(no subject)

[walking_napalm]

[OOM: I thought of old friends, the ones who'd gone missing; said all their names three times.
phantoms in the early dark, canaries in the mines.]

Liz has had a long -- has it been a week? She thinks it's been a week. Christ.

She drags ass out of the infirmary, looking toward the far wall and -- there. Of course there's the Door now, now that she doesn't need it anymore. Christ. She exhales sharply and continues on to the bar, where two undelivered notes (one addressed to Abe Sapien and one to John Myers) appear for her. She pockets them both, then asks for a pen and a pad of paper.

She's perched at the bar, head in her hand as she writes. Her hair was probably once in a ponytail but is straggling now; there are gauze patches taped to both the front and back of her bruised left shoulder, visible because she's wearing a black tank top. Her Bureau-issue belt still has its attached holster (with gun in said holster) but is missing several pouches, the cases on her left hip smashed. Her face is set.

[Open for quick-threads, and (like the linked threads) millitimed to Halloween night!]

Comments

[katyafeline]

A glass of Sambuco slides down the bar to edge to a stop in front of her.

It's possible Katya is spreading her pain, if she's going to be kept from her vodka tonight in retaliation in refusing to play dress-up.

[walking_napalm]

Liz looks up, startled. "--Hi," she says slowly, the edge of a question in her voice and face.

[katyafeline]

"It is as black as Zavulon's soul and sweet as a baby's smile." She sighs, scrunching her nose at the nearly-full bottle still next to her, where's she's sitting cross-legged on the bar. "And Bar will not give me anything else. It is good to share, da?"

At least then, she's no the only one suffering.

[walking_napalm]

After a slightly longer pause, this time, Liz says, "What is it?"

(Inanely, she wonders: how does Bar feel about somebody sitting on her?)

[katyafeline]

So far, Katya has not been condemned to American beer, so she can only assume the Bar doesn't mind too much. It's a matter up for debate.

"Sambuca. It's..." She blinks, eyes the bottle, and shrugs. "Festive."

[walking_napalm]

Liz is really more of a beer drinker, generally, and also generally isn't one to accept drinks from strangers. But you know what?

Fuck it, she thinks. The last week has been absolute shit, and tonight was harrowing, and she didn't take the painkillers the doctor offered, so fuck it.

"What's the festive occasion?" she asks, pulling the glass in.

[katyafeline]

"All Hallows Eve." She snorts. "Because somehow it is different? I do not know - mostly it seems exactly the same." Vampires, werewolves, strangers in bizarrely elaborate or skimpy clothing... how is this different from any night here?

Or any night on patrol, but that's a different problem.

[walking_napalm]

"God," says Liz, paused with the glass halfway to her mouth. "Halloween. I should have known." She takes a drink -- and pulls an immediate face as she swallows.

"--Mmf that's awful," she says, though not without some appreciation.

[katyafeline]

"Isn't it just? Sometimes I think Bar has been here too long, poor thing." She's risking carrot juice, she knows it, but...

This stuff may be potent, but it's also horrible. That deserves at least a little teasing.

There is also, reflexively, a habitual warding gesture at Liz's first outburst. Some things never die off, no matter how long away from the battlefield.

[ladyfirestarter]

"Liz!"

It's Charlie, leaning heavily on her cane but looking otherwise unhurt.

"Thank god you made it out. We lost track of you."

(Insta-slowtime?)

[walking_napalm]

A relieved breath shudders out of her and she's starting to smile in a way that hurts her face as she turns toward Charlie, weak with relief. "You're all okay?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"We're okay, yeah -- we found a couple of people and got them to safety. Where did you end up?"

[walking_napalm]

"I got washed onto the second floor," she says. "Do you want to sit down?" She offers a steadying hand.

[ladyfirestarter]

"That would be great," she says fervently, and manages to sit with the help of both Liz's hand and her cane.

"I am exhausted. I'm seriously tempted to get a room upstairs and sleep for the next twelve hours."

[walking_napalm]

"God, that sounds incredible," Liz says, fervent and a little wistful, resting her chin in her hand and her elbow on the bar and letting herself sprawl.

She shuts the notebook she'd been using -- there's no need to write notes to find out if the team is okay, when Charlie's sitting right here in front of her -- and lets Bar take it back.

[ladyfirestarter]

"We could both do that," she says, only half in jest.

And then, more soberly: "Do you know if anyone's found Red yet?"

[walking_napalm]

She smiles, small and contained with one side of her mouth, and points with one finger in the general direction of the back hallway. "He's sleeping like a baby. Infirmary."

[a1enzo]

"Hey, Liz. How'd your side of things go?"

[walking_napalm]

Liz blinks at her half-written note for a minute, then looks up. "Well," she says, slowly, "I think. Were you in there, too?"

(What happens when your small team does most of its planning independently: you miss some of the big-picture stuff.)

[a1enzo]

"In the forest. And the cave."

[walking_napalm]

She puts her pen down.

"Did you get it?"

[a1enzo]

"Jack did."

[walking_napalm]

She smiles at that, small and sharp. "Good," she says, and pushes herself past the overwhelming anger and relief in that one word. "You're okay? Everybody came out of it okay?" (He looks okay.)

[a1enzo]

"Everyone's okay. There were some minor injuries, nothing serious." And none on him.

[walking_napalm]

She exhales, slow, and she nods faintly -- that's good. "My team got split up before the hospital disappeared, but I think they all got out. And I found Red."