Inching back to calm

[glass_beddau]

[Up at the Diabolique]
[Just late enough to start to relax]Quiet night, not leading into the weekend; I dressed down as much as I could without standing out, dim jewelry and low heels and a quiet table aside from the door

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[oscar_merton]

I don't know where I'm going until I'm there, head on the steering wheel and there's music and a man saying something, asking me something. "What?"

"Do you want to valet your car, sir?"

"Oh." I laugh, for some reason, I don't know why, and stumble out of the car. My keys, my keys are somewhere-- I look up and the car's pulling away. Right.

I'm at the Diabolique.

Good. That's good. Appropriate, even. Somehow.

I find the bar and I've had two shots before I bother turn around. I don't... I don't want to be alone, I realize. The room is full and it takes a while, blinking in the low light, to catch him sitting alone, whoever he is. I don't care.

"Send him a drink," I tell the bartender, before I can change my mind.

"Who do you mean, sir?"

I turn around again, to point him out, and stop. "Never mind." I laugh, again, just a little. "Her. Send it to her."

[glass_beddau]

And another drink comes, and when the waitress gestures to the bar I look over and--

That odd light-as-air feeling, when you can feel the blood as it drains from your head. The dimness of the room looks odd; flat-painted, rather than shadows cast, and when I reach up to touch my face it's a moment before I can count my own fingertips.

And then the anger comes, bright and grounding. Hitch the corners of my mouth into a smile, set the drink down in front of me instead of measuring out how thick the stem of the glass is, how sharp it could be if I broke it. In the back of my mind, there's an old woman frozen and stiff with a rosary in her hands, and the smell of varnish in a courtroom.

Oh, fuck you, honey. This is my night out.

Raise an eyebrow and wave at him, at the chair next to me. Come along, then.

[oscar_merton]

I'm smiling when I go over, breathless and dizzy but grinning. I turn the chair around so that I can rest my chin on the back when I sit down. "Wondered if I'd see anyone tonight," I say, looking at her. She looks... Different. Normal, I guess. Anyone could see her and think she's just a normal woman. A person.

I shake my head. "No. It's good. It's wonderful." I wave for the waitress. "We will drink together," and it doesn't matter that I've just sent one over, no, that's not the same. "A toast. Hmm?" My smile falters, just for a second, looking at her then. "Yes? Let's have a drink. One drink. Then I'll go."

[glass_beddau]

...what the ever-loving hell on a bacon sandwich.

Nod to the waitress, because if she goes to get a drink then this conversation can at least be closer to private, and pick up my drink, and look at him.

"Mister Merton," which is odd, with him sitting backwards on the chair, and now I'm not thinking process server, with the neat dress and the smile and the casual settling in I'm thinking high school prom, "what--" in the bleeding name of Christ-- "were you thinking you and I would toast?"

[oscar_merton]

"That's not a bad start," she says, somehow managing to get the waitresses attention. A drink, finally, though that doesn't make it all right, no. Now that I know the woman was ignoring me.

"You should try a Prairie Fire, if you haven't?"

"I... Okay." Somewhere along the way this has changed, somewhere along the way I forgot why I was here. I feel a little lost, for a moment, looking at her and wondering why we're sitting together, why she's talking to me at all.

I wonder if she called him. I don't know how, I was here, so I would have seen her call him. But I wonder it, all the same. She would be polite to me, yes, if she knew he was on the way.

The thought doesn't make me leave.

"You will have one with me," I say, when the waitress comes over.

[glass_beddau]

"I... Okay." Hesitant, and then he just looks at me for a minute, but doesn't get up to leave. Which I could work with if he did, but okay.

"Something wrong?"

"You will have one with me."

"You're much pleasanter when you're asking rather than telling, you know that?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "But yes. I was looking to settle up," I add to the waitress, "and he'd like..." Leave Oscar to speak, because I really don't think ordering for him would be on. Meanwhile I'm going to start thinking calm, stomach-settling thoughts. I can keep a Prairie Fire down, but I really am not fond of them.

[oscar_merton]

"You're much pleasanter when you're asking rather than telling, you know that?"

"I ask nothing," I say automatically. "Not of anyone." There should be more venom behind it, but I am too disoriented now to be properly angry. I look up at the waitress, realizing it is to me to order, and there is a moment when I think against it, when I know that if I drink more it will not be good for me... But then, of course, that would be the point. "Two Prairie Fires."

The waitress leaves and we are alone again. "Why are you here?" I question, finally. It does not matter, really, except that I want to know.

[glass_beddau]

Yes, it's one of the things that makes you such a joy to be around, and I bite it back hard, and shrug. "Suit yourself." Offer the waitress an apologetic look and a small shrug when she takes his order; she looks perfectly together, but I don't imagine she's pleased to be dealing with him.

"Why are you here?" and I look at him for a second,

"Well," I say, and my voice is a little dry, "I had a really terrible month. And I like coming out here, so." Shrug a little, and swallow to get the dryness out of my mouth; it helps. "If you mean why didn't I tell you to go to hell, I didn't feel like fighting." And I was curious. And I didn't just leave because dammit, this is my night out, and you don't get to ruin that. "Why are you talking to me?"

[dorian_excolo]

"I am, yes, and yes," she says to my questions and she would not lie, I know, even with a gun to her head. She would make a comment, take a breath, something to let me know that she wasn't okay. She's too stubborn for anything less. "We're at the Diabolique; he just needs to pick a couple of things up and then we're going to my place." She doesn't say why, there's no explanations, but perhaps there's no time. "I think-- Oscar, are you armed?"

I can't hear what's going on in the background so I do not try, instead taking the moment to switch the phone to my other hand and slip the bracelet on my wrist.

"Yeah, can definitely talk," she says when she comes back. It does not help me feel any better. My stomach is heavy and the blood is pounding in my ears. But, again, I trust her. And that's something. "Honey, I promise you, I think I was in much more serious, less chemically affected danger from Constantine.""Constantine tried to kill you." I'm ready, all but the liston. That's waiting for me, though, in a way. "Are you armed?" I ask

[glass_beddau]

"Constantine tried to kill you," and I nod, but...

"With you in the room," I say. "In front of you. That makes a difference, you know? To how likely it was he, he could have done anything." Not that it wasn't the kind of situation that could have gone very badly, much worse, but I think there was some-- some mitigation to my personal likelihood of being subject to physical violence. As quickly as blunt trauma, manual strangulation can occur, as quickly as--

Blink and shake my head and snap back to what he's saying. Jesus, Beddau, focus.

"Are you armed?"

"Yeah," I say, touching my purse. "Liston." And he knows how good I'm not at using that yet, but it's something. "You want me to leave the line open?"

[dorian_excolo]

"With you in the room," she says and I don't shake my head, because she can't see me. "In front of you. That makes a difference, you know? To how likely it was he, he could have done anything."

"I'm not with you now." That's another problem, something else that turns my stomach, but I won't let myself think about it. I should be there, I shouldn't have let her go out alone, I should have known... But I'm not there, she is alone, and even knowing better can't help that.

"Yeah," she says, when I ask if she's armed. "Liston." I smile. "Good."

"You want me to leave the line open?"

"Yes." The door clicks behind me and it's too early for the bars to close, too late for people to be going out, traffic won't be bad. I can take the highway and be there before her. Then I can wait. "If he touches you, kill him."

[glass_beddau]

"I'm not with you now." God, I wish you were. Well, okay, except for the bit where my brain just shuts down when I try to imagine Oscar coming over to the two of us in the Diabolique and trying to toast something.

"I know," steady as I can. "Know that makes a difference, and I still think I'm in less danger now. For what that's worth."

"If he touches you, kill him," and I make a small noise, kind of a cross between er and um.

"I swear to you," I say, low and a bit shakey, "I want to make it home to see you. So much. I will be careful. I will see you there." So much I can say; so much and no more, not yet.