she'd known and witnessed and suffered. Soldiers were safety, surety in Pauline's eyes, and would remain so for all the days of her life.
But that did not change the fact Antoine's blithe enthusiasm for what had been done to him, for the experimental surgery for which he apparently volunteered, was simply... Stunning. What kind of recruiting pitch, however "grade-A," could possibly explain a man letting people experiment on his brain? Of course the idea of a 'first-contact' scenario was exciting, to communicate with the alient, but hadn't the human race already had its first contact experience - and had only just barely survived it? And even this brief moment of "survival" was not even close to assured...
Pauline said none of this though, choosing instead to let the light of a genuine smile cover a multitude of doubts, and worries and even fears for the young man who might yet be her newest of friends one day. "Yes, that certainly does answer my question - and then some!" she said with a small, incredulous laugh, reaching over to scratch Mowzer's head where he lay on Antoine's lap.
"Sleepy guy, isn't he?" she asked, looking up to Antoine with a sudden realization. Rumpled clothes, rumpled hair, something warm and fuzzy and a bit drowsy even as a strange woman managed to tumble gracelessly into his darkened room. "But Mowzer's not the only one, is he?"
Abby poked her head from about the doorway to the enormous pantry with a grin. "Better than we could have ever thought, Park!" she called, and then dropped her voice conspiratorially as she winked to the two men in the kitchen proper. "Well, so long as Josie doesn't make his way back here before we clean this place out. Have you guys seen our Shift head chef?" Abby took a step into the doorway, standing to her tiptoes with her arms high overhead, then spread wide as she nodded toward them both.
"Oh yes, that big! Former football player if I'm not mistaken - watch my back gentlemen! Even I couldn't talk my way out of this, and I really don't want to get broken in half over an industrial-sized jar of mustard and a loaf of wheat bread!"
Abby disappeared back into the pantry, her laughter bright and lilting, belying the darkness that wanted to take root in heart as the psychiatrist spoke. A great deal of what he said concerning Dr. Collini's report she already knew, though she did not say as much. The psychological report of the Second Shift psychiatrist had been a part of the investigative report. Though she was not a medical profession as Dr. Park was, the findings - however slim - only lent to the colossus of unease she carried with her these past days -
For the moment though, it was simply a relief to carry all she purloined from the kitchen pantry. Extra-large bottles of mustard and mayonnaise formed the base of the precarious pyramid in her hands, topped with another bottle of ketchup, smaller glass jars of dill pickles and sweet pickle relish, salt and pepper shakers, a jar of barbecue sauce and that loaf of wheat bread tucked all the way up under her chin. The edge of a package of plain potato chips dangled from between the fingers of one hand, and another package of cheese curls from the other. Slowly she crossed the kitchen floor, carefully, to the nearest countertop.
"A little help here gentlemen? Condiments here - and I think I'm going to leave hunting down our meat to the men folk of our little tribe," she quipped with a helpless grin over top the bread, a smile that slowly faded as she waddled her way toward Gavin and Park and relative safety.
"But you know... Seriously, the one thing that always bothered me... About Sylas Adams? The guy is just so... Ordinary. Socially awkward... Yes... He's the one the victim... Identified, fended 'im off too... With extreme prejudice I read. But he's just... Yes, just so damned ordinary."
Pauline Weber
It was simple enough really, for Pauline to see that Antoine was being completely sincere as he spoke. She had thought as much before, and his actions only confirmed all she suspected: Antoine really was incapable of telling untruths. If she hadn't realized this, she honestly would have thought the guy was having a go at her, seeing just how gullible she really was.
But he wasn't, and she wasn't, and Pauline could not help but marvel at Antoine's words. Something was... Off. Really badly off about the young man's explanation. She did not know what, she did not know how, and worst of all, she did not know enough to wonder what it was she did not know, but listening to Antoine's tale of his surgical enhancements left her with the most uneasy feeling. Not that Antoine himself made her the least ill at ease or nervous - far from it, actually. If anything, his explanation that he'd once been a soldier only raised his personal estimation in her eyes, after all she'd known and witnessed and suffered. Soldiers were safety, surety in Pauline's eyes, and would remain so for all the days of her life.
But that did not change the fact Antoine's blithe enthusiasm for what had been done to him, for the experimental surgery for which he apparently volunteered, was simply... Stunning. What kind of recruiting pitch, however "grade-A," could possibly explain a man letting people experiment on his brain? Of course the idea of a 'first-contact' scenario was exciting, to communicate with the alient, but hadn't the human race already had its first contact experience - and had only just barely survived it? And even this brief moment of "survival" was not even close to assured...
Pauline said none of this though, choosing instead to let the light of a genuine smile cover a multitude of doubts, and worries and even fears for the young man who might yet be her newest of friends one day. "Yes, that certainly does answer my question - and then some!" she said with a small, incredulous laugh, reaching over to scratch Mowzer's head where he lay on Antoine's lap.
"Sleepy guy, isn't he?" she asked, looking up to Antoine with a sudden realization. Rumpled clothes, rumpled hair, something warm and fuzzy and a bit drowsy even as a strange woman managed to tumble gracelessly into his darkened room. "But Mowzer's not the only one, is he?"
Vasily knew the very moment Oskar told Oksana of their father, and his jaw clenched painfully as the most willful, wild woman in all of Adishi broke and crumpled to a seat. He actually took a step toward her, and then stopped himself, his head hung low as his expression turned stony. No, she did not need him to turn her mourning to embarrassment by calling all the more attention to her with his likely unwanted presence. Oksana had her pride after all, as it seemed Oskar had discovered - much to his unending regret, Vasily did not doubt for a moment.
But it was more than simply her possibly wounded pride. So many men were all about Oksana at the moment, Petya, her brother and others... No, she did not need him, but there were others who -
Pavel.
Vasily did not have words to describe the unspeakably snarled tangle of emotions that roiled in his gut at the sight of the man who should have been his oldest friend. Petya could not have known how very wrong he was, that Vasily was friend to every last person in Adishi, and the guilt, the longing, the sadness and grief and hope and conflict that flooded the young man's heart stood testament to that.
But the greatest of all those emotions, was a genuine, undiluted relief.
Her heard Pavel's question, and the smallest of smiles began to creep across his face as he caught the man's gaze, waving him over to his side. He could not know what was going through Pavel's head at the moment, but Vasily lay his hand on the man's shoulder with a nod that said so much more than his words could in this instant.
"I could use your help, Pavel," he said firmly, taking a deep breath as he forced aside a sea of unspoken sentiment for the immediacy of the moment. "Chiudka has her hands full - as competent and quick as she is, even she can't attend to every last person who's been hurt today."
And as if in testament to the truth of Vasily's words, Anton's worried cry reached his ears. He looked grimly to Pavel, a quick jerk of his head toward Adrian before he moved swiftly to the young man's side. "All right, let's have a look there... "
**********
Antonina's wide, blue-eyed gaze followed after Pavel as he walked inside the tavern, and then turned to her Nana. "I want my Papa," she said with all the surety of a very small child, and Nadejda let the little girl down as she began to squirm her way from her arms. Surely enough time had passed...
Not, of course, that determined little Antonina was waiting to be sure as she crawled up the steps on her hands and feet, stomping her small, fur-lined boots out of habit before walking into the great room of the tavern. There were too many people, crying and moaning, too many grown-ups about and she could not see her Papa anywhere though she even tried to stand to her tiptoes. But as she looked about quickly, she did see one familiar face, leaning against one of the window casings, talking to Bogdan though he looked really, really sleepy too.
"'Ello Dyadya Petya," Antonina said wrapping her arms about one of his legs, looking up to his face with a sweet smile that seemed so impossible in this place of pain. "Where's Papa - "
It was the weeping, a strange, strangled sobbing that sounded so odd, and pulled Antonina's attentions from the search for her father. To the little girl's ears, it seemed the person who wept simply did not know how to cry, didn't have any practice at it. The little girl let go of her Uncle's leg, walking the short distance to where pretty wild Oksana sat. She was the one crying, and Antonina's face fell as she looked, because it seemed like the crying actually caused Oksana pain.
Her head tilted just so as she peered up into Oksana's face, small fingers gently prying the older woman's fingers from her face. "'Ello Ok-sah-nah," the little girl said so softly, pronouncing every syllable of the young woman's name quite carefully. Antonina did not know why Oksana was sad, not really, not in this great room full to the rafters with such horrible sadness.
Then again, she did not really need to know. Antonina did not wait to ask Oksana's permission before she began to crawl into her lap. The little girl was careful to keep her knees and elbows to herself, because sometimes Nana winced too when she tried to climb into her lap and forgot.
She knelt for a moment in Oksana's lap, and then lifted herself just enough to wrap her small, soft arms about Oksana's neck and hug her just as tightly as she could, laying her soft cheek against the pretty lady's, not minding her wet tears at all. "Love you, Ok-sah-nah," she whispered gently in her ear.
Nadejda watched her granddaughter for a moment longer, her face thoughtful, a small sad smile on her lips for a moment. She dashed away a tear from her cheek with the heel of her palm, taking a deep, steadying breath before turning toward Chiudka. She lay her hand on the younger woman's shoulder gently, quietly asking for her attention. "What can I get you, Chiudka? Water? Linens? Alcohol even, for the wounds?"
But it was more than simply her possibly wounded pride. So many men were all about Oksana at the moment, Petya, her brother and others... No, she did not need him, but there were others who -
Pavel.
Vasily did not have words to describe the unspeakably snarled tangle of emotions that roiled in his gut at the sight of the man who should have been his oldest friend. Petya could not have known how very wrong he was, that Vasily was friend to every last person in Adishi, and the guilt, the longing, the sadness and grief and hope and conflict that flooded the young man's heart stood testament to that.
But the greatest of all those emotions, was a genuine, undiluted relief.
Her heard Pavel's question, and the smallest of smiles began to creep across his face as he caught the man's gaze, waving him over to his side. He could not know what was going through Pavel's head at the moment, but Vasily lay his hand on the man's shoulder with a nod that said so much more than his words could in this instant.
"I could use your help, Pavel," he said firmly, taking a deep breath as he forced aside a sea of unspoken sentiment for the immediacy of the moment. "Chiudka has her hands full - as competent and quick as she is, even she can't attend to every last person who's been hurt today."
And as if in testament to the truth of Vasily's words, Anton's worried cry reached his ears. He looked grimly to Pavel, a quick jerk of his head toward Adrian before he moved swiftly to the young man's side. "All right, let's have a look there... "
Antonina's wide, blue-eyed gaze followed after Pavel as he walked inside the tavern, and then turned to her Nana. "I want my Papa," she said with all the surety of a very small child, and Nadejda let the little girl down as she began to squirm her way from her arms. Surely enough time had passed...
Not, of course, that determined little Antonina was waiting to be sure as she crawled up the steps on her hands and feet, stomping her small, fur-lined boots out of habit before walking into the great room of the tavern. There were too many people, crying and moaning, too many grown-ups about and she could not see her Papa anywhere though she even tried to stand to her tiptoes. But as she looked about quickly, she did see one familiar face, leaning against one of the window casings, talking to Bogdan though he looked really, really sleepy too.
"'Ello Dyadya Petya," Antonina said wrapping her arms about one of his legs, looking up to his face with a sweet smile that seemed so impossible in this place of pain. "Where's Papa - "
It was the weeping, a strange, strangled sobbing that sounded so odd, and pulled Antonina's attentions from the search for her father. To the little girl's ears, it seemed the person who wept simply did not know how to cry, didn't have any practice at it. The little girl let go of her Uncle's leg, walking the short distance to where pretty wild Oksana sat. She was the one crying, and Antonina's face fell as she looked, because it seemed like the crying actually caused Oksana pain.
Her head tilted just so as she peered up into Oksana's face, small fingers gently prying the older woman's fingers from her face. "'Ello Ok-sah-nah," the little girl said so softly, pronouncing every syllable of the young woman's name quite carefully. Antonina did not know why Oksana was sad, not really, not in this great room full to the rafters with such horrible sadness.
Then again, she did not really need to know. Antonina did not wait to ask Oksana's permission before she began to crawl into her lap. The little girl was careful to keep her knees and elbows to herself, because sometimes Nana winced too when she tried to climb into her lap and forgot.
She knelt for a moment in Oksana's lap, and then lifted herself just enough to wrap her small, soft arms about Oksana's neck and hug her just as tightly as she could, laying her soft cheek against the pretty lady's, not minding her wet tears at all. "Love you, Ok-sah-nah," she whispered gently in her ear.
Nadejda watched her granddaughter for a moment longer, her face thoughtful, a small sad smile on her lips for a moment. She dashed away a tear from her cheek with the heel of her palm, taking a deep, steadying breath before turning toward Chiudka. She lay her hand on the younger woman's shoulder gently, quietly asking for her attention. "What can I get you, Chiudka? Water? Linens? Alcohol even, for the wounds?"
Poor shifty Kraft, but quite glad to hear your tea party was lovely. Yes Mokley, I'm almost done with a post for here, so I pray I'm not stealing anything from you - though Chiudka seems to have her hands quite full? I'll send Chiudka a little something else as well, to make up for it
That's a good question, and I'm not the least wedded to the idea of a three family triumvirate. Change away, and let me know what would work best for you!
I'm yet to write for this round Lil, so one of my characters will do what they can for Adrian
"Absolutely," Galina agreed crisply with a nod of her head, "Although death will not be necessary, I assure you. Why would I linger in Tokyo, near your clan, when there are Americans to hunt?" She was very well aware that her words might be a touch too light, that there might be more than a hint of laughter in her voice, but sweet Heaven above help her, it had been all she could do to keep those nervous giggles down in her belly.
The matter of the too-few chopsticks had required she find the most interesting spot on the wall right behind Souma's head and just a little to the left, and bite the inside of her lip, hard. But when Ai downed not one - but two - cups of Souma's own sake in less than half a minute or so? Little pink half-moons from her fingernails were gouged into the palms of her hands, evidence of just how hard she fought to keep down the skittish laughter that wanted to shake her to pieces.
"And since Souma is not Takahiro - currently, of course? Well how perfectly convenient for the life and health of our working relationship!" Galina did not miss the look Souma gave Ai when she had said as much, and the Russian spymaster pushed her own mostly full cup of warm sake to him with a playful, knowing little lift of one eyebrow, to soften the blow.
"To say nothing of my own - oh, and I do believe I will simply have tea. Truly, do help yourself Souma." Galina took a deep breath, knowing very well she was not going to be able to eat another thing, her nerves singing a shrill tune through her whole body.
"We were talking before you arrived Ai, your brother and I," she said as her dark gaze returned to Souma, a small smile turning one corner of her mouth upward impishly. "It seems we will be here for four more days in Tokyo, before the ship leaves port. We will be gathering provisions especially for hunting Americans before we disembark on our journey."
God above help her, she just could not stop the words falling from her lips - worse yet, she really did not want to stop them. She was so going to Hell for this one. "Souma has generously offered to teach this poor, silver-tongued Russian woman a whole new skill set and, God as my witness, I swear it is true: I am very excited to learn!"
The matter of the too-few chopsticks had required she find the most interesting spot on the wall right behind Souma's head and just a little to the left, and bite the inside of her lip, hard. But when Ai downed not one - but two - cups of Souma's own sake in less than half a minute or so? Little pink half-moons from her fingernails were gouged into the palms of her hands, evidence of just how hard she fought to keep down the skittish laughter that wanted to shake her to pieces.
"And since Souma is not Takahiro - currently, of course? Well how perfectly convenient for the life and health of our working relationship!" Galina did not miss the look Souma gave Ai when she had said as much, and the Russian spymaster pushed her own mostly full cup of warm sake to him with a playful, knowing little lift of one eyebrow, to soften the blow.
"To say nothing of my own - oh, and I do believe I will simply have tea. Truly, do help yourself Souma." Galina took a deep breath, knowing very well she was not going to be able to eat another thing, her nerves singing a shrill tune through her whole body.
"We were talking before you arrived Ai, your brother and I," she said as her dark gaze returned to Souma, a small smile turning one corner of her mouth upward impishly. "It seems we will be here for four more days in Tokyo, before the ship leaves port. We will be gathering provisions especially for hunting Americans before we disembark on our journey."
God above help her, she just could not stop the words falling from her lips - worse yet, she really did not want to stop them. She was so going to Hell for this one. "Souma has generously offered to teach this poor, silver-tongued Russian woman a whole new skill set and, God as my witness, I swear it is true: I am very excited to learn!"
It really hadn't been all that hard, convincing the task force to move a good portion of their resources north to the Boston area. This was the epicenter after all, of the Donnelly and Hagan and Tills triumvirate of families, and as likely a place to search for the boy as any.
No one really had to know, this move was as much penance as hope for Special Agent Brigit Walsh. A newscaster droned on about a storm front moving across the Midwest, a tornado watch in the Oklahoma panhandle. But Bree absorbed as much of anything useful from the television white noise, as she deciphered in the patterns in the hotel ceiling tiles overhead - which was to say, not a single damn thing.
At the moment, she was far too "busy" wallowing in the fourth straight night of self-recrimination, wondering what in the world she could have done, what magical words she could have conjured that would have somehow, some way, proved the siren song to convince Ethan to be here now. Four days. Four days and all the man with the numbers had given Jacob "the next couple days" or so. Sure, Ethan might have thought he was being clever, leaving off the deadline implicit in his reassurance
But now those couple days were past, the better part of a week was already irrevocably behind them. Though Bree knew they were at least closer to Jacob by hundreds of miles, the suburbs of Boston were immense, and the judicial system byzantine. Law enforcement could provide list after list of warehouse, homes, buildings and offices associated with this family triumvirate all day long, but search warrants weren't given out for suspicions about very bad people. Whoever of the families' hirelings conducted these kidnappings had been very, very thorough. As with the arrival of the thumb drive, there had been not so much as a slightest whiff of an evidence trail to follow. Nothing. Nada.
She still didn't regret what she'd said when Ethan refused her. She still didn't regret slapping him. Not even a little, just on principle. During the daylight hours she'd managed to maintain a pretty solid facade, grim but determined and undeterred no matter the developments - or lack thereof. Tanner was here - he'd actually been insistent enough to qualify for "demanding" that he'd be coming with Bree to Boston. She suspected it might have something to do with the way he'd made a complete fool of himself in her office with Ethan, a little ingratiating maybe - but Bree didn't care. Not really. There was something almost soothing about the indomitable, dogged presence of Tanner; reassuring, solid, dogged - but they still weren't getting any closer to figuring out where Jacob really was, and inevitably the seconds turned to minutes, then hours, and now days.
Yes, the daylight hours with Tanner, the other agents - they were almost tolerable. But it was the nights that were the worst -
Bree winced - though with a small wisp of a grin - as she felt what should have been soft paws turn into a dead weight that stole her breath for some seconds. Her enormous black cat Riddick pounced atop the bed, and then made himself quite at home on his favorite 'mattress' atop Bree's chest. all warm and soft, with the rhythm of Bree's heart a nice little accompaniment to his naptimes, rather like the sound of rain on a rooftop.
"Hey Riddy," she whispered, one hand cradling her head against the too-soft hotel pillow, chin tucked toward her chest as the fingers of her other hand gently scratched behind the cat's velvety soft ears until his deep purr rumbled all through her chest.
"So what do you say buddy?" she murmured softly, welcoming the painful pinpricks of his needle-sharp claws kneading into her skin, a distraction from the painful ache in her chest that wanted to crush her with dread, a little more with every passing, futile minute.
"How about rubbing off a little of that black cat luck on me? Screw numbers. Who needs numbers anymore? Right now we need a goddamned miracle, and I'm willing to toss every rock and building and mobster in Boston to make it happen."
No one really had to know, this move was as much penance as hope for Special Agent Brigit Walsh. A newscaster droned on about a storm front moving across the Midwest, a tornado watch in the Oklahoma panhandle. But Bree absorbed as much of anything useful from the television white noise, as she deciphered in the patterns in the hotel ceiling tiles overhead - which was to say, not a single damn thing.
At the moment, she was far too "busy" wallowing in the fourth straight night of self-recrimination, wondering what in the world she could have done, what magical words she could have conjured that would have somehow, some way, proved the siren song to convince Ethan to be here now. Four days. Four days and all the man with the numbers had given Jacob "the next couple days" or so. Sure, Ethan might have thought he was being clever, leaving off the deadline implicit in his reassurance
But now those couple days were past, the better part of a week was already irrevocably behind them. Though Bree knew they were at least closer to Jacob by hundreds of miles, the suburbs of Boston were immense, and the judicial system byzantine. Law enforcement could provide list after list of warehouse, homes, buildings and offices associated with this family triumvirate all day long, but search warrants weren't given out for suspicions about very bad people. Whoever of the families' hirelings conducted these kidnappings had been very, very thorough. As with the arrival of the thumb drive, there had been not so much as a slightest whiff of an evidence trail to follow. Nothing. Nada.
She still didn't regret what she'd said when Ethan refused her. She still didn't regret slapping him. Not even a little, just on principle. During the daylight hours she'd managed to maintain a pretty solid facade, grim but determined and undeterred no matter the developments - or lack thereof. Tanner was here - he'd actually been insistent enough to qualify for "demanding" that he'd be coming with Bree to Boston. She suspected it might have something to do with the way he'd made a complete fool of himself in her office with Ethan, a little ingratiating maybe - but Bree didn't care. Not really. There was something almost soothing about the indomitable, dogged presence of Tanner; reassuring, solid, dogged - but they still weren't getting any closer to figuring out where Jacob really was, and inevitably the seconds turned to minutes, then hours, and now days.
Yes, the daylight hours with Tanner, the other agents - they were almost tolerable. But it was the nights that were the worst -
Bree winced - though with a small wisp of a grin - as she felt what should have been soft paws turn into a dead weight that stole her breath for some seconds. Her enormous black cat Riddick pounced atop the bed, and then made himself quite at home on his favorite 'mattress' atop Bree's chest. all warm and soft, with the rhythm of Bree's heart a nice little accompaniment to his naptimes, rather like the sound of rain on a rooftop.
"Hey Riddy," she whispered, one hand cradling her head against the too-soft hotel pillow, chin tucked toward her chest as the fingers of her other hand gently scratched behind the cat's velvety soft ears until his deep purr rumbled all through her chest.
"So what do you say buddy?" she murmured softly, welcoming the painful pinpricks of his needle-sharp claws kneading into her skin, a distraction from the painful ache in her chest that wanted to crush her with dread, a little more with every passing, futile minute.
"How about rubbing off a little of that black cat luck on me? Screw numbers. Who needs numbers anymore? Right now we need a goddamned miracle, and I'm willing to toss every rock and building and mobster in Boston to make it happen."
Do you mean slip the hugs in while she's wholly incapacitated with grief, gcold? I DO like how you think! 
Beautiful post Lil, and a great read tonight!
Beautiful post Lil, and a great read tonight!
That would be fantastic Dot, so looking forward to it!
Great post Derren, and I'm probably going to think on things a bit for the next Pauline piece, probably tomorrow methinks, after I get some more guilt-inducing studying under my belt ;)
Great post Derren, and I'm probably going to think on things a bit for the next Pauline piece, probably tomorrow methinks, after I get some more guilt-inducing studying under my belt ;)
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