Somebody's Hero Now and Then

[Molly Quincannon] Despite the 'whatever the hell is going on with them' between Chuck and Molly, she, at least, has kept in a certain amount of contact. Mostly it's been whispers in WoW and @-tweets, on random topics when something she thinks might amuse him pops into her head; the sort of thing you do with people you're friendly with, one way or another. There have been texts and emails, but they're rarer, generally for the stuff like "Technocracy's pissed; watch your back" and other more mage-related stuff. But it's been awhile since those - she sent them just after the hit on the Technocracy stronghold, and that was three weeks ago. The last communication he got from Molly was an @-tweet reminding him that Being Human is back on Sunday.

Sunday comes (after she missed what Chuck vaguely remembers was a raid she'd been looking forward to, incidentally - buzz from her guild says she called in sick) and he gets a text:

The universe hates me. Seriously. Hates me and wants me to suffer. 1 little subway tunnel and it's back behind the woodshed for Sister Q.

Then another:

Ever dug through the local dump with literal head-to-toe bruises?

And finally:

Did I get around to showing you the new ForceFeed hands-free? Turns out it's hella useful.

So it might be worth a visit, all that to say.

[Chuck Carmichael] Chuck's been keeping busy, but like Molly, he's kept up a certain amount of contact - he's friendly, however abysmal he may be at anything more than a slightly-more-than-acquaintance level friendship. So there've been whispers in WoW, and random @-tweets and the like, much like Molly's provided. It's what one does, after all, when one has friends.

This string of texts, though, reaches him when he's doing something - first gets a raised eyebrow and a concerned, commiserating text back. Second gets amusement, third gets, You sound bored. Dinner and social hour? I'll grab carry-out of your choice. And then, assuming an affirmative answer, of course, he's on his way, stopping for said carry-out, and ultimately ringing the bell at the repurposed and remodeled garage.

[Molly Quincannon] The affirmative answer given ("Pizza would be great; I am in no shape to toss dough right now." Though she's been digging through the local scrapyard. Interesting), Molly does whatever it is one does at moments like these when there's a wait to be had, and answers the door when it rings. It's very cold outside, but her repurposed garage is warm, so there's a Blue Sun T-shirt and, as advertised, a lot of bruises, in that stage where their purple is shading towards dark brown, and thus healing. Still, given that the said bruises cover visible forearms and creep up her neck (and heaven only knows where else - she did say literally head-to-toe, and clearly she wasn't indulging in hyperbole), it's got to hurt.

Still, she seems cheerful enough, if a little slow and limpy in her movements. "Come in, before I have a Chuck-sicle on my front lawn ... erm. Parking lot." Ushering him in, she adds, "There's coffee on the end table; yours is the Tron mug. How's tricks?"

[Chuck Carmichael] And so there he is with pizza in hand, and drawn inside - actually seeing the bruises (and the difficulty of movement) gets a higher raised eyebrow and more concern, though he doesn't bother to ask if she's alright; it's fairly obvious that she's getting better, at least, and company seems to be alleviating at least some of the boredom he'd read into her textual 'tone'.

The nod towards the coffee gets a grin as he sets down the pizza where it's indicated he should before he moves to claim a seat near it (not a beanbag or Molly's favorite, but something comfy nonetheless). "Tricks are alright. You know, more or less the same as always, with all break throughs, bright spots and pits of despair that go along with striving for more. What were you trying to do in this subway tunnel, hmm? No offense, but you look like hell."

[Molly Quincannon] "Well, it wasn't like anything but Umbral nasty was using it," Molly says with a wry smirk as she settles herself in what most know by now is 'her' spot - the ratty armchair, which she has at some point reupholstered with purple velvety material. "You know I tend to go ferreting around in those disused tunnels and built-over buildings that Jim Butcher described as Undertown - little did he know, frankly - because some of the weird comes out of there and eats the locals. Well, Ellie and I went down there a couple-three days ago and ran into this ... hell, I dunno what it was, but it greatly enjoyed fucking with us and had killed a good hundred-odd of Chicago's homeless over the last however-long. Probably decades at least. So we went in, got dicked with, blew up one of its ... power centres, tethers to the 'here', whatever ... then collapsed the tunnel leading to that spot so it couldn't get out and no one else could get in. I figure it'll either go insane all alone down there or starve to death. Can't say I mind either way, as long as it's not terrorising people. Thing is, though, that the kerboom got me some bruised - Paradox and falling masonry - and then everything went wrong. Hence, the universe hates me. Hates me and wants me to suffer. I know Adepts who don't get bitch-slapped by Paradox this much."

[Chuck Carmichael] There's wry then, amused. "I know Adepts who are a lot less likely to go looking for trouble, for the most part. And if that thing goes crazy . . . wouldn't it affect the space around it? There was a club, once . . ." He shudders, looks disturbed and disgusted briefly, then shrugs. "Still, shut off is better than what was going on. Anything I can do other than say that Tiger Balm always helps me when I'm stiff and sore?"

[Molly Quincannon] "Nah, I'm good, thanks." She's clearly appreciative of the concern. "Ellie suggested that and a few other things - arnica and some other stuff I'd never even heard of. Man, though, she was right when she said we ought to buy stock in Novartis because of how we'd always make sure Excedrin was in high demand, the way we use it. I should be less stiff by tomorrow, anyway. Hope so, at least." This could be about anything - a raid, bojutsu class, just fed up with the ow-ow-ow ... but it doesn't entirely sound that way. Sounds bigger.

She deals with the rest rather than following up on that, though. "Yeah, I remember about the club. That was just before you and Riley came through for a three-pronged hack of that Talix site." (It was also, therefore, just before the first time they had sex. She's not bringing that up.) "But I dunno. It was pretty deep underground, and didn't seem to involve a whole lot of up. Plus, different kind of screwing with people. Think anxiety dreams; nightmares. But yeah, settled now. And as to the trouble thing? Hey; it's what I do." It's easier than saying I want to be somebody's hero now and then. Maybe Chuck knows that about her, maybe not. Few really dig that deep.

[Chuck Carmichael] Most people have some bit of that longing to be a hero - Chuck does, in his own way, though he'd rather his own part in most things be known to few. Other people can have the limelight. All that said, Chuck has seen this, yes, though he hasn't asked about it. All of this, though, leaves him smirking about her remembering the time-line better than he does; he remembers they happened at about the same time, but not if he told her about it then (or if someone else did) and so on.

"Glad it's all settled, anyway. What's going on tomorrow that you want to be all online a hundred percent for? I mean, not that all systems being go isn't better for how you look like you feel now, it just sounds like you've got something going on."

[Molly Quincannon] "Well, if I'm not lucky, nothing," is her initial response to the question. "There's some stuff going on, like I told you in email, and I've got a project. It's going to involve some esoteric stuff that's mostly relying on a skill set that almost no one else has in conjunction, so it's ... me, y'know?" She shrugs. "So if it goes well, I'll get what I'm after. If it doesn't ... I'll get a few more bruises and maybe another nosebleed. Viva la Paradox, hmm?"

Then she grins a little. "Anyway. Thoughts for later. For now, I promised I'd show you my voice activation stuff for ForceFeed. 'Cos I noticed how sometimes, having to pull a bit of tech out of your pocket and fiddle with it just isn't entirely feasible. Y'know, someone might think you were drawing a weapon, or there's just no time. The coding was kind of fun, particularly the voice recognition stuff and setting the pass-phrases. Check it." Out comes the Eee-PC, her portable hack-box, and it begins.

She might never teach him Time again, but Forces is an entirely different kettle of fish. Particularly not when there's some kick-ass code (which still probably looks to Chuck like it ought to fry her iPhone beyond any hope of repair, and yet...) and some nifty alterations made to a bone conduction earpiece microphone to show off. Which she does before moving on to less esoteric conversation about Being Human and some new Korean headfuck horror movie she downloaded and ... normal stuff.