The valet is intent on watching me walk to the car, but that is fine. He won't follow, at least not after I told him that my shooting him in the head wouldn't bring the cops here any faster than my driving drunk. Perhaps he is no longer concerned about my safety. I laugh and fumble with the keys. Good. Because neither am I.
I take my bag from the trunk. The cash, a few photos, my pistol. I think of leaving the last behind, in favor of the rest of the pills, but no. It's a quicker way out, if it comes to that. I pocket the bottle of pills instead and stumble my way back to Beddau without falling down, bag over a shoulder.
Don't reach out to him, since I imagine he might take it badly, and the doing an end run around a suicidal drunken teenage ego is already hard enough.
"Come on," I say, heading back to my car. Unlock the trunk first, and open it, looking at the bag he's carrying. Not going to ask what's in it, but the thought of getting stopped is bad enough already, let's at least try to make sure whatever he's carrying can't be casually seen.
I put the bag in the trunk as gracefully as I can manage. I have to grip the side of the car for balance as I walk around, but I don't fall, I manage that much, even if I almost get into the backseat before I realize.
"You know that I just learn to drive, coming here?" I say when I'm in the passenger's seat. "Isn't that-- It's funny, isn't it?" I put on my seat belt, though I don't know why I should bother.
"You know that I just learn to drive, coming here?" he says. "Isn't that-- It's funny, isn't it?"
"I didn't know," I say mildly. Don't need to argue with him about the seatbelt, good. Put my own on, set the purse between us so Dorian can hear, and start the car. "Is it difficult, getting the paperwork to drive in the States?" I mean, I can't say I'm hugely interested, but I'd like to keep him alert enough to talk.
Pull out of the parking lot and start home. "Do you want the window open?"
"Is it difficult, getting the paperwork to drive in the States?" Somewhere in there, I'd forgotten what we were talking about. I turn from the window. "Oh. Um. No, not so difficult." It is hard to find a comfortable position, in the front seat. I need to take off my jacket, it's horrible. "Everything is easier, back home. Paper work too."
"Do you want the window open?" I start to shake my head and then realize, now that we are driving, that the window open is a good idea. "Yes." I pause. "Do you have a cigarette?"
"Oh. Um. No, not so difficult." Shifting around--if it was Johnny, if I was sure he hadn't drunk so much I needed to worry, I'd have had him take off the jacket at least, seen about pushing the seat back. Uncomfortable is awake, though. Murmur acknowledgement to everything being easier.
"Yes," and hit the button, get the fresh air in. "Do you have a cigarette?"
"Yeah, hang on," and then I realize that I've left my purse with the liston between me and Oscar, and pick it up, set it on my lap. Dig out my cigarette case, and pass him a lighter when we stop for a red light, and try not to imagine what Dorian would say.
Okay, he might have something to say about giving Oscar a lit cigarette, but I am going to file that as less of a deal.
"I didn't know you smoked." Just mouth-noises, really. "Where are you from? I mean-- which city, and all
( ... )
I take the cigarette, look at it for longer than perhaps I should, and finally light it. "I didn't know you smoked." I don't know if I should inhale or not? It burns, but it's such a vague feeling, like someone's describing it to me. Like, for a moment, I'm not here.
I blink and shake my head. "I haven't before. Wanted to try it." And it's not like I should worry that it'll kill me. I laugh and there's smoke in my lungs and I have to hold the door handle to catch my breath.
"Where are you from? I mean-- which city, and all."
"Prague." I look at the cigarette again before I try another puff. "I grew up in Prague, is what I mean to-- Brno before here. If that's what you want to know."
"I haven't before. Wanted to try it," and there's something about that, the drinking but not the smoking, that just seems so gently weird to me.
"Careful," I say lightly. "First time I tried, I thought I was going to throw up." Seriously did; spent three minutes turning green and hunched over a toilet bowl. Not a pleasant experience.
Prague I know; Brno I don't.
"Yeah, kind of." Wondering what the hell Dorian is making of this conversation. Wondering where the hell to go, too--it's sure as fuck not like I can talk about his family. "Where'd you learn to speak English?" That I'm at least a bit curious about.
"My father was English," I say, looking out the window. My hair is in my eyes but the wind feels good on my face. I don't feel as though I'll be sick, or at least not immediately sick. It's an improvement. "Merton is not a very common last name, in Prague," I say, smiling a little before I catch my reflection in the side mirror and stop. "You are American, correct?" I don't care, exactly, but talking is something to do.
"Merton is not a very common last name, in Prague," and I smile a little. "You are American, correct?"
"Is it that obvious?" Which falls pretty flat, I think. Dammit, it's not like I can even ask about his job, and I at least crack a smile at the idea.
Brake gently and turn, and we're most of the way there, now. "How're you-- okay, what were those pills?" Let out a thin and slightly ragged sound. "Professional curiousity."
I grab the door handle when she brakes but manage not to go anywhere. The seat belt. Right.
"How're you-- okay, what were those pills?" She sighs and I turn to look at her. "Professional curiousity."
"Ah, yes. You are the coroner," I say, though I hadn't really forgotten. Only temporarily misplaced the information. I look back out the window. "Diazepam. I think. It wasn't mine."
"Ah, yes. You are the coroner," and I lift my chin a little, feel a smile. "Diazepam. I think. It wasn't mine."
"Valium? You-- oh, dammit, never mind." Just it makes me tired, to think of him, of anyone, going with that. So often. Remember what Dorian said, about what Berzin taught him to use when he had trouble sleeping... "At least it wasn't heroin."
Take the last turn, and park, and undo my seatbelt. "Come on," I say. "Third floor. Pardon the lack of an elevator. They don't pay us so well."
"Would that have worked you think?" I question, though very mildly. It's difficult to get too invested in anything, just now, so I think I am just curious.
She parks the car and that's good, because the filter is burning on the cigarette and I was wondering what to do with it. I let it drop from my fingers. "Come on. Third floor." I undo my seat belt after a few tries. "Pardon the lack of an elevator. They don`t pay us so well."
"I can- I can walk." Probably. I manage to get out of the car well enough, though I'm up the first flight of stairs before I remember my bag. "It's not important."
"Probably." I feel cold and quiet, saying it, and look down. Wish Oya was here. "I mean, if there was a comparable volume. Do you remember how much you took?" Stop it. Stop it and get him inside and...
He forgets his bag; I don't remind him.
"I can- I can walk." Good. Lock up the car, come up the stairs a little behind him, just to catch him if he falls. Says something about it not being important, something distant enough that I'm not sure if he means being able to walk or just everything, and keeps going.
"First on the left," I say, when he makes it to the top floor. Pull out my keys, the kind of noise Dorian can place, and open the door for him.
The engine dies. Footsteps on the stairs. Her keys in the door. I wait in the hallway as it opens, my back to the wall, and the stumbling steps are his, I know before I see his outline. Good. Good girl.
There's enough space between them to move. The door closes. I cover his mouth with a hand and press the stun gun to his neck. He doesn't even fight back, just shudders against me and collapses like a ragdoll dropped on the floor.
He goes in and I follow, and then the space between us is full of something dark and quick, stepping back, and a breaking scratching sound and the sound of Oscar falling loose and heavy to the floor.
There's no blood. I'd smell blood, wouldn't I?
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," muffled behind my hands and door shut, lights on, Oscar down, okay, okay. "'m okay. He never t-touched--" Lean back against the wall. "'m okay. You-- is he?"
The valet is intent on watching me walk to the car, but that is fine. He won't follow, at least not after I told him that my shooting him in the head wouldn't bring the cops here any faster than my driving drunk. Perhaps he is no longer concerned about my safety. I laugh and fumble with the keys. Good. Because neither am I.
I take my bag from the trunk. The cash, a few photos, my pistol. I think of leaving the last behind, in favor of the rest of the pills, but no. It's a quicker way out, if it comes to that. I pocket the bottle of pills instead and stumble my way back to Beddau without falling down, bag over a shoulder.
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"Come on," I say, heading back to my car. Unlock the trunk first, and open it, looking at the bag he's carrying. Not going to ask what's in it, but the thought of getting stopped is bad enough already, let's at least try to make sure whatever he's carrying can't be casually seen.
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"You know that I just learn to drive, coming here?" I say when I'm in the passenger's seat. "Isn't that-- It's funny, isn't it?" I put on my seat belt, though I don't know why I should bother.
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"I didn't know," I say mildly. Don't need to argue with him about the seatbelt, good. Put my own on, set the purse between us so Dorian can hear, and start the car. "Is it difficult, getting the paperwork to drive in the States?" I mean, I can't say I'm hugely interested, but I'd like to keep him alert enough to talk.
Pull out of the parking lot and start home. "Do you want the window open?"
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"Do you want the window open?" I start to shake my head and then realize, now that we are driving, that the window open is a good idea. "Yes." I pause. "Do you have a cigarette?"
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"Yes," and hit the button, get the fresh air in. "Do you have a cigarette?"
"Yeah, hang on," and then I realize that I've left my purse with the liston between me and Oscar, and pick it up, set it on my lap. Dig out my cigarette case, and pass him a lighter when we stop for a red light, and try not to imagine what Dorian would say.
Okay, he might have something to say about giving Oscar a lit cigarette, but I am going to file that as less of a deal.
"I didn't know you smoked." Just mouth-noises, really. "Where are you from? I mean-- which city, and all ( ... )
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I blink and shake my head. "I haven't before. Wanted to try it." And it's not like I should worry that it'll kill me. I laugh and there's smoke in my lungs and I have to hold the door handle to catch my breath.
"Where are you from? I mean-- which city, and all."
"Prague." I look at the cigarette again before I try another puff. "I grew up in Prague, is what I mean to-- Brno before here. If that's what you want to know."
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"Careful," I say lightly. "First time I tried, I thought I was going to throw up." Seriously did; spent three minutes turning green and hunched over a toilet bowl. Not a pleasant experience.
Prague I know; Brno I don't.
"Yeah, kind of." Wondering what the hell Dorian is making of this conversation. Wondering where the hell to go, too--it's sure as fuck not like I can talk about his family. "Where'd you learn to speak English?" That I'm at least a bit curious about.
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"My father was English," I say, looking out the window. My hair is in my eyes but the wind feels good on my face. I don't feel as though I'll be sick, or at least not immediately sick. It's an improvement. "Merton is not a very common last name, in Prague," I say, smiling a little before I catch my reflection in the side mirror and stop. "You are American, correct?" I don't care, exactly, but talking is something to do.
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"Is it that obvious?" Which falls pretty flat, I think. Dammit, it's not like I can even ask about his job, and I at least crack a smile at the idea.
Brake gently and turn, and we're most of the way there, now. "How're you-- okay, what were those pills?" Let out a thin and slightly ragged sound. "Professional curiousity."
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"How're you-- okay, what were those pills?" She sighs and I turn to look at her. "Professional curiousity."
"Ah, yes. You are the coroner," I say, though I hadn't really forgotten. Only temporarily misplaced the information. I look back out the window. "Diazepam. I think. It wasn't mine."
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"Valium? You-- oh, dammit, never mind." Just it makes me tired, to think of him, of anyone, going with that. So often. Remember what Dorian said, about what Berzin taught him to use when he had trouble sleeping... "At least it wasn't heroin."
Take the last turn, and park, and undo my seatbelt. "Come on," I say. "Third floor. Pardon the lack of an elevator. They don't pay us so well."
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"Would that have worked you think?" I question, though very mildly. It's difficult to get too invested in anything, just now, so I think I am just curious.
She parks the car and that's good, because the filter is burning on the cigarette and I was wondering what to do with it. I let it drop from my fingers. "Come on. Third floor." I undo my seat belt after a few tries. "Pardon the lack of an elevator. They don`t pay us so well."
"I can- I can walk." Probably. I manage to get out of the car well enough, though I'm up the first flight of stairs before I remember my bag. "It's not important."
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"Probably." I feel cold and quiet, saying it, and look down. Wish Oya was here. "I mean, if there was a comparable volume. Do you remember how much you took?" Stop it. Stop it and get him inside and...
He forgets his bag; I don't remind him.
"I can- I can walk." Good. Lock up the car, come up the stairs a little behind him, just to catch him if he falls. Says something about it not being important, something distant enough that I'm not sure if he means being able to walk or just everything, and keeps going.
"First on the left," I say, when he makes it to the top floor. Pull out my keys, the kind of noise Dorian can place, and open the door for him.
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There's enough space between them to move. The door closes. I cover his mouth with a hand and press the stun gun to his neck. He doesn't even fight back, just shudders against me and collapses like a ragdoll dropped on the floor.
I turn on the light. "Are you okay?"
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There's no blood. I'd smell blood, wouldn't I?
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," muffled behind my hands and door shut, lights on, Oscar down, okay, okay. "'m okay. He never t-touched--" Lean back against the wall. "'m okay. You-- is he?"
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