[Molly Quincannon] The sign about the DANGER - HIGH VOLTAGE is still on Molly's door, though she does reassure people that right now it's just 'static electricity shock' level rather than the massive frying surge it was during the height of the Nephandi debacle. So the outside of the place hasn't changed very much. Inside, however ... inside has changed a lot. When Molly, with a sheepish, 'thank you for saving me from the brain-wrong of my workday' grin, lets Emily into the former auto garage, it ... really doesn't look anything like an auto garage anymore. There are posters all over the walls and silk scarves across the ceiling, though the scarves are overlaid by bits of multi-coloured HabiTrail, through which one apparently particularly spastic ferret is racing while the other bats something jingly around in a playpen in the far corner. There's more furniture, up to and including a dining table, and an area separated out from the main living space by pretty silk screens contains a bed, a chest of drawers and a sign reading "ELLIE'S NOOK".
Beyond that, though, it's still computers humming and general geekery. It's just now as much home as it is geek-den, eccentric though the 'home' is.
Molly doesn't comment on all this new, though; not until asked, at least. Instead, she ushers Emily in with that grin and a comment of, "My hero! You have rescued me from oh my gods, how did they get their jobs? Seriously? I keep meaning to ask the people in haitch-arr what they were smoking when they hired people and why they aren't sharing. Anyway, hello! Come in! Can I get you something to drink? And how's your day been?"
[Emily Littleton] Emily Littleton has never gone trick or treating. She's been to masquerade balls, but that is the extent of her dressing up in costumes, and those costumes were really just elaborate and ineffective masks. She knows All Hallows more in a religious connotation -- All Saints, Day of the Dead -- and it seems a little macabre and insensitive, to her, to send small children out in the guise of hobgoblins and superheroes begging for sweets.
Then again, it's also one of the few holidays that inspires creativity (homegrown costumes being what they are) or exercise (running around neighborhoods in the cool of night must burn off some of the sugar calories). She's heard her coworkers tell stories of optimizing their routes as children, coming home with pillow cases full of pilfered sweets which where then rationed and bartered along a universal sense of quality and preference.
Chocolate and peanutbutter, when combined, command a fetching price on the free-market candy trade.
That Molly was born in the middle of all of this seems neither odd nor fitting. It is. It likely means her birthdays have been a flurry of black and orange, costume parties and over-sweet cakes. Emily does not think the Cultist would mind these things. In fact, after her extensive research into things Halloween, she has made home-made chocolate peanut butter truffles for the Cultist. She's also made cut-out cookies in the shape of pumpkins, dozens of them, and royal icing in brilliant orange and greens. She's collected candy corn for eyes, and various sweets to make mouths and noses, and put them all together in a cookie-decorating-kit for Molly's upcoming party, complete with instructions on how to re-wet the icing.
But these are silliness and sweets. There's also a small-form book, wrapped in white fabric, tied with a silver ribbon. This, when opened, is a book all about teas, tea-taking practices, tea-growing practices, the tea-trade and some customs that survive to today. Molly had been curious about it when they last saw each other, and sometimes it's nice to have something more tangible than the Great Google's search results page. There's also a ceramic mug, painted green and with raised paint to look and feel like PCBA traces. And a collection of small jars of different tea types.
All of this is handed over in a couple carrier bags to Molly, with a loft of Emily's eyebrow and a slight smirk. There's no Happy Birthday! to speak of, but as she goes through the cloth bags, Emily is sure Molly will figure it out. The Singer is dressed in something more business-like that Molly is used to seeing. She's in a slight heel, dress slacks, a pressed shirt. Her jacket and scarf coordinate. Somehow this ensemble makes her messenger bag look a little smarter.
Emily also has two very strongly steeped Chai tea. They're in one of those cardboard-ish carrier trays. The scent will reach Molly before she has time to ask after them.
"I like what you've done with the place," she says, and it's genuine. It reads true. She accents it with a lookabout, noting the HabitTrail installments with a smile. "And my day's been like my week, exhausting. I tell you, there's something about this time of year that drives everyone a little bit mad, don't you think?"
There's a slightly rueful expression, but no wry chuckle. Emily is a little subdued, slightly frayed for all she is so very carefully kept on the outside.
[Molly Quincannon] It'd be hard to explain to Emily that Molly's birthdays are best known for the arguments ("No, Mom, I am not going as some Disney princess; I wanna be Bumblebee! The Transformer, not the insect! I know I'm a girl; I don't care!" and so on. Until she gave up and started saving up her allowance for her own Halloween costume every year) and being ignored by her peers in favour of class Halloween parties until college, when it was all about the drinking. She'd never tell, though. The people who know that Molly had a singularly unhappy childhood can be counted on the fingers of one hand. That was then; this is now, and she enjoys Halloween, and that's the end of it.
"Thank you," she says, gesturing the tidy Singer towards the poofy red loveseat (the least ratty of her living chairs, in deference to her outfit) in an offer of seating, and prods in the bag with a bright-eyed curiosity that would put her ferrets to shame. "I had so much fun putting that all together. They've got a sleeping area in the bedroom-workshop, food spot in the kitchen and it dumps out to their litter box in the bathroom. So how's the kitten whose name I don't know yet but would really like to? Has she--- Oooh, cookies. Oh, man, those smell awesome. I will not eat them all before the party but it will be a chore, I can tell you; I don't suppose I'm lucky enough that you included the recipe?" She blinks and takes her head out of the bag, not quite having got to the non-edible (but in some cases drinkable) presents yet but being sidetracked by questions. "Ahem. Right. Sorry; has she eaten your cables? I'm sure she hasn't because you'd have called to yell if she had, but I thought I'd ask."
[Emily Littleton] Having a conversation with Molly is a bit like how Emily imagines playing paintball might go. If you hold still, even for an instant, some brightly colored (and thus seemingly imminently avoidable) topic would run smack into your midsection. You'd be marked by that surprised expression and dismay. Of course, Molly would have a semi-automatic paintball gun, capable of delivering multiple colors of questions all in one bit flurry.
She's getting used to it. She's also too tired, just now, for it to bother her much.
"An's doing well, thanks. She doesn't seem to want to eat cables as much as she's claimed the rocking chair and refuses to share." There is fondness in this, the way she speaks of the kitten. And note, please, that this is quite possibly the first time the rocking chair has been the rocking chair, not Owen's rocking chair. It will progress, quickly, into An's chair. The kitten is usurping the other Singer in her home. "She's made a mess of the pillow I kept there, but it's better for her to ruin one silk than the whole flat."
Emily's lack of concern for her material things may read as indifference. It's actually a measure of pragmatism. Small creatures wreak havoc -- kittens, puppies, ferrets, children -- it's to be expected. If contained to acceptable losses, she won't complain.
"I'll scan and email you the recipes when I get home," Emily says, her smile warming a little. "Though I won't be able to make the party, I'm sorry to say. A friend of mine asked me to help with his daughter's birthday outing -- two pre-teens to one adult is not really a fair ratio -- this weekend. I get to go trick-or-treating. Should I be worried about that?"
She's giving herself a hard time, and Emily's mouth and eyes are touched with mischief for it. As little as Emily knows about Molly's childhood, Molly knows likewise little about Emily's. Now, though, she knows that the Briton has not dressed up in costume and gone house-to-house on any previous 31st of October.
[Molly Quincannon] Molly gives the question serious consideration, for all it was spoken in teasing self-deprecation. "Depends on the area," she finally says. "Suburbs a complaint-worthy commute from cities are best. If it's a short bus-jaunt, you'll have teenagers who don't bother to dress up harrassing people and tee-peeing the houses or worse. But then again, you're awesome and can handle yourself, so I'm not worried." She blinks and looks over at her front door with a frown. "I ... wonder if anyone's going to even try trick-or-treating at my place."
Then she smiles. "Glad that you and An are getting along and that you don't want to make furry slippers out of her or anything. She really did just ... seem like she'd be a good match for you when I was out and--"
She's been nosing through the other bag, and untied the ribbon on the book-shaped parcel, and ... instant silence for a moment. "Oooooooh..." She flips through the book just to get a quick feel of it, beaming. "Thank you! My bookshelf wasn't feeling nearly eclectic enough and sometimes Google points to websites made of fail!"
[Emily Littleton] "We're going up to Madison, apparently," Emily says, as if a car trip of that magnitude was negligible in her life. There's a little shrug. She finally settles in the red chair, and pulls one of the chai teas free of the holder. The other is left for Molly on whatever passes as an end or coffee table.
The tea is unsweetened, and has just a touch of milk. Molly will want to prepare it to her own tastes. Emily, today, takes hers strong and without honey.
"You're welcome! I thought you might want some IRL bookmarks to go along with your search returns." There's a smirk, here. Emily doesn't often show it, but she's earned her geek stripes. She can blend in in most social circles, but the geekery is a natural undercurrent. A thing unfeigned.
"And she's sweet, An is. She's helping. It's been a rough week, and there's something nice about coming home to an unconditionally loving unrelenting ball of fur that does not take no as an answer to plaintive cries for cuddles."
[Molly Quincannon] "Oh?"
Molly looks up from her cooing over her new mug, and her sip of chai (which gets an involuntary face pulled; Molly likes things sweetened, and will be going for honey in a moment) and looks over at Emily, evidently concerned. Of course, vague statements the likes of 'a rough week' are going to tweak Molly's curiosity even if her affection for Emily didn't draw out her 'how-can-I-help?' instincts. So even as she smiles at the mental image provided by the comments about plaintive cries for cuddles by unconditionally loving ball of fur, she still looks concerned. "I realise that asking 'is everything okay?' would be really stupid if you're copping to having a rough week, so I think I'll stick with, 'why the hard week?' ...I mean ... well, I guess I just mean I'm here if you want to talk. I'm not an unconditionally loving unrelenting ball of fur, but ... y'know, sometimes having a human to vent to helps."
[Emily Littleton] "You know," Emily says, with an odd cant to her smile and a small what can you do shrug. "Sometimes I think that He forgets we're only human, under all of this magery and magic."
She sips from her tea again. The spices come across almost as savory without the sweetness of honey. Cinnamon tastes sharper, and decidedly woody. Most days she would sweeten it, too; most days she would need to. Today was not one of those.
"And I don't want to get too far into it. Suffice to say that the details, well, they'd easily be triggers for someone like you or me. I think other people forget that, sometimes, as we try to deal with one another or help one another. So Nico, that friend of mine you met at the park? He went off-grid last weekend and I, being quite the fool, went looking for him. Found him, and Owen, who, by-the-by has been in town for a bit and just not coming 'round to say hello, at Mercy, in ICU. But that's not the whole of things, no, far be it for our lives to ever be that simple," sarcasm, it's a deft and delicate thing when wielded by the Singer.
"The things that happened while they were away? Ashley thinks they may have Jhor. And, since Owen's cabal and Nico might as well be, Chuck and I are responsible for them. Which is wonderful. So I've spent all of my freetime this week coordinating efforts to get Nico well and out of hospital, and learning about death taint -- at least it's seasonally appropriate, I suppose -- and now I'm going to try and not feel guilty for going out of town for the weekend. If I stay, I think, I might implode."
Her voice has stayed very level, almost matter-of-fact calm as she rattles off the litany. Hey, Molly wanted to know. Emily has it handled, apparnetly, she's called in the cavalry, mustered whatever forces she needed to, but these things take their toll, even on those trusted to be Emissaries and spokespeople. The reluctant Diplomat is now abandoning her post for a weekend away, where wrangling small sugared-up children will be a break for her sanity.
She's also just as capable as Molly of info-flooding a conversation. She just usually chooses not to.
[Molly Quincannon] One thing that has to be said for Molly; as much as she talks, she also really listens, particularly when it's important. Which it clearly is now. As Emily talks, Molly listens, and takes in the implications, and after Emily has finished speaking, Molly sits for a moment and considers and analyses her own thoughts on the whole matter, not because she's at a loss for words but because she wants to say the right thing, or at least not entirely the wrong thing.
Molly listens; she doesn't just wait for her turn to talk.
When she's listened and considered, she says, "You have nothing to feel guilty about. We're all guilty of forgetting that we're human, given the ... erm, optional extras, or whatever? And however strong we are, we can't keep it up indefinitely. We all need to recharge, and if getting out of town for a weekend will recharge you, then ... for their sakes as well as your own, do it. When I wasn't at my best, Nat pushed herself too hard and the resulting mess nearly cost us our friendship and our respective sanities. You're doing a smart thing, and the best thing for all concerned. And," she adds, with a sheepish little shrug, "I'd offer being company for those two, or at least to check in on them, while you're away, but I'm not sure how either of them would take that. Only time I met Owen, properly? He kind of ran away. Though the cupcake might have been responsible."
Then she sighs and, abandoning the chai for a moment, leans over and puts a hand on Emily's shoulder - briefly, and lightly, but a show of support nonetheless. "I ... don't know a lot about Jhor, I admit - a few bits of gossip, nothing more - but ... you and Chuck will help them through. I'll help if I can, and if you want me to. Even if it's just to come by and ... y'know, vent or have some time off or both. 'Kay?"
Then she frowns as a thought occurs to her. It's not that she's not curious about what happened to both boys, but it seems that Emily doesn't want to go there and her curiosity can be bent in another direction: "How does looking for Nico make you a fool? He's your friend; you were worried about him. He looked awful after the last time he went off-grid and ... surely it's not foolish to go looking for him if he's your friend and you were worried..."
[Emily Littleton] "Honestly, I think the best thing you can do is to be there for Chuck, who hates dealing with all of this. He's trying so hard to be everyone's best friend, that I sometimes think he forgets to be his own best friend too. If you can give him something to do other than worry -- or fret, or hack -- that would probably go further than trying to give the dynamic duo any direct support."
She rolls her eyes a little, but the warmth Molly's shown her has not gone amiss. It helps. It small steps, but it helps. Just like the kitten does.
"And I've been plenty a fool. Usually I don't tip toe into illegal waters, at least not technologically, but yours truly forced the issue a little with hospital servers to find him. And yes, I covered my ass. Thoroughly."
Most of what Emily does falls under subtle guises. And she's used all of those subtler guises this week, too. She's lied her ass off. To people of all walks of life. It's a delicate and exhausting thing.
"Maybe, when I'm back from Madison, you can tell me all about the party. And what your bravest of the brave trick-or-treaters were dressed like?" Emily hazards. "And at some point this Winter, I'll be presenting my research project. If you want to be geekly support, I wouldn't mind the cheering section."
[Molly Quincannon] Molly takes that suggestion on board, then nods with a smile. "That, I can handle. If Chuck can't remember to be his own best friend, I'll have to pick up his slack, won't I?" She's teasing, but ... well, that's her prerogative. All the same, there's concern for Chuck as well - it's just not as immediate. Emily's sitting right here, after all. Chuck, she'll see tomorrow.
The mention of the trace via not-quite-legal means gets an impressed sort of look, but no direct comment. After all, Molly is the last person to be judgemental about someone else's hacking, and Emily probably doesn't want questions about the backdoors into the hospital records system or anything like congratulations. All she says is, "I never thought you wouldn't have covered your ass. You're not a reckless freak like little old me, are you?" And that's the end of that.
The hazarding gets a smile and a nod. "Actually, I'll be over at Chuck's celebrating my actual birthday for some of it," she says, "so maybe it's not so bad that people will steer clear of this place. I'll tell you what the kids think of whatever Chuck does for decorating, though, and who made my top ten best costumes. And I'd love to be geekly cheerleader. I can make pom-poms out of strands of fibre-optic cable! Just tell me when and where."
[Emily Littleton] "Oh, that's not even what I meant," Emily says, when Molly calls herself a reckless freak. There's a good-natured eyeroll to go with it, too. But no, Emily also does not want to exhange trade secrets, or pretend that she does this as more than an emergency means to an end.
But she had to learn some how, and given the places she's grown up there's likely no good story to tell about how and when.
"Thanks, Molly. And, really, I didn't come here to dump. I wanted to bring birthday cheer and sugar -- which, I sense is never remiss in this household. And I'll let you know when the committee picks a date, time and room. It'll be on campus, though. Probably in the dark, dank halls of the engineering department. They reserve the shiny conference rooms for graduating doctorates," she winks a little. "Not us poor Master's candidates who just want approval to go spend grant money on our hunches."
[Molly Quincannon] Molly greets the good-natured eyeroll with a laugh. "Hey, I know that's not what you meant, but I own my shit, y'know? I am a reckless freak. I'm learning, but Rome wasn't built in a day. It burned in one, but that's a whole other kettle of miscellaneous swimming things. Suffice it to say that if I can't laugh at myself, who can I laugh at?"
Then she shrugs and gives a sympathetic smile. "Look, I don't mind you dumping, mmkay? And it's not just to feed the maw of insatiable curiosity, either, because ... y'know, it's not like I view this as gossip or anything." (That is, quite obviously, to say I am not going to talk about this, even if provoked.) "It's just that ... y'know, I consider you a friend, and as such, I want you to be as well as you can be. Sometimes that means dumping. So dump away. I have broad shoulders and infectious good humour."
Then, utter change of subject, and a giggle at the wink. "I don't mind on-campus, and dank, dark halls can be dealt with. Ah, engineering departments, I remember them well and almost miss them. Or at least I miss the redecorating with LED displays and then claiming that it's my mid-term project. Speaking of, what is your project that requires such approval?"
[Emily Littleton] Emily's smile gentles and broadens.
"Oh, I've been with this lab most of my undergraduate years. So I'm working on my Master's project, in conjunct with my last year of undergrad. But since I have a couple years of independent research already, the department's willing to sign off on more money, provided the abstract should be publishable at the end."
Eyebrow waggle.
"Access to grant money means so many more LEDs. It's also made a bit of a butt of my labmate, who thinks I'm not committed to the research since I have other, off-campus studies. We've moved desks, even, so that his cube isn't next to mine. All very mature. It certainly puts the Chantry shenanigans in perspective."
Another eyeroll.
"But all of that," she gestures inclusively, "And all of the usual Awake-and-perennially-under-assualt drama, paired with this boy trouble -- Aiya. I understand why some members of the Chorus go Hermit and Monk. Aside from the fantastic kung-fu overtones," laughter, here, in her expression, "I think fewer people might make life infinitely simpler. Or at least that I'll be smarter about boys in a few years' time."
[Molly Quincannon] Molly chuckles. "For the record? No one ever gets smarter about boys. There's always going to be drama, there's always going to be complications, and maybe fewer people might make life easier, but it'd make life harder too, I figure. The constantly-under-assault bit, in particular, would be way harder if there weren't other people. And this is me saying it." Sheepish, eye-rolling grin. As she says, she owns her shit. "All the same, I guess it's less being smarter and learning from the big issues so that they get put into some kind of context. I mean ... it's just guys. It's sad when stuff is going weird or they're being difficult or life is making the pairing difficult or whatever, but all in perspective? It's either worth fighting and ... I guess evolving for, the relationship, or it isn't, and either way it's not the end of the world. It's kind of nice, though, to know that we can still consider that kind of stuff the end of the world, even though we see preludes to the real thing on a quasi-regular basis."
Then, different kind of eye-roll. "Oh, man, your labmate sounds like such a Scrooge. I mean, there is life outside labs! Is it wrong that I want to prank him?"
[Emily Littleton] "I think I'm giving up on Owen, a little bit," Emily tells Molly. There's a wistfulness to it, and a sadness, but it does not linger. Emily is describing a symptom, not the root cause. "And if he's ill, it's entirely the wrong time for it and -- oh, no, I'm not looking for sympathy, or even really advice I just, had to said aloud, you know, to someone who wasn't invested one way or another. I remember being happy, and I care for him, and that's not it at all it's just -- I don't think I'm patient enough, or gentle enough, or sure enough to wait, to keep waiting knowing he's here and hasn't come by, to just find him, like that, at Nico's bedside."
She exhales. Everything tastes of chai just now.
"I get that there's difficult pairings. I just also, wonder, if sometimes things are frictional because they're not at all right for one another."
She glances at Molly.
"Don't prank the labmate, please." There's patience underlying, this, though. "He's new to the group an uncertain. And not at all used to being outdone by a girl."
[Molly Quincannon] The look Molly gives Emily ... clearly, she knows where Emily is. She's been there, it seems - whether it was with Chuck or someone else, she has been there. There's more than sympathy (because that can be taken for pity, and what is written in big friendly letters on Molly's face is nothing like pity); it's empathy. "I know," she says, and that might actually be an understatement. "It sucks and it's hard, I know. You've got to do what makes you happy and comfortable. Sometimes friction ... is. Only you can decide whether it's worth it. So no advice or anything; just ... y'know, friend-comfort and if you ever need one of those girlie nights with chocolate or gummy frogs or tissues or silliness or whatever ... tell me, okay?" She's not going to push - she knows how self-contained Emily is (or tries to be), but she wants that offer out there, on the table - a gift, freely given, and she won't be offended if it's not accepted. It's there, and it's not going away, that offer. If Emily needs Molly, Molly will be there. End of statement.
Then the bit about the labmate, and the wrinkle of nose that's amusement rather than disgust or anything - her cute-grin-mischief face. "Oh, all right, since the request is coming from you. Doesn't stop me wanting to. And to be honest, the whole thing about not used to being outdone by a girl? That only makes the wanting a little worse. But that's just my damage, y'know? Too many years being told by peers, teachers and even parents that I can't do anything that requires a brain because I'm a guuuuuurl. Y'know, 'Oh, you can't take advanced math classes even though your grades seem to back it up and maybe we'll let you just because you've browbeaten the guidance counsellor into it' and 'Why would you want to touch a car engine? That's a man's work!' and 'The only reason you should want college is to get your MRS'..."
She realises she's ranting, and sounding more bitter by the second, and shakes her head, chuckling at herself. "Sorry," she says. "Like I say, my damage entirely. Mostly I'm over it. Not like I didn't prove the nitwits wrong, huh?" It probably explains a lot about Molly, that whole tirade - the frantic need to do something, to prove something, to never be seen as anything less than capable.
[Emily Littleton] "I appreciate it. And I'm sure I'll need it, sooner or later, probably when Mr. Page decides it's time to remember he has friends again. He's going to be all sorts of lovely to deal with when he meets Jarod." Another eyeroll. It seems to be the expression of the day. And Emily thinking about marrying those two personalities into a single conversation can do nothing but thank God for the distinct opportunity to polish her damned social skills.
Clearly, that's the only thing He might have had in mind for her, giving her these two men in her life at any given moment.
"I don't plan on being any less amazing around the labmate. He'll have to deal. But I don't plan on rubbing his nose in it either. I don't know his background, or his damage per se. Maybe he has reasons for being an ass. If he can overcome them, that's enough for me."
[Molly Quincannon] The bit about Owen meeting Jarod gets one of those looks - the sort that presages the need to make popcorn and book tickets. "Seriously. Those two. In a room. Together. Seriously? I mean, the guy who ran away from me when I was bearing a cupcake and the guy who offered to compare tattoos? That ... just ... I should not be there when that happens. I would not be able to keep my mouth shut. Curious as I am, I should not be there." Then a thought occurs, and she eyes Emily, thoughtful. There was a lot of flirting from Jarod, after all, and now Emily is ... well. "Your taste in men is wide-ranging and I can only salute you," is all she says. After all, it's not as if she really responded to any of the flirting.
The bit about the labmate gets a shrug. "Hey, whatever his damage is, he's your issue to deal with. I wasn't really serious about the pranking. I can wish and daydream, but you're way more charitable than I might be. Personally, I'd be all up trying to find out his reasons for being an ass. But ... well, that's just me, I guess. I probably wouldn't make many friends doing that." She grins. "I'm glad my labmates at college weren't like that, though. I lucked out."
[Emily Littleton] "Oh, I should not be there either," Emily says, and the laughter reaches her eyes a little. It tastes of mischief, is a dark thing, a warm thing, a place she rarely dabbles with other mages. It's been pulled forward, along with a host of bad behaviors, throughout October. "If only I were gifted enough to watch, from afar, like the eye of Sauron..."
Oh yes, Emily just said that. It was paired with a wicked smirk.
"And, thank you, I think. Mind, things between Jarod and I were a long time ago, and not many know of it."
[Molly Quincannon] Molly winces, chuckles and tosses one of her text-speak-speech-bubble cushions (one that reads LOL) at Emily, giggling, "Oh, don't! I am that way gifted and the temptation would just be too much! Also, you're very welcome, and don't worry about it; I know I come across as the world's worst gossip but I don't really go around talking about other people's relationships unless it's a matter of ... y'know, security or something. Like ... oh great Google, Nat living with Lara now. I just ... I'm trying not to make a deal of that, but given the whole deal with Lara, and how she threw the last person she had who was as devoted to her as Nat is under the proverbial bus..." She shakes her head, manages a smile. "All that to say, I don't always meddle or spread other people's business. So 'things between Jarod and you' will stay a not-many-know-it thing, seriously." She chuckles. "Probably just as well. The man comes across feline but he's a hound, seriously. Nice enough, but..."
[Emily Littleton] "He's viciously self-interested," Emily agrees. "I never forget it." There's no bite to that, it may even come off with a good-natured affection for the Verbena. But the comments about Nat and Lara bring about a bit of a wince.
"Oooh, I don't envy you that one. Staying out of the middle of anything that involves Lara seems best practice, but I was edgy and irritated when she stayed with Chuck, so I can see how you feel about her and Natyana."
And that, too, would stay quiet until it was absolutely necessary to disclose it. Emily was not Fort Knox when it came to information, but she was often something very close.
"To headaches in the guises of close personal friends," she says, and lifts her tea a little in salute. "I'm beginning to think we ought to take over Chuck's consoles sometime soon and just skin the faces of all the annoying people onto zombies or something. It'd be so cathartic."
[Molly Quincannon] That last from Emily gets a full-throated laugh. "We don't need Chuck's consoles for that! He's got me buying the damn things and tweaking them. The only reason they're not out here is because I'm ... erm, improving them. The three-sixty is going to be red-ring-of-death-proof by the time I'm done with it, I swear. How do they let consoles out with such crappy quality anyway? Oh, right, money." She rolls her eyes. "No pride in workmanship anymore. Feh."
The bit about Jarod gets a smile. "Eh, he's not the only one, with the vicious self-interest. He strikes me as ... a different sort of self-interested than the kind that worries me, though. I dunno why. Just a feeling." She has, in fact, seen genuine emotion from Jarod that she has never seen from the people who she'd label 'viciously self-interested', so perhaps that's it ... but that's Jarod's information to disclose or not as he sees fit, that one flicker when he heard about Daiyu. "Anyway, he at least seems friendlier than that Vito ass, and there ought to be laws about guys that attractive."
[Emily Littleton] "There definitely should be," Emily agrees. Ruefully. Perhaps remembering how it was that she fell in with that particular man round about this time last year. Oh, well then, that faint blush that stains her cheeks and nose and ears confirms a little more than Emily otherwise would have.
"I just... ah..." Emily stops short, is quizzically quiet for a long moment, then continues. "Don't fall into thinking he's safe. He is a special sort of something that's for sure, but he can be ruthless. In an unfairly gorgeous sort of way."
A little exhale.
"Do you see, though? Regardless of what happens, Owen's going to be a little furious about Jarod. And Jarod will only take that as an invitation to push buttons because he can. I think I'm going to move back to China, and not tell either of them. True story; it seems like the simplest answer." There's a bit of laughter underscoring this worry, but moving is something Em's given a bit of thought to.
[Molly Quincannon] Molly wrinkles her nose again, amused and concerned. "Oh, don't go moving to China. I'd miss you. Just hide out here. It's not like either of them can come in without my say-so, with wards and electrified doors and all, and you can screen calls. And we can stand on the roof and throw water balloons at them if they make trouble. Or I have a Super Soaker. One of the big ones with the backpack water tanks." She's kidding. Mostly.
The rest gets the shrug. "Oh, I'm not going to snuggle up and be comfortable and share my deepest darkest with Jarod. But I'm not going to go around being too-wary-to-be-allowed with him either. Everybody deserves a chance, and just because I'm not going to come anywhere near the perfect-trust deal until or unless he earns it doesn't mean I'm going to treat him like a ... a panther escaped from the zoo. I think that's kind of what he wants, y'know? And I'm not going to buy into the image when the man's more interesting. In an unfairly gorgeous and potentially dangerous sort of way. Besides," she adds with a small grin, "if something goes wrong and he ever hurts me? I can just vent my spleen on unfairly gorgeous zombies. Or punch him in the nose. Or sic Nat on him. I love my overprotective HellPopple cabalmate."
[Emily Littleton] Emily rolled her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. The thought of throwing a water balloon or aiming a Super Soaker at Jarod was, it was, she couldn't ... it was almost too perfect for words. It's the sort of thing Emily would never do. Like goading him into playing football in the park at night in the mud in that lovely perfect white shirt of his.
Hee.
And the thought of doing the same to Owen, now that Owen wasn't carefully wrapped in the mental gauze of all her good intentions. It was. Well, it was slightly less gleeful, but still rang through as devilishly appealing. Why did the summer have to be over, already? Threats of snow made poor timing for water fights.
"If only unprovoked assaults with water cannons did not result in so very much explaining later...." Wistful.
The thought of Jarod hurting Molly pulled something at the back of Emily's neck tight again. She exhaled a little and closed her eyes for a moment. "Well, let us hope that a weekend away smooths everyone's rough edges. Speaking of, though, I'd best go pack. I've been all sorts of pressed for time this week, but I did want to make sure you got a proper happy birthday, and something sweet for your party."
[Molly Quincannon] It's rare that Emily shows amusement so evidently (even though it's not necessarily that evident to most, she knows Emily), so Molly feels quite privileged and proud that she's got Emily so close to laughing over the mental image. That had, of course, been most of the intention. "I don't need explanations," she tells Emily, beaming broadly. "I am a Cultist. People expect me to do unbelievably stupid shit for no good reason but my own amusement. It's that or wait for actual winter and then lob snowballs at them from the roof."
At the comment that Emily needs to pack, Molly nods, though there's another light touch of the Singer's shoulder when her neck tightens a bit - a sort of reassurance. Molly can, of course, take care of herself, but it's still nice that someone cares. It does for a hug, as well; she's never entirely sure, is Molly, how much of a hugging-person Emily is. "I really do appreciate it, Emily; I needed the break anyway. Now I can go back to the code-from-hell I have to debug fortified by tea in a truly awesome mug! Safe travels, and cuddles and ear-scritches for An on my behalf, okay? And remember to give me a call when you know when I get to be all Dallas Cowgirls for your presentation."
She sees Emily to the door, of course - there's manners in her, sometimes - and barring further comment, the two geek girls are left to go about the rest of their days.
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