Enter Vicious.
The drive back from Hartford was quiet.
Her eyes slipped from the scene over the dashboard to Hawthorne’s hands above the wheel the tightening and subsequent release of knuckles. “I thought I was dragging you to Connecticut.”
Silence.
Between then was only the sound of the engine, the sporadic ( …swish.) noise of cars passing in the other direction. “You said you wanted to make sure I was alright.” She continues into the void of his silence her gaze turning now to the dark blurr of trees alongside.
“And then you leave me with your ‘Order’ friend, to go run errands for Connecticut’s Prince!” Her voice rises with each successive word.
“-Artferd.”
“What?!”
“Its -Artferd’s prince, not the whole damn state.”
….....
Her pause is momentary, “So you went on a mission to capture some kindred for Hartford’s prince.” The Inquiry is followed by an angry resettling, her back re-pushed into the front passenger seat, her hands angrily re-folding themselves in her lap.
“Was jus’ a fuckin’ mortal.”
“You -SAID- you were going to keep a low profile in New York.”
“This ain’t New York.”
“YOU-“ Her tirade pauses after the first word, the vehicle pulled to an abrupt halt. Hawthorne turns to face her both hands still gripping the wheel. Notably, she neither recoils nor advances but remains where she is, staring out over the dashboard.
“Vangeline! “ Pause. “Eva, j’can’t spect me to sit around n’watch you research. It ain’t gonna happen.”
Not a muscle twitches, not a gesture is made in response. And eventually the engine re-starts and the ride back to New York continues. The radio is flicked on to some odd country music station and she confines herself to her ‘itty bitty light’ and he scribbled notes.
Eventually they reach their Haven for the right and she recludes herself into one of the bedrooms to make a call.
[Creole] “…tell Mercer we need him in New York.”
Click.
Her eyes slipped from the scene over the dashboard to Hawthorne’s hands above the wheel the tightening and subsequent release of knuckles. “I thought I was dragging you to Connecticut.”
Silence.
Between then was only the sound of the engine, the sporadic ( …swish.) noise of cars passing in the other direction. “You said you wanted to make sure I was alright.” She continues into the void of his silence her gaze turning now to the dark blurr of trees alongside.
“And then you leave me with your ‘Order’ friend, to go run errands for Connecticut’s Prince!” Her voice rises with each successive word.
“-Artferd.”
“What?!”
“Its -Artferd’s prince, not the whole damn state.”
….....
Her pause is momentary, “So you went on a mission to capture some kindred for Hartford’s prince.” The Inquiry is followed by an angry resettling, her back re-pushed into the front passenger seat, her hands angrily re-folding themselves in her lap.
“Was jus’ a fuckin’ mortal.”
“You -SAID- you were going to keep a low profile in New York.”
“This ain’t New York.”
“YOU-“ Her tirade pauses after the first word, the vehicle pulled to an abrupt halt. Hawthorne turns to face her both hands still gripping the wheel. Notably, she neither recoils nor advances but remains where she is, staring out over the dashboard.
“Vangeline! “ Pause. “Eva, j’can’t spect me to sit around n’watch you research. It ain’t gonna happen.”
Not a muscle twitches, not a gesture is made in response. And eventually the engine re-starts and the ride back to New York continues. The radio is flicked on to some odd country music station and she confines herself to her ‘itty bitty light’ and he scribbled notes.
Eventually they reach their Haven for the right and she recludes herself into one of the bedrooms to make a call.
[Creole] “…tell Mercer we need him in New York.”
Click.