help me get down, i can make it

[outoftheattic]

The Hub isn't somewhere Laurence Dominic hangs out often, mostly because he was never much of a heavy drinker (drink makes smart men do stupid things), and also because he knows that Adelle DeWitt does. Still, the early evening finds him sitting at the bar, hunched over the counter, head cradled in his hands. Unsurprisingly, the fact that they've

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[outoftheattic]

The fact that she doesn't even need to speak to get a drink around here tells him a lot, but he mercifully refrains from commenting. (His gaze, however, follows her gesture as he slowly straightens up, and although his expression remains neutral, if a little tired, that single glance is worth a thousand works.) At her question, he takes a moment to pretend to mull over an answer, his actions exaggerated. If this situation could, in any way, be easy, he might relent, but he doesn't intend to do so tonight.

"What's not to enjoy?" he asks, patting the cover of the book. "Kid fakes his own death, then runs away from home. Haven't read this thing since grade school; brings back memories of the good old days when the most difficult thing I ever had to do was a book report." They aren't, frankly, days that he thinks back on often. He isn't as idealistic as he used to be. Still fairly foolish (as much as he will deny it, some part of him had hoped for clemency when he'd been outed as an NSA agent, but he realizes that anything but what he ended up getting would have been, somehow, worse), in his own way, but that's a different matter.

"When's the last time you heard a story so gripping?" He doesn't wait for an answer before tossing back his first swallow of liquor, grimacing as it burns down his throat.

[coercive]

Adelle, in turn, waits until there is a drink in her own hand to begin considering her answer. It tastes great going down, like an iced, liquid Jolly Rancher, which tells her there's more flavoring in her drink than anything else. She can barely taste the vodka, it doesn't even burn at the back of her throat, which is her first indication that this will be a long night indeed.

"Three months ago, I found myself standing at the shore of a desert island, only to be told that I had been kidnapped by magical forces and subsequently tossed into an alternate dimension," she lifts an eyebrow, gestures toward the book. "Twain himself would find it difficult to compete, don't you think?"

[outoftheattic]

He concedes the point. "I can't argue that." Tom Sawyer can't quite compare to a yarn like this, even if he does remember enjoying that particular piece of work. "Maybe the bookshelf should've provided something like Heart of Darkness instead." Although he would have been done with that in a considerably shorter amount of time. "Not that this place is all that heavy on spiritual darkness, but still."

[coercive]

"To tell you the truth, I had considered something more along the lines of The Tempest," admits Adelle, although she now regrets such a literal choice, however appropriate. "Yours was better," she goes as far as to concede, although she can't attest to agreeing with his last point. After all, if Conrad's intention was to illustrate humanity's potential for darkness, the duality and duplicity inherent in each living soul, she can think of few better examples than herself and the man with whom she sits.

[outoftheattic]

It's odd to hear her agree with him on anything, even though their conversations have all been (relatively) civilized so far, if a little bit prickly. He stares at her for a moment, as if searching for any hint if what she might be thinking, before he bows his head and looks back down at the counter. He thought he'd be angrier about the whole thing. He is unhappy, let that be clear, but having lived through his own worst nightmare (and several other peoples') over and over again, he isn't sure what else might provoke any emotional reaction quite as strong short of, ironically, an honest talk between the two of them.

"Does that make Kurtz you or me?"

[coercive]

"I would say that's rather obvious, wouldn't you?" She doesn't try to disguise the bitter edge in her voice, thinking his question entirely unnecessary. It doesn't take a scholar to deduce that it's her, although she daresay that even Kurtz had more likable qualities than she ever will.

Without another look in his direction, she downs a good third of her drink in one breath, still disappointed at how little effort is needed to do so. Fortunately, there is no real tab here, and she has every intention of drinking as many diluted cocktails as it takes to make up for the effects of a few strong ones. Pathetic, she will admit only to herself, but hardly any different than how she spent her days back in Los Angeles. At least something has remained consistent.

[outoftheattic]

I guess that makes me Marlow. Their current thread of conversation isn't one he's particularly sweet on continuing, not least because it strikes him as unhelpful. (The horror, the horror indeed.)

He's already gauging how long it'll take her to get smashed on whatever it is that she's drinking. He doesn't intend to stay around very long, but he'd rather have some grace time between when he leaves and when the liquor starts impairing her judgment. While well aware that her tolerance is high, he doesn't want to take his chances.

"I'm not here to argue."

[coercive]

"What are you here for?" Once given an opening, there is simply no reason not to pose the question. It's one that has been circling around in her mind from the moment she spotted him seated at the bar, a strange enough image in and of itself. The Hub is no more her territory than any other establishment on the island, but Adelle can't help suspecting more than mere coincidence. She can't imagine the reason why, but if she didn't know better, it would appear that he sought her out on purpose. She can only imagine as to the reason, and each possibility her mind entertains is less pleasant than the next.

[outoftheattic]

"I guess I thought I'd take my chances." This isn't remotely close to being the whole truth, even if it isn't an outright lie, and he knows that's something she'll be able to read off of him. While he's always maintained a good poker face, three years of work together doesn't leave a person without an inkling as to where to start when trying to figure out the other. There's a lot they don't know about each other (perhaps more on her end than his), but NSA or not, Laurence Dominic is Laurence Dominic, and some of his traits remain the same. There's something baited about his breath, as if he has more to say but doesn't want to spit it out. He knows that, if he wants to talk to her while they're both in fairly clear states of mind, the time is now, but the conversation that they need to have isn't one that he knows how to segue into.

[coercive]

The last to thirds of her drink are consumed before he has time to answer her question; she signals almost immediately for another and doesn't speak until at last it sits before her. With somewhat misplaced focus, she stares down the glass, twirling it with both hands in small, slow half-circles. If her intention was to somehow find her response hidden among crystal and clear liquid, she is sorely disappointed.

"Do you intend to expand on that thought," she wonders, "or am I to interpret it to the best of my abilities?"

[outoftheattic]

"I thought we should talk," he says, curtly. He rises, as if to leave, but doesn't make it more than a step away. "Doesn't it bother you?" Dominic asks, waving a hand. "That we haven't figured anything out? You still act like I'm going to shoot you on a moment's notice and I can't go anywhere without wondering if this is my nightmare. It might as well be. There's nothing idyllic about this place. By all rights it should be, but I can't take it that way." (He can't blame this on the alcohol. He hasn't had enough for that. Just goes to show that this was on an impulse as opposed to some seriously premeditated thought.)

[coercive]

It's with a sarcastic sigh and roll of her eyes that Adelle first responds, as if to say that yes, of course it bothers her, how could it not? It's hard enough to digest on its own, for her, someone who's life is so defined by loneliness to suddenly find herself in a place where the single person she knows best is a man she can't claim to know at all. Someone who, long ago, represented an ally, a right-hand, and at times, the closest thing she had to a friend.

"We should talk," she repeats, dubious still, not quite capable of accepting that there is no ulterior motive here. There always were, back at the Dollhouse; it's difficult to leave all of that behind. Resting her elbow on the counter, her forehead in the palm of her hand, Adelle tilts her head and takes a deep breath. "Very well, then. How much do you know about what's happened since you've been in the Attic? How much were Echo and the others able to relay?"

[outoftheattic]

"I know about Clyde," he says. "Besides that, I only know what you've told me." He knows she put him back in the Attic. It's something that he still doesn't want to think about. Once was enough - even if it meant losing his life, he wouldn't go back. Couldn't. He knows that she must understand what the Attic is. The fact that she sent him in again is one he doesn't know how to interpret.

[coercive]

Adelle has every intention of carefully dancing as best she can around the fact that she sent him back, as well as around various other details he need not be informed of; she has never claimed to be an honest person and doubts that he expects any more from her. There are, however, certain things it might relieve him to know, and if they can at all ease the ever-present tension between them, they're worth sharing. Tilting her head towards his seat, she questions silently whether he intends to stand for the duration of the conversation; it would look rather awkward, to say the least.

"Would you prefer the condensed version," she inquires, "or a more... exhaustive regalement, as it were?"

[outoftheattic]

He's almost relieved that she asks at all. He doesn't know what to expect, anymore. To a certain degree, perhaps, but Adelle DeWitt is a mystery. As soon as he thinks he understands what she's about, some new twist gets thrown into the works. It's frustrating, but then again, if that weren't the case, well. It'd be a disappointment.

"The latter, if you've got the time."

[coercive]

It's a wonder that she manages not to snort, certain that he must see the humor in such a question. Here, she has nothing but time, and that's exactly her problem. She leans closer to the bar, fiddling with her glass but not taking another drink just yet; her eyes barely rise when she speaks.

"Once it became evident that Caroline was the key to unveiling Rossum's founder, the next course of action seemed obvious. Matters were complicated, however, when it was discovered that both the original Caroline wedge and the back-up had been compromised, the former stolen and the latter destroyed. Topher was confident that another programmer could help reconstruct the back-up wedge, so I sent Paul Ballard to retrieve her." (Never mind, of course, that retrieve in this scenario was simply kinder way of saying abducted. Why spare him the details now?) "You'll remember Bennett Halverson, I trust. She and Caroline shared a dormitory at Tuscon."