|
Post by Eve Vardell on Sept 12, 2013 21:59:51 GMT -5
Eve was holding the recorder again, fiddling with it in agitated fingers.
It was stupid. She'd had months to deal with this. But the problem was, she hadn't; she'd just tried not to think about it. She still remembered the sensation of sharp panic that had hit her like a bullet in the gut when she'd woken up three days after Wyoming and had realized that her bag, everything in it, was gone. And she knew bullets to the gut. She'd almost died of one... and honestly, this had almost been worse.
In a way it was stupid. She'd survived almost certain death at Molly Rourke's hands and managed to avoid frostbite that would've permanently damaged anyone without the advantage of a strange, still-inexplicable werewolf power boost. Anyone sane would probably call a backpack, a few sweaters and a dumb, $20 voice recorder a small price to pay for all that. But she couldn't get it out of her head.
"Actually..." she started, trailed off, and smiled ruefully. The idea had taken hold in her head and, just like every rumor about a werewolf cure ever had, it was never going to get back out unless she at least tried to look into it. "There's something I need to do. Something... someone I have to try and find. It'll probably be easier to start now before we get all the way back to the corner of the country, so... You can let me out at the next town and I'll find my way from there."
|
|
|
Post by Thomas Zane on Sept 13, 2013 0:51:29 GMT -5
Well. That was sudden. If they hadn't needed to get out of the area ASAP, Zane probably would've pulled the car over and stared. As it was, he kept his eyes on the road for any sign that the cops had been called in to the campus, flicking only to the speedometer long enough to make sure he was traveling at exactly the posted speed limit as they made their way toward the interstate.
"Eve..."
He sighed faintly. He should've never brought her on this case. He'd spooked her. She'd always seen him as being different from the other hunters, and he prided himself on being different. Maybe she didn't like seeing that when push came to shove, he killed just like the rest of them. But wanting to bail out of the car in a random town just to get away from him was a little much after all they'd been through.
"Look, I'm sorry about today. Sorry I got you involved, sorry there wasn't any other way out. But you know me, and I think I've earned a little trust here. I'm not gonna do something like that unless I feel like it's absolutely necessary. She was a threat, alright, remorseless. You're nothing like her and you've gotta know I've got your back."
|
|
|
Post by Eve Vardell on Sept 13, 2013 18:09:26 GMT -5
Eve pulled herself out of her silent strategizing (she'd left the backpack with Kasen, so how to find Kasen? Backtrack to Riverton? Risk trying the Roadhouse?) at Zane's words, and winced as she realized how they must have sounded.
"No. I mean, yes, I know. I'm not... not running away from you or anything." She was used to being on her own, making decisions on her own, changing plans whenever she felt like and leaving without an explanation to anybody. It was helpful when the actual explanation was as vague and unlikely as this one. But that wasn't fair to Zane.
Sighing, she held up the recorder so Zane could see it while driving.
"When you came and found me in December, I left something behind. I mean, I left everything behind. We had to. I've tried not to think about it much, because it's just stuff, you know? But it's everything I had. And seeing this..." she waggled to recorder, laughing slightly at herself, "it made me think about it all again, and I have to try and get it back if I can."
|
|
|
Post by Thomas Zane on Sept 15, 2013 16:16:53 GMT -5
The story didn't strike him as a cover. She had no reason to cover with him, anyway. And besides... he knew what it was like to be on the road, to have nothing in the world to hold onto but a car if you were lucky and the contents of your duffel. Everyone in their line of work had lived like that at some point, when they were just starting out, when they'd just begun to search for (or run from) the truth.
People who'd never lived on the road couldn't appreciate how much every little thing started meaning to you. Everything shifting - the places, the people, your sense of your place in the world. What you had on you, what you had with you, was sometimes all you had left to help prove who you were.
"Ok," he answered, his eyes still on the road. "So we need to get your stuff back. Where do we start?"
|
|