Curiosity Kills?

[Molly Quincannon] Atlas may or may not have mentioned the visit he made to Molly's place a couple of days ago, either before or after the fact, but it is entirely possible that he looked a bit preoccupied when he returned. However, given how engrossed he gets in his own projects, it's possible that the whole thing went right over Nat's head (so to speak).

What might not have been missed is the quiet from Molly over the last couple of days. Not silence - she knows better, particularly in light of the current circumstances - but no initiation of text message chat and generally letting those text-based conversations trail off. She blames the set-up of the Habitrail for Neal, her new pet ferret. She seems disinclined to leave the house at the moment, as well, and she cites the same excuse. Thus a Popple might have to get pushy.

[Natyana Wapanee] She hasn't been home much lately herself, so very easily she was missed in passing with Atlas. But the lack of communications from Molly was noted. Which was actually starting to bring up alarms, since said habitrail very likely should have gotten some add ons delivered by now, and still nothing.

The doorbell rings. Nat is outside, with two large pizzas propped on her shoulder and hand, and she's peering up at the camera with a knowing look, free hand on her hip, and a sandaled foot tapping.

[Molly Quincannon] There's a box sitting outside Molly's front door, about the size of Neal's cage. The box of Habitrail bits, it seems. Apparently, the postman is afraid to ring the doorbell. No one's stolen it, either, which says a lot about how afraid most everyone else must be to come near the place. One wonders how many people saw the work she did on the door, or how many hapless victims her security system has zapped.

When the door opens, Molly looks out at Nat (Neal, sitting on her shoulder, also peers at her) and asks, "...I mean, hi, but ... what's that look for?"

[Natyana Wapanee] She raises an eyebrow, looks down at the box, then back up to Molly. "What's wrong."

Boomer isn't with her today. At least, not right now anyways. She waggles pizza boxes at her, and still giving her the look. "And hi. I come bearing pizza. But still.... what's wrong. You been too quiet."

[Molly Quincannon] "Man," she sighs, stepping aside to let Nat in. "You'd think people would be grateful for the peace and quiet when--" She stops and blinks at the box. "Oh. No one rang the bell. Why do I have--?" She looks up at Nat, then drags the box in and shuts the door behind them, moving to her computer keyboard to (presumably) reactivate the intruder-zapper. "What did you have shipped this time?"

No, she's not answering 'what's wrong' yet. She has questions.

[Natyana Wapanee] She sets the pizza boxes down off to the side and goes into the fake kitchen fishing for paper plates and beers. "I didn do it!" Liar.

She comes back out, going about handing out bottle, then fishing up some pizza slices. "So what's wrong?" Not getting off that easy today little missy.... no no no.

[Molly Quincannon] A note about Molly's living room - its walls and ceiling are a veritable maze of multicoloured plastic pipes. A set of red ones with yellow joins dump out into a sort of playpen, obviously designed with Neal in mind, set in one corner of the living room. There are blue ones with purple joins, too, which seem to lead into the bedroom. A set of yellow ones with red joins pipe into the bathroom (in the general direction of the litter box, in fact), whereas the purple ones with blue joins lead into a perspex box in the kitchen big enough for Neal to sit down at his food and water dishes. But the walls and ceiling - overlying the silk scarves that are still there for decoration - are a maze of fun for a skittery creature the likes of a ferret. Molly's been busy.

"My ass," Molly says to the lie. "I'm going to spend days thinking of how to use that stuff on top of my current set-up, you know. I was up two straight days setting this up as it is. And who said anything was wrong? I kept in touch. I told you I was busy." She gestures up at the pipe-maze overhead. "I'm just thinking." Which is an answer, of sorts. Perhaps not a comforting one, and not very elaborate, but there it is. "So what's the occasion with the pipes and pizza?"

[Natyana Wapanee] She boggles, eyes going a bit glassy as she looks it over, and it almost costs Molly some fashion pizza instead of it being dinner pizza. "How......." Blink blink. "Nevermind." She chuckles, looking back over at her with a worried gaze in her eye. "I get the reasons for being busy, but that don't stop me from worrying anyways, you oughta know that by now"

She takes pizza, beer, and kicks off sandals on a trek to the bean bag chair that's all but been claimed on her visits. "So whatcha been thinking bout? And don't tell me nothing, I know better outta you."

[Molly Quincannon] The looking over of her handiwork gets a smile. "A stepladder, many Habitrail bits and a lot of coffee. Among other things," she adds, looking rueful. "Even basic Mind means you can lose a bit of sleep and not feel the bad effects until later. Which is a bonus."

She takes a slice of the pizza mostly to appease the Popple, and picks toppings off it from her spot on the loveseat (still sitting curled up, still not casually and comfortably sprawling) as she ponders the question. "Habitrail placement. Mundane security systems and the best ways to bypass them or set them off remotely, depending on which ones. Sudoku. Probability theory." There's a short pause. "...Some stuff Atlas and I were talking about a couple of days ago. Y'know. Some heavy stuff, some not-so-heavy stuff." Then, likely because of the look she's getting at this cagey answer, she sighs and adds, "I asked him about Nephandi because he knows more about them than I do. The answers I got were ... helpful but not. So they get mulled over. It's not something I can help."

[Natyana Wapanee] "Yeah, well don't push it too much, or I'll turn Boomer loose until your brain leaks out your left nostril and you pass out." She smirks, curling her legs in and popping open the bottle before starting on the pizza, which is actually just extra cheese and pepperoni. Nothing crazy, just enough to be yummy.

She does indeed get the expected look. Eyes narrowing suspiciously through the answers that are just fillers, cuz you know, she knows Molly better than that. Then a frown when she starts talking about the Nephandi. "Just... don't think too hard on it, ok? Please? I really don't wanna come over to check on you one day and find you drooling on yourself because you're this massive sponge that can't get enough information and just go on total meltdown." Ok, where's the pod? No lecture, no freaking out. Just the worried watching, and a sigh.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly frowns. "If you turned Boomer loose in here, the collateral damage would be epic," she points out, looking around at the various bits of plastic. "It was bad enough he nearly ate my good optical mouse his first night here."

Lecture or no, Nat's sigh is echoed by one from Molly. "I will pretend I know what you mean about the 'drooling on myself' thing; sometimes your lexicon's a bit hard to parse. Anyway, it's not something I can help, okay? It's like ... there's these people, and they're run by these ... Great Old Ones on crank, and they want to destroy the universe. I mean, the entire universe. Which makes no sense because they're in the universe and part of the universe and how the hell are they going to manage that without destroying themselves? And then I think, do they really think their existences suck so badly that mutually assured destruction is the only answer, like those poor bastards who go all murder-suicide on their families to spare them all the pain of the world? And I know Atlas is right, that this isn't something I can understand from where I'm standing now - he's right when he says that the only way I'm going to understand is if ... well." She can't even say it. "But there's this whole worldview, and sure, it's batshit insane as a worldview, but it's there and I don't get it and--"

She shuts up at that point. She probably doesn't need to say anything else. Anyone who's spent five minutes with Molly at any point knows her need to understand the worldview of others - and anything else that comes her way.

[Natyana Wapanee] She's smirking. In the beginning, at least when Molly's talking about collateral damage. "On the bright side though.... he didn't. He just slobbered a little."

But then, she gets on one of her not knowing speeches. And the smirk fades. Fades into a look of worry. Then anger. Then fear. A very solid, very cold knot forming in her stomach. Enough that she sets the pizza aside, along with the beer bottle. It was either put it down, or throw it. She opted for putting it down instead.

She understands Molly's drive. The need to learn and comprehend. But she also understands this is a dangerous road, a very dangerous line of thought to chase after. She stares at Molly with the shock and horror of her thoughts on where this could lead if she keeps thinking on it. Too mortified to even form words just yet.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly watches Nat's face change. That look of fear - that horror ... and perhaps it's not surprising that she misunderstands. "I--I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said anything." The pizza ends up on the floor as Molly gets up and bolts for the bathroom (the one door in this place with a lock on it, that Nat's aware of, anyway). Neal, who had the good sense to vacate Molly's shoulder an instant before she was up and away, looks at Nat with a chittering squeak that may well be reproach.

Bathroom door slams. There's the sound of a deadbolt sliding home, loud enough to suggest that this door has been fortified at least as much as the front door. Silence.

[Natyana Wapanee] She.... sits there. Blinking. Trying to push through the initial shock of it, and the logical progressions that usually come after her comments like that. Neal is ignored while she tries to struggle up out of the bean bag chair while fighting with her own mind to sort out the thoughts there. Really the only thing she manages to accomplish is getting her foot twisted into the squishiness and sending herself sprawling face down.

She doesn't get up yet.

"Mother fucking cock sucking son of a god damn dumpster pile! WHAT the FUCK are you thinking??" She pushes up, moving towards the bathroom door. "Get out here and talk to me! I know where shit goes when you start thinking like that Molly. Swear to me you won't chase this!"

Her voice is shaking, but it's hard to tell if it's still the anger, the fear, or that she's on the verge of tears. Maybe all of the above. Whatever it is, it's not being scared of Molly, but for her. For where this could go.

[Molly Quincannon] The bathroom door stays shut. More silence. No answer. The place might be soundproof for all Nat knows, particularly if (as proves to be the case) the door's been reinforced with sheet steel on both sides. Or perhaps it's not soundproof and she's just not saying anything. Either way, the door is shut, locked and not will require something akin to a rocket launcher to force.

[Natyana Wapanee] She beats on the door, regardless. Doing a good number on her own hands from the force of it. "I'll fucking kill him if he put this in your head! I'm not losing you to those psycho motherfuckers! You hear me!? GET IT OUT OF YOUR HEAD! I don't give a flying fuck if you want to spend the rest of your life eating checkers and playing hopscotch with boogers for space markers! Don't even think I'm gonna let you go chasing this one! I swear to fucking mother goddess if you do then we both go down!"

She spins away from the door, going back into the living room to pace. Not feeling the burning in her hand yet. Probably a good thing, she may very well have broken some bones there. Worry bout it later.

[Molly Quincannon] The door stays shut. There is still silence. Again, either Molly can't hear a word of this, or she can but has sensibly decided to stay behind a locked steel door rather than come out into this barrage of profanity and rage. Sensible people wait for enraged people to calm down before they come out into such situations.

After a few moments, however, there is a text message.

Checkers? Hopscotch? Boogers? WTF?

Because ... well, this is Molly. Curiosity's a bitch.

[Natyana Wapanee] She ignores the phone for right now. Her focus nowhere near the vibrations on her right butt cheek from the device. She does, however, pick up her sandals and contemplate throwing them at the bathroom door. She doesn't. She puts them on her feet instead and goes back to pacing. After a couple of laps, just shy of steam truly coming out of her ears, she goes back to the bathroom door.

"I need to walk. When you actually come out, if you want me, you know how to reach me. But right now, I can't be here. Can't be inside."

She turns and moves to the door, pulling it open. When she gets outside and shuts the door behind her, then she checks her phone.

I'm sorry. That... just promise me, Molly. Promise me you aren't going to chase this one.

[Molly Quincannon] It's several minutes before Nat's phone buzzes again. Lord knows where Nat's wandered, but there's a response, anyway:

Told you I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to.

[Natyana Wapanee] She hasn't wandered far. Just to the edge of the parking lot, her security systems will tell her that if she comes out of the bathroom to look. She's pacing. Pacing, and crying. Phone is in one hand, and a handful of hair with her other hand up on her head.

No... I'm glad you did. Least I know what to watch out for. For now anyways. Fucking promise me, Molly. I mean it. You're the last person that needs to go digging into this shit. And Atlas is getting a whole box full of fucking laxatives in his coffee tomorrow.

[Molly Quincannon] Leave him alone. It's not his fault. He just answered my questions.

Maybe Molly's watching, maybe not. (She is, in fact, watching - or so an omniscient narrator would see; watching her best friend pace the parking lot in tears, adding guilt to the rest of the mess.)

The first text message is in defence of Atlas, and comes almost immediately. The second takes longer, but comes eventually:

You don't have to 'watch out' for anything. I'm fine. I'll continue to be fine. I shouldn't have said anything. It was just a train of thought. Whatever, okay? I'm taking them down, not chatting them up.

It's not a promise. Molly seldom makes those when there's a remote chance she might break them. And she isn't entirely sure what constitutes 'chasing this one'. There's still a Labyrinth to help take down, after all.

[Natyana Wapanee] Promise me dammit. Taking them down is fine, but so help me if you try and go in under some hair brained incognito recon trip this explosion'll be the least of your worries. Long as it's all included in taking them down, you can promise me this so quit fucking avoiding it.

AHA. The root of it all. Which would be perfectly logical deductions for Molly's way of thinking, and how it was taken. Other conversations that led into recon trips, other questions that had to have their answers.

[Molly Quincannon] Even if I wanted to go on 'some hare-brained incognito recon trip', you think the PTBs would let me? I don't know what my part in it is going to be, or if they'll let me within ten miles of it when it goes down.

That's message the first. After all, the meeting to discuss strategy hasn't happened yet; she has the preliminary data, but there've been no plans as yet. But there's another text after a long moment.

Your faith in me is touching.

[Natyana Wapanee] The message back probably broken due to length restraints, but it comes. When she's done entering the flurry of text and hits send, she clamps her hand down around the phone. Her arm tenses, like she might even throw it, but she doesn't. Instead she turns and starts walking towards mag mile, and wipes at her cheeks with her arm.

Has nothing to do with faith in you, Molly. Has everything to do with being scared they'll get to you anyways. They're evil. They have ways. We've had talks. And when you get talking like that, you always want to dig deeper and it scares me because I know you'd go into it with good intentions. I know you wouldn't go into it stupid, but anything can happen. I can't lose you to these things. Not because of needing to know. If I'm going to lose you to them it's because we went down together and fighting them. So when you can give me that promise, you let me know.

[Molly Quincannon] Nat's headed in the direction of Mag Mile, and Molly watches her walk away for as long as the cameras will allow. It takes a good five minutes for a reply to come, but it does:

I promise not to seek out opportunities to ask Fallen questions about their fucked-up worldview. I can't promise not to ask questions if the opportunities come up on their own - and I mean asking Israel or Nathan or Wharil or even books as much as anything. If the promise not to go hunting isn't enough ... I sister-love and respect you too much to lie.

[Natyana Wapanee] All I ask is you don't go seeking out these crazy fucks to ask them how their shiny happy world works. I don't want you sitting at a bar having drinks with them. I don't want to find out later that you were sitting at our favorite table sharing the sugar dispenser with Happy Joe Psycho and asking him what his black pussing bible says. Hunt them. Kill them. Ask Israel and Nathan and Atlas for everything they know. But don't go undercover. That's the promise I need.

[Molly Quincannon] The reply comes quickly:

Doesn't 'undercover' come under the heading of 'seeking out opportunities'? FFS, at least READ MY DAMN MESSAGE before you beat me over the head with yours.

[Natyana Wapanee] Yeah yeah yeah. Shut up, I snotted on the screen.

[Molly Quincannon] And the three-letter acronym that I am currently looking for is TMI.

[Natyana Wapanee] Sorry I blew up like that. Just scared me is all. I love you Molly, and I really don't think I could deal with you being put through something like that again without losing my mind and going on a suicide mission before being smart about it.

[Molly Quincannon] There's a bit of a wait before the reply to that, but it does come eventually:

Your reaction is probably the best I can expect. Like I said, I SHOULD NOT have said anything. Lesson learned. Sorry it had to be you that heard it.

[Natyana Wapanee] No... I don't want you to think you can't tell me anything. You can. Just... on stuff like that try to give me a heads up? Please? That way I don't have to freak out and make you promise stuff cuz I know you hate making promises there's a chance of being broken. So... long as I have your promise about the no undercover operations (which I have now), then by all means, say whatever's on your mind. I promise not to flip out like that again till I know for sure what the angle is.

[Molly Quincannon] The wait is even longer on the next message. If Nat kept walking, she may well be at the Lafette by the time the answer comes.

I won't hold you to that. Mostly because even if I could give you a heads-up (I mean, HOW, srsly?) you can't help how you feel or react. I shouldn't have said anything; I stand by that. But you have my promise so that's that.

[Natyana Wapanee] Well that's fine. I have the promise either way now. And I stand by mine.. at least to try and not freak without getting all the infos first. But hell, Molly. You and I both know I don't see half the angles you do. You're the thinker here, not me. So, call me if you need me, ok? Think I done enough damage for today. So I'm gonna go chill, and again.... really sorry I lost it. Give Neal some love for me. Poor little furry thing got ignored.

[Molly Quincannon] Nat doesn't get a reply to that last. In fact, beyond popping up online in the right places to be seen, just to let Nat know she's not dead, Molly's gone even more quiet than she was before. If she needs Nat (and, in all fairness, she probably does) ... she's not calling.