| Subject: The calm before the... |
Author:
Polly
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Date Posted: 09/30/13 10:22:17pm
In reply to:
Ruger Moss
's message, "/|Kick It In the Sticks|\" on 09/30/13 8:18:43pm
Polly felt like existence and reality could sometimes be subjective. She liked to think her brain spent so much time keeping itself occupied while she was in that coma that it made its own entertainment, as if noticing or making up extra or obscure details about a person was a normal thing for a brain to spit out. It came in whispers, in feelings, in sensations most often. The worst were when it came in memories, but that was much rarer. Polly believed in ghosts and if she didn't have a better understanding of possession than she did, she'd wonder if a poltergeist hadn't taken up residence in her brain.
It was a more comforting thought than actually having something fucked up and weird going on in there, but Polly didn't have anything to compare it to and so she made it work for her. At least she was weird and deadly.
But her life was just too damn different from people who lived normal 9-5 lives. They had different priorities, different dangers, different levels of pain tolerance. It was like being an alien among humans trying to fit in among the suburbs. The situation was just too complex to sum up in a few brief moments, but Polly had long understood that the supernaturals that were inevitable drawn to her could not peacefully coexist with the humans she tried to befriend.
The woman understood solitude.
She also understood the touch of a hunter. It wasn't a physical thing, though his hands were roughened by work, but more of a feeling. She could almost taste the copper on her tongue as her hand slid out of his, but angry, bitter loss burned through his aura and overwhelmed nearly overwhelmed the impression of the blood on his hands.
Her mind didn't even question such things, she didn't flinch or act strangely. It was as simple as breathing to her and she'd long since grown out of jumping each time something weird feeling skittering across her senses.
Polly listened to the southern draw that wrapped around his words with a soft smile. His voice was what ground her into the moment and kept her from getting swept away by the feedback of the room or his own fiery vitality. When the bartender came over her eyes flickered to him and her head tilted towards Ruger as she addressed the server, "I'll have what he's having."
She had been around a few hunters and knew what kind of paint thinner they inhaled at the bar. Whiskey had been on her, "To try at some point" list. A toast to a new life, well, that sounded like as good a time as any. And how better to enjoy a good whiskey than with a questionably good man? The thought made her smirk just a bit. She was really good at enjoying the small things in life.
Polly just had to take out the trash before she could get settled. Which brought her back to Ruger and what they were doing here in the first place. "Tumbleweed's a pretty apt name for me. Can't remember if I ever had roots, don't know if I really want 'em..." The tip of her finger slid around the rim of her glass as she looked off to the side in thought, "But even I gotta admit it might be nice to slow down for a bit." The glass was halfway to her lips before she paused and offered Ruger a sly smile and a wink, "But don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold. Wouldn't want the competition to know I'm feeling uninspired," she was pretty vague about her work, but had the air of someone gossiping or telling an inside joke, and really, she was. Ruger could very well be competition. She rather hoped it could remain of the friendly variety.
She paused with the glass even at her chin, a single brow lifted, and raised her eyes once more to Ruger's, waiting to see what kind of toast he would make. Her smirk was, with out a doubt, mischievous.
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