(Untitled)

[walking_napalm]

Liz backs slowly through the door with her gun held in a two-handed grip, her face intent and her elbows locked straight. She's wearing black pants, a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a BPRD stab vest, heavy black combat boots coated with mud, an earpiece of the sort you might expect to see on large suit-wearing men in the general vicinity

Comments

[cutting_edgex23]

"Liz," X says, hanging back a few feet.

(She is deliberately not in Liz's blindspot.)

"You have been on a mission?"

[walking_napalm]

Liz doesn't immediately respond. She takes a long pull from the bottle in her hand, and then, and only then, does she glance to the side and spot Laura. She sits up a little straighter.

"Hey Laura." Her voice is a little louder than usual.

[cutting_edgex23]

X frowns, adding up the grime, the hair, and the over-loud voice.

It does not take long.

"There was an explosion? At home?"

There are other options, but this one may be the most likely. X is not sure.

[walking_napalm]

She furrows her eyebrows at her.

Please don't make her say, What?, Laura. After a half an hour spent with four similarly hearing-impaired agents, Liz is really tired of the word.

[a1enzo]

Enzo is at a nearby table, practising his guitar. His taste in music is fairly flexible, but runs mostly toward loud and raucous punk.

Liz might actually be glad of her condition right about now.

[walking_napalm]

Liz is currently hard of hearing, but she isn't deaf, which means that at first, she mistakes the background noise for ... she has no idea what, but some kind of background noise. Eventually, however, she glances over her shoulder and A) recognizes it for music, and B) recognizes the guitarist.

She listens (well -- 'listens'; she can hear snatches of it here and there) with her back to the bar, leaning against it.

[a1enzo]

If (or when) she can tell, his playing and singing are both on the good side of amateur; the song is something cyberspatial enough not to make much sense, titled Rock the Chatroom.

[walking_napalm]

She can't quite tell what he's playing, but she can tell that he's playing and singing by audible evidence as well as visual, which is, Liz figures, a step in the right direction.

She listens quietly, one side of her mouth tipped up. She takes a drink of her beer. She'll let him finish.