Points of True

[Molly Quincannon] There are bonuses to having phenomenal time sense and a perfect memory. One of those bonuses involve remembering the schedules of one's 'maybe' to work out the best evening to invite said 'maybe' out for dinner. Well, for varying definitions of 'out'.

The message, the day before the dinner, is simple and to the point: Want to do dinner tomorrow night? Assuming a yes, it goes on to request pickup at her place (she's apparently doing work on the TARDISmobile) at about half past seven. Nothing special, nothing even new as far as the messages indicate - just meeting up for dinner.

[Chuck Carmichael] In that case, it's a nice-jeans-and-shirt clad Chuck who shows up at Molly's door and rings the bell; he's dressed for a date that's an evening in, so comfortable-casual, but nicer than every day. He's got his ever-present laptop bag, of course, and perhaps less expected is the small bunch of Gerber daisies in autumn colours that he holds in one hand.

He looks good, as he always does, and comfortable: a friend, a confidante (a 'maybe'), that's Chuck.

[Molly Quincannon] When the door opens, Molly isn't standing in it; she has some idea of how to create an Effect, and while she doesn't bother most often, she's chosen to bother now. So when Chuck steps in, he doesn't actually see her properly until the door shuts behind him. It also means that he first sees is candlelight reflecting off the plastic tubing that seems to have colonised bits of the walls and ceiling in maze patterns. There's soft music ... and also the smell of cooking - wine and garlic and herbs and fresh-baked bread and roasting meat of some description. Smells that never colonise this particular dwelling, in Chuck's experience.

"Hi."

Molly has tidied her hair - or rather, had it tidied, given that it's even instead of home-cut raggedy. There's a light touch of makeup, contact lenses that turn her irises onyx-dark, and ... a dress. Well, skirt-and-top, with a touch of bared midriff. The dress Inara wore in the first few scenes of "Shindig", in point of fact.

[Chuck Carmichael] She looks . . . well. Chuck just looks for a moment, and doesn't say anything; it's difficult to read at first, that expression, until it blooms into a smile.

"Hey. Don't I feel under dressed?" There's a bit of a smirk there, a bit of tease, as he leans in to kiss her cheek (at the corner of her mouth) in greeting, before offering her the daisies. He likes it, obviously - the dress and the candlelight, anyway, though there is wary watching for the creature for whom the habitrail was made. (Chuck isn't a pet sort of person, really; he's not against them, in theory, and he's rather fond of large, short haired dogs. But the practice of keeping pets is one he doesn't follow, and hasn't since his youth.) "You look awesome. Are we celebrating something?"

[Molly Quincannon] The pet in question is batting around something jingly in a home-built huge-hutch/playpen thing in a corner of the room; Neal looks up at the new arrival and gives a chitter that might be greeting before climbing the mesh of the 'playpen' to the roof to get a better look.

Molly, for her part, watches him and lightly nibbles her lower lip before his expression changes into something readable, at which point she returns the smile and the kiss (at that proximity, he can smell perfume - something of brown sugar and rum and heady amber notes), and accepts the daisies. "Thanks. You're looking pretty snazzy yourself, actually. What men can achieve in ten minutes takes a woman an hour, minimum. Not really fair, but hey. Y'know, it's only in humans where the woman does the colourful show-off displays. Consider peacocks. Cardinals. Blue jays. Mostly birds." Then she shrugs. "Celebrating? Nothing. Or maybe everything; depends on your point of view. There's always something to celebrate, right? The world is awesome that way."

Then she gestures to the table - because there is a table, a little glass table like you find in upmarketish coffee bars, with two cushy dining chairs set at it; it's set with candles, little plates (actual plates!) and a bread basket. "Sit; have a bread roll. I'll go put these in some water. What do you want to drink?"

[Chuck Carmichael] "Water's good for now, thanks. Maybe juice or milk for with dinner. And thanks," he says, following her in to the table, taking in all the changes since he was last here; it's starting to shape up into a home, the once-upon-a-time garage is. He has to admit, he'd had his doubts at first, but seeing it now, who knows? There's been definite progress, and he likes it.

"The world is awesome that way. And you're right - in every animal species I can think of it's the female that's smaller and more drab. Kind of sucks for the human girls who primp away."

Chuck isn't precisely vain, but he is a bit of a primper, himself - his hair has product in it most of the time and he's generally pretty perfectly groomed if he's outside of his own home. It's a thing. But he certainly doesn't put an abundance of effort into it.

[Molly Quincannon] "Well, I guess it makes sense if the female's the one who minds the little ones," is Molly's comment as she opens the door to the kitchen (kitchen, maybe? The nice smells get stronger, anyway, as the sound of an ... oven door? ... opening is heard). Clunk and clatter, and Molly comes out with two pretty stained-glass glasses of water and a plastic pitcher full of daisies. As home-like as this place is becoming, one thing she apparently never considered was a flower vase. "Camouflage, y'know?" She gets up again and comes back with two bowls of salad. "The rest of dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, so ... y'know, dig in." She looks a bit embarrassed as she admits, "Tonight's dinner has been made entirely by my own two hands, so ... yeah, it smells okay, which is reassuring, but ... it's an experiment, anyway. So..." She reaches for one of the bread rolls. "Yeah," she finishes, still sheepish.

[Chuck Carmichael] "I'm sure it's great. It smells so, anyway, for sure. And there's no smoke coming from anywhere, so better than I do when left to my own devices. Good on you."

And it's true - he hasn't set the condo's kitchen on fire yet, but that's only because he hasn't decided that he should try again, one imagines. Or at least he does. At any rate, he makes himself comfortable in his chair and takes a roll (though he is, of course, conscious of what he eats and how much, particularly when it comes to carbohydrates and other things that convert to sugars) to go with his water. He looks fine, it's true, but he still feels a bit under dressed for the occasion; it's something he'll let go of, though, soon enough. No reason to dwell, after all.

"What did you make? Or is it a surprise?"

[Molly Quincannon] The embarrassment gets a little stronger at that. "No, the smoke was yesterday. There are a bunch of very happy street mutts after the dinner I had to throw away. And I dunno," she goes on, with a bit of a grin that turns the bashful into a little bit of mischief. "Do you want it to be a surprise?"

The rolls are actually quite good, as far as rolls go; still warm and fluffy. The salad ... well, it's difficult to go wrong with a salad.

[Chuck Carmichael] "I'm happy enough to find out whenever you want to tell me." That's with a smirk, and singularly unhelpful as far as these things go. Then, "Everything takes practice. Yay for feeding the neighbourhood mutts?" Ah, teasing. And yes, enjoying the roll and salad.

[Molly Quincannon] The little sideways smile she gives contains a fair amount of wry. "I didn't really know you went in that much for the ambiguity, man," she says, shaking her head. "I think I'll let dinner be a surprise, then, since you're not all that curious and can't really make a decision anyway, from the sound. And yeah, yay for feeding the neighbourhood mutts. Though I had to kind of dump the wrecked remains of my practice dinner a good couple of alleys away. I don't want to encourage them. Not that I mind? It's just that I don't want them coming near the door. It's nowhere near lethal but I don't think it'd be fun for the poor mutts to have a sniff at my front door only to get ... y'know, bzzt."

Then her eyes widen and she grins. "Oh! I've got a new project! One that you might find kind of cool. Not done yet, but definitely getting there. Also I should ask what you think of the ... y'know, décor."

[Chuck Carmichael] "It's hard to live life in binary. I'm curious, but I don't want to ruin a surprise, especially if you've worked hard at it, when I'll find out what it is in a few minutes anyway, you know?"

It's that same easy, friendly tone as he always uses, and there's that before consideration of the dog issue, which gets a wrinkled nose and a nod. "Electroshocking a dog makes for some nasty smells, just sayin'. Burning dog hair smells even worse than burning human hair, and I'd imagine it's even worse if the dog is dirty. And, uh." There are exaggeratedly shifty eyes here, and a hint of grin. "No, of course I don't know from experience. As for the décor, it looks pretty awesome, habitrail and all. It's starting to be home-like in here!"

There's a pause, a bite of roll and one of salad, then, "What's the project?"

[Molly Quincannon] That gets a frown. "But ... dude, you have trinary. I don't have trinary; I have binary. For me, it's a need-to-know thing. For you, you have the 'can I have a hint?' option and can be satisfied with that. And I sometimes envy you that."

After giving him a bit of a look during his dog commentary (though there's a smile there), she says, "Don't ever say that to Nat. And what's wrong with the Habitrail?" She looks up at the ceiling and walls. "I think it adds colour! And personality!" There is a skittery noise as Neal passes by overhead, apparently on his way to another room. "...And interesting noises," she finishes with a sheepish look.

Then, the project, and her eyes light up. "Well. Okay. You know that I am a dedicated caffeine fiend. So I was thinking, wouldn't it be awesome if I could have coffee on tap? So I'm running a line from the boiler through to a sort of a hacked-together percolator kind of device I wrenched out of one of those industrial coin-op coffee machines - heavily modified, obviously, because the stuff that kind of machine's designed to handle is frankly garbage - and I'm building a case for it that'll allow me to pick separate reservoirs for strength and blend and stuff. I'm not done tinkering with it yet and a part of me really wants to call Henri in on the project but I kinda wonder if she'll end up turning the thing into offensive weaponry so for now, I'm on my own. Still, it's fun, and means I found a way to use the old chest freezer."

[Chuck Carmichael] "But between smells and a hint, I'd be able to make a reasonably accurate guess, so . . ." It's teasing, maybe, a little, but there are other topics at hand, so he listens (and watches, as the ferret goes skittering over their heads), mostly about the project. He is, after all, a rather dedicated caffeine fiend himself, though his has to come artificially or unsweetened - not that he minds. It's how he tends to like things, anyway.

"That sounds like all kinds of awesome. And I've met Henri a couple of times - she seems like a cool girl. If a rather . . . impulsive one." That's putting it kindly, given balls of sentient and more-or-less malicious globs of goop as pets and the like. Still, there's something about her he hasn't been able to help liking each time they've crossed each other's path. "I could probably . . . oh, you've got that covered. Was going to say I could do the computer rigging."

[Molly Quincannon] That gets a wrinkled nose and a smile. "I have, yes, but a second set of eyes never hurts. Besides, you might be able to help me improve the thing when I get it to beta testing stage. Right now it's spare parts and a dream. And now," she adds, standing up, "I suppose your clue-free, smell-based, potentially accurate guess will have to be confirmed or denied because it all should be ready. 'Scuse me. Oh, milk, pop, juice?"

Whatever he chooses comes out first (decanted into a pretty carafe, with wine glasses) and then comes dinner plates - some sort of beef roast (the exact cut used is hard to identify when it's slices, even if they are relatively thick ones) with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables in what smells like garlic butter. She also brings out a gravy boat. "Rib roast," she says with a bashful nod in the direction of the plate. "Kosher beef, just in case. I made the gravy too. I managed to get it pretty lump-free. I think. Hope it's okay, anyway."

[Chuck Carmichael] "....."

He is, for a moment, very, very quiet. Molly knows on what he usually subsists, of course - things he can put in the microwave or carry-out, essentially, with the occasional home-cooked meal here and there. Said home-cooked meals usually come from Emily, and are usually far more exotic than this, but . . . well. (Also, he requested milk.)

"I . . . the last time I had something like this, my mom made it," is all he says, and his eyes are a bit wide at the thought (or the memories, or both) - of how long it's been, maybe, or something else entirely. "It looks and smells great. I bet it tastes so, too."

[Molly Quincannon] Another one of those pauses, and Molly watches him, but she has to address the compliment before she can actually ask anything ... if for no other reason than to let the blush subside a bit. "Thanks. I hope so. I just ... wanted to do something special. For you, y'know?" He knows, because she's told him, how she generally views the domestic arts, how much she's dodged them and why. It seems she shoved past that boundary at least in part for him. "Special people merit special. Or that's what I think, anyway."

Then, not sounding especially worried that this is the case but in a just-making-sure tone, she asks, "It's not too much or anything, is it?" She's not only talking serving size, obviously (though that's well moderated, based on the size of portions she's seen him eat when they've been out).

[Chuck Carmichael] "Oh, no, it's great. Thanks." There's that smile, reassuring, kind and friendly as he always is, and now somewhat nostalgic as well. She knows a fair amount, does Molly Quincannon, about Chuck's current life - that he doesn't talk to his family (but cares very much for and about them all the same), that while he has lots and lots of friends (he could hardly help but, given that aura [or whatever it is] he puts off) he isn't very close to much of anyone, and so on. She has guesses and conjecture about his past (that he knows of, anyway), but no real details, and she doesn't know the one person who knows both his past iteration and his current self.

Which is to say, what she sees, in the moment, is what she gets.

He takes up fork and knife and tries a bite of the roast before adding gravy, then another after. "You did a good job. I told you it'd be great."

[Molly Quincannon] The smile she gives to that is complicated; it's pleased and bashful, but there's an undertone of something else to it; a heavier thing that isn't quite sadness but skirts the general edge of that emotion. It's a sort of caution that doesn't entirely suit her, maybe. "Thanks," is all she says. "Labour of ... well, caring at least, y'know? There's dessert, too - websites full of diabetic-friendly recipes are my friend."

She takes a bite of her own dinner, chews thoughtfully and then, after swallowing, apparently makes a decision, and the not-quite-sad fades out of her smile. "Tell me something," she requests. "I ... don't really care what; just ... whatever comes into your head."

[Chuck Carmichael] "There are five well-known games series significantly affected by use of the Konami code, and over forty others all under the Konami brand or its imprints. Most geeks know this. But, there are apps on both the iPhone and Droid platforms that are affected as well, amongst something like a hundred other games and websites that pay homage." There's a smirk there, and it's amused. "Master even made a padlock that you can program to use it as the combination. It's a pretty sweet lock."

Yes, this is the first thing that comes to the geekboy's head when asked such a question, even when he's faced with a dinner that produces that nostalgia-laced smile - and that smirk turns from amused to rueful quickly.

"But, since you probably meant something personal . . . oh. When I was a kid, we used to have a dinner like this once a week, on Saturday. We weren't particularly devout Jews, and were far from orthodox, but my mom was a doctor and my dad was a lawyer. We took the sabbath pretty seriously, because it was the only time they really took off of work - so we didn't do the prep work on Sunday, but there'd be a chore or two a day during the week so that by sundown on Friday, it was ready to just pop in the oven Saturday afternoon. Sometimes beef, sometimes lamb, whatever. When we were teenagers, my older sister took over most of the prep work so it could all be done on Friday and not have to sit as long; she got to be pretty awesome at it."

[Molly Quincannon] The first part gets a giggle, and a smirk that says 'tell me something I don't know'. She may not have her Masters, and is a different sort of geek than Chuck, she is still a geek, with a Memory, and a lot of Curiosity. "Hey," she starts with, "the first thing that comes into someone's head when they get asked to pick something off the top of their head says a lot about the person, y'know. So I get a two-for-one bargain."

The rest gets listening, and a bit of a smile - not nostalgia, but wistfulness. Something that would maybe be nostalgia if it knew how. "That sounds kinda nice. Your whole growing-up situation sounded damn different than mine. Which makes it funny that we talk about our parents about the same amount. Probably talk to our parents about the same amount." She's not talking about her speculations on why, of course; just segueing on to, "Ask me something."

[Chuck Carmichael] Ask me something, she says, and Chuck shrugs - this isn't a game he's particularly good at, at least not this meatspace version. Give him hints and sic him on a search engine and he could find out almost anything you could possibly want to know, but in the end he's a fairly shy young man who keeps his secrets for a reason, and believes that if other people have secrets, they have their own reasons as well, just like he does. To him, boundaries are things to be respected, and circumvented by the person who has them other than in rather extreme (and usually worst case) scenarios.

So, after a moment's thought, he just asks, "How come you throw yourself head-first into any - seemingly every - potentially dangerous situation you come across?"

[Molly Quincannon] Molly considers that one for a moment, then shrugs as she pokes at her dinner. "A few different reasons. Um ... first of all is the fact that usually, the things I end up facing need dealing with, and an indirect approach doesn't work all the time. In fact, half the time, all it does is cost time that the situation can't afford. I mean, take the whole ... recent mess. Sure, I took my lumps. But because I took those lumps, we had confirmation of stuff we wouldn't have been sure of for weeks if there hadn't had to be the art gallery crashing. Some of that ... isn't really dinner conversation, but let's just say that if we'd taken it slowly, a whole lot of poor souls would have suffered for days or maybe weeks that they didn't have to. I'd say that's worth a bit of pain. Among other things. Sometimes, rushing in where angels feel to tread spares the innocent. That's ... why we're here. Or so I see it."

She takes a sip of her milk (this whole scene is rather wholesome for someone with the number of tattoos and piercing - all of which Chuck is familiar with by now, if only from the one encounter to date) and then goes on. "Also, there's generally the knowledge that I can handle the situation I'm getting into, as far as I know it. Sometimes it doesn't work out - usually from just plain bad luck - but things never seem all that dire, is all. Which I guess comes from the last reason; the Code. It's a Cultist thing; 'A fool feels no fear; a Sleeper remains shackled by it; a Master trancends it, yet recalls its wisdom. It is good to be afraid: It is folly to bow to terror'." Another shrug, and a bite of mashed potato. It's not that I'm not afraid; I just won't be ruled by fear. When a thing needs to be done ... and in those potentially dangerous situations, a thing generally needs to be done ... I can't afford to let fear of getting hurt rule me if I'm going to be of any help to this world. Not everyone can be that way, I get that. But someone needs to. Why not me?"

Then she looks up at him, curious. "You're not like that, I know, and I can't really ask 'why not?' because I don't think that's a question that has an answer. But I guess the question I have is, does it bother you that much, that I do that? That I'm like that? If so ... why?"

[Chuck Carmichael] "I'm not afraid - or rather, I'm not prohibitively so, and I'm not all Muad Dib about it, either. But why get my hands dirty and risk life or limb when there are other ways of going about a thing?"

This is the part he doesn't understand, really - time sensitivity he gets, yeah. But there's fact checking and so much that needs to be done, and what if she'd been wrong? She hadn't been, in this case, but still. The possibility exists that she could be, that any of them could be, and how irresponsible is it to act without being sure? Progress on shaky ground doesn't mean much - it just falls down. A solid foundation is important.

"It does, a bit, but it's part of who you are. I guess I'll get used to it, or not, as I'm sure there are some things about me that grate on you. As for why . . . I guess because I believe in fundamentals and foundations. You have to do the groundwork, and sometimes that takes time, but if you don't, the things you do - or rather, I do - are more or less meaningless, because there's nothing to hold them up. Sure, every human construct fails eventually, but mine . . . I'd kind of like them to last for a long time."

[Molly Quincannon] "Because sometimes there's not time for the other ways," is Molly's reaction to the first. "And sometimes while there are other ways, they're not the right way, and you can't know unless you do that groundwork that costs the time and maybe the lives. When there's the time to work the problem and build the foundation, great! But sometimes you just have to build as you go. Not everything can be looked up and researched; not everything's a matter of hacking into a thing from a distance. Some things can, which is great." She shrugs. "I can do that too. But a lot of the situations I've been in ... there hasn't been the time for that. Way-too-knowledgeable Sleepers capturing mages with intent to kill and shooting at my friends? Chinese spirit nasties trying to sacrifice a group of Sleepers, including a seven-year-old boy? One Mind-fucked cop who still hasn't been looked at closely to see whether he can be saved, with a meeting coming up at which that information can be vital? None of that can be dealt with hands-off."

She smiles at him, then; it's an understanding thing. "The decision to get your hands dirty or not? That's yours. I ... guess I am kind of Muad' Dib about the whole thing, but I'm a Cultist; we tend to be, if we actually follow the Code. I'd like my human construct to last for awhile too, but some things are ... more important, I guess." She looks down at her plate, thoughtful, but apparently she's decided to leave whatever she's being thoughtful about for later, as she says, "What you do - what of your talents you choose to offer - that's helpful. Never let anyone tell you different. I can do that sort of thing, and sometimes I do. I guess ... that can't be all there is for a techie, y'know? Fact-finding? Awesome. Just ... sometimes there's a need to kill the security or bring the kerboom. Or so I'm told. Guess that's where I live now."

[Chuck Carmichael] "There's always time for other ways. There are a gajillion and one - and yes, that's a technical term learned in one of many, many math classes - ways to do any given thing. And it's not a simple binary of right and wrong, or even a trinary of yes, no and maybe. But, I have a feeling we could argue about this for ages and not go anywhere on it; we're both pretty stubborn."

Not, mind, that she's seen Chuck's stubborn side yet, at least not in more than hints. Ashley, Emily and Riley are the lucky ones, there. Talk of killing the security gets a blink and lips pressed together, brief, and a flicker-flash of something . . . because Chuck is security, nearly as much as he's progress.

"There's a lot more than fact checking for a techie, yes. There's also making sure my friends don't get hacked, or fact checked any further than they want to be. And there's building new things, or improving on what's already there. And even fact-checking isn't just that - aside from the obvious importance of knowing everything you possibly can about what you're going into, and seeing problems from as many angles as possible . . . well, you've seen my work. I'm hardly the only one - or even the first - to program aggressive firewalls."

Which is to say, of course, that hacking from a distance isn't always just that, of course, and that he's (and all techies with similar paradigms, for that matter) taken his share of lumps as well, even if it was behind the scenes. Even if it does tend to go unnoticed.

"I think, though, we're at an impasse on that. We may have to agree to disagree."

[Molly Quincannon] It's not that Molly's not listening; there is, however, a look on her face when he feels the need to explain that 'gajillion' is a technical term that shows that she is not impressed. It's the look that says, Dude, I may not have my Masters in computer science, but I went to frikkin' college and took a few math classes of my own; stop patronising me. The expression turns into a roll of the eyes at his facial reaction to the talk of 'killing the security', but at that one she actually speaks up. "You'd rather have had Israel, Solomon, Nathan, Emily and heaven only knows who else get arrested while trying to take down the Labyrinth in the basement of those charity offices?"

Then she sighs. "It's not like I don't get any of that - the things you do. I'm not even arguing that those things aren't important or necessary. I'm just saying that there is more to things than that. Defending the periphery is all kinds of important, yes. Are you saying that fighting on the front lines isn't? I'm not asking you to do things my way; I'm not saying you ought to be getting your hands dirty. Everyone's got their path in life, and I'm pretty sure I never said that yours was less valid than mine. I just can't stay on the periphery. It's not my way, is all. Yes, we're going to have to agree to disagree, because we're not wired the same. You're defense and security. I'm ... I guess more in the offensive line, is all."

[Chuck Carmichael] An eyebrow raises in response to that look, and he absently sips his milk - he's been eating as they're talking, of course, and enjoying it greatly, but conversation is different now. Not okay to joke about theoretical numbers, but I should sit here and be told that while what I do is awesome, it's secondary at best to reckless abandon. Gotcha, is the gist of what that expression says - for someone who refrains from saying an awful lot, the VDept has a very expressive face. "I'd rather my cabalmate - who has reckless tendencies nearly equal to your own - not have been there at all. Because there are always other ways, and I know she knows that. If those other methods had been employed, there'd have been no worry of someone getting arrested for being there."

There's a shrug, then, in response to her question, his response and her sigh, all. "I don't think you really do get it, but that's okay because I don't really get your way, either. Shared skills and knowledge has never equalled shared methodology, and I'm not invalidating your way of contributing any more than you say you're devaluing mine. You told me to ask a question, and I did."

[Molly Quincannon] There's another sigh to that - it's not directed at him this time, though, but at herself. It's the sigh of someone who realises that she may have taken a thing a bit too seriously because she hadn't recognised it at a joke and is a little disappointed in herself. But that part's all unspoken. What she says is, "Well, if you were so against their methods, why didn't you bring up those other methods at the meeting? Because as far as anyone could tell, you were fine with it. I mean, what were the other methods? Everyone I've ever spoken to about Nephandi - experts all three - have indicated that the only way is to kill them. Maybe we could have done long-distance, but how do you ensure that the job's done, or that there's no collateral damage? What was the other option? Because you can't really blame them for taking it when they weren't exactly offered the alternative that might have been better."

Then she sighs. "I do get it. It doesn't look like I do, but I do. It's what I trained for, the hands-off. I've been doing it for years. I've just ... seen another side of it now. I'm telling you that your way of contributing is vital, particularly in concert with the other ways there are out there; I'm saying that if it weren't for you and your method of contribution, we'd be in a lot more shit than we are for what needs to be done sometimes. I am also saying, though, that while it's what I was trained for, I'm rapidly finding that it's not what I was born for. I may also be saying that sometimes, the slow and steady way isn't the right way. That's my take on it, and that kind of decision has to be made case-by-case. If I suggested in any way that I was devaluing the skill set we share? I'm sorry. I'll also flag up, though, that while you're saying that you're not invalidating my way of contributing, you are talking about the fact that there are always other ways than mine, which means that you ... are at least sort of suggesting that my way of contributing isn't necessary and is some kind of suicidal whim of mine. Which I apparently share with Emily, Israel, Solomon..." She shrugs. "I don't mean to be dismissive of you. I just don't think that it can always be solved by hanging back the way you seem to. Someone has to get out there and fight. Which is why ... well, which is why there are people like me, maybe?"

[Chuck Carmichael] "Oh, I didn't think you were belittling the skillset - that would be pretty silly, wouldn't it? - but the methodology, you kind of are. Whether or not you used to employ it, you've 'grown out of it', or whatever, and that's fine. People change as they learn more, and though the overarching theme of what I do hasn't changed much since I was a kid, a lot of my ways of handling things have. Which I hardly expect you to know, but a little credit would be nice. As for the meeting, I'd already said what I had to say to more than one person there, and been met with much the same outlook you have. 'That's nice, but . . .' can only be swallowed so many times before it starts to stick. We had a bunch of people who had what they wanted to do firmly in mind, and there wasn't much point in stressing and turning it into an argument when there were better things to focus on than who's mad at whom."

There's a hint of smirk, and then, "Oh, I fully agree that front line action is the best route to take. I'll also add that now we'll never know unless one of you with that particular addition to your skill set looks back at the maybes, but that seems like a waste of energy since it's over and done with and as far as I know even the ones who can look don't have the expertise to go back and change it. Even if that wouldn't be begging for a bitchslap."

Even irritated (somewhat insulted) Chuck is so very even keeled that it's difficult to tell; it's there, though, in the flash of his eyes, the set of his jaw.

"Anyway. It's all sort of moot, yeah? You've got both the hacking and the front line action, and I've got my own projects. So it's all good."

[Molly Quincannon] That gets another sigh. "I haven't 'grown out of it'. That's not the point. Just because I was trained to it doesn't mean it's what I was meant to be doing. I barely even know that yet. I know I've been Awake for awhile - almost as long as you have - but a lot of it comes down to training. And 'that's nice, but...' is not my outlook! I just..." She groans and gives her dinner a bit of a jab with her fork. "I'm saying this all wrong. I saw ... Chuck, there were people. In that awful place they stuck me, there were people. I mean, sort of people. They'd been ... sewn together and their flesh abused and bastardised and their souls were bound in that not-quite-living flesh to suffer until someone came to release them from their pain. Maybe it could've been another way, but those people ... they would've suffered longer. I ... no matter what they did to me ... if those people were spared even a moment of what I saw in their eyes? It was worth it. If I think otherwise ... if I think that I did that and it brought no good at all, that there was a way that I could have been safe and that I should have taken it, knowing what I know? Then I'm going to go crazy."

Deep, ragged breath, and then she goes on. "It's nothing against you or your methods. It's not 'that's nice, but...' or a lack of giving you credit. I've been told directly that Chicago needs someone with my skill set - our skill set - engaged more in front-line activity. I can't turn that down. I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm saying what's in my heart, is all. Just because my path is different doesn't mean that I'm belittling the methodology. My way isn't always the right way either. It wouldn't have been with that business with Teeth, after all - not that we'll know about that since you told me right off the bat to stay out of it. Either way, we have our ways of handling things and yeah, I guess it's moot, but I just don't want..."

She looks away, clearly depressed. "I'm trying to share who I am with you, not belittle who you are. I haven't been here long enough to know exactly what you've done here, what your methodology is, how you work. I just know you do. I respect that, and I hope you don't think differently just because I wanted to share my ... my finding my place in the universe with you. I take joy and pride in finding myself, is all. I'm sorry."

[Chuck Carmichael] "You should take joy and pride in finding yourself - some people never do. That's hardly why I felt . . . marginalized." Which is true - it's not her take on how she should do things, but the perceived opinion that his way is somehow lesser. "And you're certainly not the first girl to think I don't move fast enough, or do enough. So, you know. It is what it is."

This is paired with a little smile, an attempted levity in a conversation that's gotten terribly heavy for what was intended, as far as he knows, to be just a dinner date.

"Who told you that? About Chicago someone with your skills front and centre?" It's curious, this question, as he's been on the front lines of a project or two, and then pushed aside for things after. Not that he minds, of course - he's rather fond of having all his bits still attached, and his headmeats un-messed-with. He likes ranged DPS, and he's damned good at it; not everyone's that lucky.

[Molly Quincannon] "One thing I'm rapidly learning," she tells him to the first, "is that there's a time and a place for everything ... and maybe everyone. Everyone's ways of doing things, anyway. It's not what's better; it's what's better for that situation. Which we don't know until we're in it. So ... yeah, it is what it is, and will always be what it's going to be. And seeing what it's going to be before it is really is asking for a bitch-slap, so we'll do what we can as best we can until we can't." She eyes him for a moment, apparently debating whether to address the bit about her not being the first girl who told him he moved too slow or didn't do enough. It's a thing to consider, certainly...

But instead, she moves on to the question, about who told her they were pleased to see a more hands-on active techie. It gets a smile, in fact, that question. "Solomon and Israel, actually. In that order. I checked in on the Chantry and I saw Solomon and he made a point of praising me for the takedown on the charity's mundane security and the diversion of law enforcement to alternate venues around the city and the street camera reroutes and stuff. Israel was later; she dropped in to ... well, 'check on me'; no other way to put it. She apparently talked to Thomas and he was saying how I was wigging out or something, so she made time to look in on me. Also thanked me for the security take-down, and made it a point to say how Solomon's praise comes rarely." She shrugs, smiling a little. Yes, it's nice to have one's work acknowledged as anything but 'reckless, flighty foolishness'. "Anyway, they both said that they were glad to see ... 'someone of my talents' ... more engaged with the front-line stuff." She chuckles and cuts a bite of her meat. "I didn't make a thing of it; I just told them anytime they needed my help, y'know?" After looking her chunk o' cow over, she adds, "Though man, I hope we don't have that mess again for awhile. Though let me tell you, I am getting a serious education in all this. From safe, legitimate sources. Israel says she'll let me go over a couple of her books. I feel kind of honoured."

[Chuck Carmichael] "Yeah, nice! I'd offer up my data points, but none of them have much to do with Nephandi, sorry. A bit of history and that, but that's about it. They're more about . . . you know, my kind of thing. But some have some interesting 'suggested reading' sidebars." He shrugs, and watches her as she's watching him.

To be fair, it's not most of her work he considers reckless - that would be silly. What he does consider reckless is the penchant for doing apparently without thought of consequence, or who else might be affected if something goes badly. But then, this is Chuck - progress plus security plus a strong desire (drive) to leave something bigger than himself behind makes for someone who thinks about all of these things more than most do.

"I'm glad that they're appreciative and that you're enjoying the learning aspects, at least. It's a good thing, makes up for the less good. I hope, anyway."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly ponders that, then shrugs. "Can't say 'makes up for'. Takes some of the sting out, sure. Nothing 'makes up for' what happened. But the experience ... I wouldn't have gone out looking for that specific set of experiences, but now that I've had them ... now that it's in there ... it's something that no book or sidebar or story could give me. Getting past the horror, I'm in it - the road to Ascension and life in general - to learn and experience. So your data points are always welcome, and you can read mine if you like, when I get 'em compiled. Need to double-check how sensitive Israel's stuff is, though I figure if she's got it all hard-copy, having a copy in even just my personal database--" She taps her temple. "--That's got to be of some help to her."

Then she wrinkles her nose. "What do you mean, your kind of thing? Mundane? Mirrorshade?"

[Chuck Carmichael] "Both, and my general way of doing things. I actually . . . kind of was trained for field work, you know." She doesn't, couldn't really - or, well, she could, one imagines, but he's never said. "In the CIA sort of way. For some reason, in all the sims, I was the good cop." That's with a smirk, amused, and a lack of attempt to explain what he meant by 'make up for'; there's a lot in his life that nothing could make up for as well, after all.

They all have their issues.

"And yeah, I'm sure having all that stuff locked up in your head will be helpful." There's a pause, then, and a curiously raised eyebrow. ".....what if they're in Braille?"

[Molly Quincannon] That gets a raised eyebrow - not that she doesn't believe him, but there's a certain kind of curiosity as to how someone who's been trained for fieldwork on that level (though not necessarily as in potentially taking bullets, from the sound) can be quite so reluctant to actually go out and do it. "I didn't know. Because you never said. And now you have, so I do. Though only in the very vague basics. Maybe I'll earn a little more detail as time goes on," she adds. Okay, maybe a little wry there, but at least it's not bitterness.

The thing about Braille gets a laugh and a shrug. "I don't think she'd have offered it to me if it was in Braille. She wasn't born blind, you know, and this stuff has apparently been handed down through her family for generations. And even if it was ... I have a perfect memory, an eye for detail, a minor in cryptography and enough Mind to amp all that to maximum. I'm pretty sure I could get a basic gist and then run the rest through a translator, at the very least." Yes, she's overconfident. But at least in this case, it's only about books.

From there, she shifts the conversation to more secure footing - maybe not always mundane, but certainly not quite that thorny. There's still a lot to think about, and things to ask later, but for now it's dinner and talk of her plans to shop for a bookshelf or two (her books are stacked sort of haphazardly everywhere) and plotting matters in the kitchen and that sort of thing. Dessert is a (diabetic-friendly, she assures him) tiramisu sort of thing. Chuck still gets looks now and then - they are speculative, not-quite-wary things, these looks, as if she's wondering something. Perhaps several somethings.

The only answer she'll give to any questions, or questioning glances, is "I was wondering what your reaction'd be if I asked you to spend the night." And presses no further.

[Chuck Carmichael] [Oh, just one roll won't hurt. Per + Aware-as-Emp]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Chuck Carmichael] She does get questioning looks of a sort, indeed, as he gets them from her - or as he catches them, at any rate, but they're more studying than anything else. Chuck is, sometimes, a surprisingly good judge of this sort of thing (he knows the tells for lies, despite being terrible at telling them himself, knows what to look for in a suspect, knows all sorts of things he doesn't share) . . . which doesn't mean he always uses these abilities, no, or the knowledge that comes from employing them.

"I didn't go all the way through - dropped out when some stuff happened. But yeah, I had some training." Of course he catches the wry; she wears that on her sleeve, and it gets . . . something. A flicker in his eyes. "And you are now one of a very small number of people who knows. So while I appreciate that you're The Girl With the Information, I'd be grateful it if you could keep that bit to yourself."

Then, though, there's more chatter and more looks, and that question; he's apparently surprised by it. There's a thoughtful moment, then a shrug. "I'd say I didn't bring pjs or a toothbrush, but I've got everything else I could need. And then, I'd say sure."

And so, whether she asks him to stay or not, the night goes.