Bahir, Amber; Kitty
Natalie stands at the base of the cliff, her expression exceedingly wary as she adjusts the heavy hang of the increasingly familiar bag that hangs from her shoulder. It's weighed down with camera equipment, of the exceedingly fancy and expensive sort. She glances briefly toward Bahir, jaw clenched, and then tilts her head back to stare upward at the edge of the cliff above their heads.
Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, Bahir follows Natalie's gaze upward. He grimaces, rubs his jaw, and then reaches out with the hand toward her bag. His manner is subdued, and tightly focused. "Here," he says in an undertone. "I'll help you get that set up."
"We're going to be fucking experts at this before long," Natalie answers. She breathes deeply in, inhaling nothing but fresh mountain air, and swings the bag forward to the ground so she can kneel to unzip it, passing equipment out to Bahir.
"Halfway there." Voice light, Bahir takes the equipment from Natalie to move around and set it up around the area. He calls over his shoulder; "Maybe we'll get a cert."
"Setting up expensive camera equipment to record morbid acts," Natalie deadpans, rising with a tripod in one hand and moving to set it into place with something rather like ease. They /are/ getting good at this.""
When they have finished, Bahir drifts back to Natalie's side as he binds back his hair. "So, how do you want to work it?" He glances at the inhibitor no doubt on her ear -- although if it isn't, now that I've said that, you suck -- and then her eyes. "You going to be okay doing this?"
Clearly it is. It's not coming off, ever, not if she can help it. Natalie settles in somewhere near where Nancie's body was found, avoiding Bahir's gaze for the moment. "Oh yeah," she answers quietly. "Two years ago, I wouldn't have been able to /not/ do it, last night. This one won't be a problem."
Bahir's voice is soft as he settles near her: "That's not what I'm talking about."
Natalie doesn't respond to clarification. Instead, she focuses, and without warning, the figure of a woman plummets from cliff's edge to the rocky ground below. It's not slow - look away, and you might miss it. Might miss the first time, anyway. There's the sound of a short, sharp cry of shock, and then the sickening snap of bones as she thuds against the ground. Natalie winces and looks away, out toward the Colorado horizon.
Bahir finds Natalie's hand to give it a squeeze as his eyes skim 'round the edge of the area being ghosted, rather than focus on the body.
Natalie's hand squeezes back, although she still does not look at him. Nor does she look up to see the face that peers over the edge of the cliff, checking to see whether his job is done. Despite the firm aversion of her eyes, it's clear that it's not over yet. Because Nancie is still breathing. The sound is horrible, a rasping, gurgling thing that leaves her lips coated with a bloody froth as her life's blood seeps away into the dirt. Occasionally, a pebble shifts.
Her long walk interrupted by the sound of subdued voices, Amber takes long strides towards the two that linger closer to the edge of the cliff. Curious, nay, nosy eyes slip between Bahir and the woman she doesn't recognize. "Hi. Ya'll need any help with anythi.." The quick steps that was taking her towards the two falter and come to a skid as she watches the vision plummet over the ledge, rushing to the edge herself to peer down in horror. "What. The. hell."
Her long walk interrupted by the sound of subdued voices, Amber takes long strides towards the two that linger in the clearing, odd equipment set up around them. Curious, nay, nosy eyes slip between Bahir and the woman she doesn't recognize. "Hi. Ya'll need any help with anythi.." The quick steps that was taking her towards the two falter and come to a skid as she watches the vision plummet over the ledge and thuds in the most awful of noises against the ground. Both hands come up to cover Amber's mouth as she lets out a horrified noise. "What the hell?!"
<< Quiet, >> Bahir says, eyes snapping over toward Amber as she approaches. A thin thread of mental command vibrates through the words: it asks, but does not insist that she obey. He gestures likewise with his hand, and then indicates the recording equipment nearby. Sensitive enough to pick up the soft sounds of death, it likewise picks up anything else in the scene, real or ghost.
"/Fuck/," Natalie says, rather louder than Bahir's mental command. She spins around, pent-up tension finding release in the expression she turns on Amber. It's not a very nice one. "Fucking hell. Now I've got to do it again. Seriously, thank you /very/ much." Nevermind that she likely would have done it again anyway.
Amber's lips slap shut as Bahir's voice shakes through her mind. She's startled, but obeys nonetheless. It's easier with her hands still covering her mouth. There's a stumble, rocks clattering under her feet as she reels back at Natalie's reaction. "I'm sorry," she whispers, biting down on her lower lip as she turns her gaze from Natalie's look. What exactly is going on here?
Oh, well. Telepathic contact withdrawn, Bahir leans back and rolls his shoulders as Natalie's voice surges forward. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing between the two women. He Stays Out Of It.
"Fucking goddamned shitty.... /hell/!" Natalie explodes, staring hard at her before she turns to look at Bahir. There's something pleading in her eyes as she unravels her hand from his and looks back toward the cliff, where Nancie's body still lies, no longer gurgling, rasping, or in fact breathing at all. Dead. "I've got to run it again," she says, this time to Bahir, and this time rather more quietly.
"Gods. I'm so sorry." Amber mutters, not entirely sure what's going on, but still clearly having pissed someone off. A few wary steps take her closer to the others, strained eyes glancing over towards where the dead 'body' lies. Bahir seems like the saner choice at the moment. "What are you two doing here?" she whispers.
"That doesn't mean you have to sit there and watch it and listen to it," Bahir says, as quiet as he watches Natalie. The tension in his features is that of concern, and his lips thin as he turns to Amber. His voice is flat, but not so sharp as Natalie's when he answers her: "Working."
"Watching a dead woman fall to her death," Natalie replies, rather less nice than Bahir as her gaze whips to Amber and latches there. "Why don't you pull up a chair? Maybe if you stare real close, you can figure out which bit of smashed up bone finally killed her."
Amber steels herself against Natalie's look, still apologetic for having screwed up.. their work. Despite that, her eyes lock on Natalie's. "I walked over to see if you guys needed help. How was I supposed to know that this," she gestures to all of the equipment and the ghost, "was going on?" Her eyes pull away to look on in sadness at the dead reporter. "Would another pair of eyes help?"
Bahir opens his mouth, and then closes it. He clears his throat and shakes his head, once. "Do you have any particular experience with crime scenes, or people being pushed off cliffs?" he asks, voice less dry than it is flat.
Natalie's eyes snap away the instant Amber's meet hers, and she looks back toward Bahir, her hand lifting in a helpless wave that pleads, 'Deal with her?' in the sort of nonverbal communication longtime friends acquire. It's maybe a bit pointed when she turns away, walking several steps toward the cliff, and the scene starts over. This time the ghosts futz and fuzz, skipping a bit as she works her way backwards two minutes, five, then to their arrival at the cliff's edge. The conversation is clearly audible from the foot where they stand: "Or am I imaginin' things?" "Over there?" And then it happens again. Nancie's arms windmill at the edge of the cliff, trying desperately to find her balance and buying her a few seconds, and then she tumbles, then she cries, then she /lands/. This time, Natalie watches with a set expression. She doesn't turn to see whether Amber is watching as well.
"Not particularly, no. But even an untrained eye can pick up something unusual." Amber shrugs her shoulders faintly, tucking hands into pockets as she watches Natalie turn away. Whatever Bahir might say is lost as she watches the scene rewind itself. Her eyes and ears strain as she catches the conversation from up on the cliff. Well, atleast she knows the woman was most certainly shoved. As the body thuds against the ground again, Amber winces, eyes closing for a moment. No sound comes from Amber this time as she forces her eyes open, searching for anything that seems unnatural.
Bahir's eyes remain fixed on the cliff, high above. He rather avoids looking at the dying woman, but watches the fuzzy fringe where reality and ghosts intersect on the rock. Hands again his pockets, he drifts to Natalie's side, saying nothing. He is a silent support -- but support, nonetheless.
At the end, when Nancie has stopped gurgling and rasping again, Natalie lowers herself to the ground to sit cross-legged. Amber and her fresh eyes are, apparently, ignored so long as they remain silent. To Bahir, she says, "I want to see who buries her. Then we should go up top."
Amber remains quiet and exactly where she is, not wanting to ruin yet another recording. So far she doesn't think she's seen anything that could help them beyond their own eyes and ears. But at this point, morbid curiosity keeps her eyes on the scene. Who does the burying is probably the same one who did the pushing, and she'd sure as hell like to see who's responsible for that.
"Sure." Voice soft, Bahir turns his eyes toward to the (wrong) edge of the viewframe, watching to see who might circle down and around. His aversion to dead bodies continues, but so does the whole 'silent support buddy powers go!' thing.
It's not a short wait. Unwilling to miss anything, Natalie, and the cameras, keep rolling until Sid finally makes another appearance. There's no particular reaction to his clearly-in-focus identity from Natalie - she doesn't know the man. When he starts to tug Nancie's body away, dragging her across rock and dirt to the place they found her buried, though, she looks away again, closing her eyes tightly and waiting it out. Eventually, Sid leaves again. Eventually, Natalie stands, dusting her jeans off and glancing toward Bahir before looking, finally, back to Amber. "Seen enough?" she wonders roughly.
Amber's eyes narrow as she watches Sid start to drag the body and begin to bury it. She studies his behavior as he does it. Was it just business or was there emotion behind it? Just another murder, or a crime of passion. Once the vision of Sid is gone, Amber closes her eyes going over the scene in her head. "I'm sorry you were forced to do that again, but why don't you point your anger on someone who deserves it?" Amber's a little tired of being picked on right now and her pity only goes so far. "She was a nice woman who sure as hell didn't deserve this. All I want to do is help. But if you've got an issue with that, I can just as easily go back to my walk."
Bahir speaks quickly, in a (no doubt useless) attempt to preempt Natalie: "I can appreciate your desire to help, but I don't think -- uh. I don't think this is really ... I mean. We have people who are /trained/ to do this, and it is difficult enough to go through it. We aren't finished here, after all. We've still got to go up top, and we might want to get the--" He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at the location. "--burial site more clearly."
Natalie's jaw tightens, but (contrary to expectations!) she does not respond, save to say, "Please. /Do/," to the last. So said, she moves to collect her cameras, her motions sharp and strained as she works with systematic attention to detail. It is, after all, very expensive equipment.
Amber glares to Natalie's back, but tosses a small nod towards Bahir. "I'll leave you to it then. I'm around if you change your mind about the help." Turning on her heels, Amber starts to move away, the distinct mutterings of 'I hate this fucking ranch' can be heard as she heads back towards the trail.
"You know," Bahir says, falsely bright as he moves to help Natalie, "I'm starting to hate it, too." With the very expensive equipment newly arranged, they get back to their grim business. Their payrate is not nearly high enough for this.
Ghosts.
5/25/2009
=CO= Cookhouse - Lost Waters - Colorado
The cookhouse is a large, lively place, with long wooden tables that run nearly the length of the room. A handful of smaller tables sit near the entrance for those catching a bit in off-hours, and at the far end the door to the kitchen is always open, and almost always bustling with activity. Guests and ranch-hands alike eat together here, with food served to the tables family-style and huge bowls and platters passed from hand to hand as plates are piled high. In the mornings, early or late-comers can grab a bowl of cereal or a bit of fruit from the buffet to one side of the room, and during the day various snacks and fresh coffee are always available.
The sound of clanking bottles carries through the darkened cookhouse from the kitchen in back. A thin stream of light cuts out across the floor from the open door, and a refrigerator opens, then closes. A woman's voice curses in thick annoyance as a cupboard creaks open next.
There's soft steps across the cookhouse floorboards as Kitty makes her way back to the kitchen, since liquor is disappearing at a miraculious rate from the guest lodge. Her own stash exhausted. She pauses at the lighted door way, pausing to observe the woman inside with a rasping "Hello" to indicate her presence if her foot fall did not.
"Fuck!" Natalie answers, mostly because she's managed to smack her head against the upper edge of the cupboard as she straightened and turned to look at Kitty from her crouched position on the floor. She frowns intently while still managing to look embarrassed, and lifts one hand to rub at the back of her head. "Uh," she says.
"And I was trying /not/ to frighten you. It could almost be called ironic," Kitty says dryly, not having enough humor behind the words to make a joke. She crosses the kitchen to hop up on the counter opposite Natalie, watching her for a moment before asking helpfully, "Are you looking for something?"
"Alcohol?" Natalie wonders, tipping her head up to look up, up, up at Kitty with wistful hope. "Preferably strong?"
"Funny. I was going to grab the same thing." Kitty slides back off the counter, crossing to where Natalie is but reaching over her head to the cabinet there. A treasure trove appears, as the bottles that are kept for the staff are there after pushing aside a rack of spices. "Choose one. I'm not being picky."
Natalie straightens, dropping her arm to swing at her side as she peers up into the cupboard Kitty has uncovered. "Ooooh, fuck, I /love/ you," Natalie pronounces, reaching in to pull out the first thing her hand encounters. It's whiskey. Well, that counts as strong. "Cups and ice?" she asks hopefully.
"You get the ice and I'll get something to put it all in," Kitty confirms, chin jerking towards the freezer and the old fashioned ice cube trays inside. She goes about taking down two cups from another cupboard and setting them down near the whiskey. She watches Natalie, letting the silence pass comfortably.
Natalie does so, more than happy to maintain the silence (comfortable or not) as she cracks a tray, wiggling cubes free. A particularly stubborn row gets run under warm water before she tries again. She glances over toward Kitty and then swifty away again, focusing her attention instead on filling both glasses with cubes.
Kitty remains detatched, a forced situation from her own emotions. She waits patiently for a glass, not really caring if she's passed straight whiskey or not. There's a quick smirk as she remembers her last drinking experience with Natalie, but it does not last long.
Ice gets topped with whiskey in both glasses, and then Natalie hefts herself up to settle on the counter. She leans back against the cupboards, tipping her head into their support as she tugs her glass up to rest against her knee, then lifts it for a small sip. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, and she coughs slightly as she notes, "That's /foul/." And then takes another drink.
"Might as well be. Match everything else on this ranch," is Kitty's wry input as she sips at the whiskey with a grimace. She doesn't move to get seated, but rather stands there forcing herself to drink from the glass in her hand. Reluctantly, she offers, "You want to talk?"
"I," Natalie answers, lifting her glass in Kitty's direction in a mockery of a toast. "Want to drink myself into fucking oblivion and forget most of tonight when I fall asleep."
The mockery isn't returned but there's a relieved flash in Kitty's eyes at Natalie's words. She has a nagging suspiscion about what would cause her companion to be in here drinking, and she'd rather not talk about it. "As for plans, probably not well thought out, but I approve," she tells her needlessly.
"Oh, no," Natalie says seriously, pausing for a coughing sip of her whiskey. "This plan is /very/ well thought out. I thought about it for twenty minutes while I waited for that fucking cowboy to come drag Nancie Edwards away and throw some rocks on top of her. I thought about it while I watched him shove her off the cliff for the fourth time. I thought about it every. Step. Of the way back here." Another toast, another sip, a smaller cough this time. "My plan is /very/ well thought out."
Kitty tenses at Natalie's words, pain readable clearly in her eyes as she hears more details of Nancie's death. She forces herself to choke down the rest of the whiskey in her cup, slamming it down angrily on the counter while falling into a fit of coughing. As she stops, she rasps to Natalie, "I don't know why you felt the need to share that, but maybe you should reconsider next time."
Natalie looks surprised, eyes widening and then brows drawing low as she blinks over at Kitty. She buys a moment's time with another drink before she answers. "Sorry. I forgot you knew her."
"She was a friend," Kitty corrects simply, not caring how disapproving anyone might be about making friends on a mission. She reaches out to grab the whiskey bottle, twisting the cap off. "I told her I'd look out for her." Liquid splashes back into Kitty's glass.
Natalie is not in the mood to lecture anyone just at the moment. She is, instead, in the mood to drink, and drink she does, with another sputter before she reaches to tug her whiskey toward her. "Yeah, well," she says after a moment, tipping her glass toward full. "You might not want to drink with me tonight, then."
"If you're going to be talking about it, I don't," Kitty responds, a questioning tone to it as if asking Natalie if that's what she meant. The whiskey bottle is put back into Natalie's range and the glass is picked up. After this is done she adds, "Are you?"
"I'm getting drunk," Natalie says pointedly. "I have no fucking clue what I'm going to be doing."
"I think I'll risk it," Kitty replies with a lean of her arms against the counter. "I'm tired of drinking alone." The last sentence could almost be construed as having a friendly tone to it.
"Yeah, well. I'm tired of having fucking /ghosts/ show up in my mutation," Natalie answers, her voice tight and hard, although none of it's directed at Kitty. She leans back again and lifts her glass, only to note, "I don't understand how anyone drinks this shit."
Kitty pauses to examine Natalie before suggesting helpfully, "Maybe you should get a different line of work. Maybe we should all get a different line of work." She swirls the whiskey thoughtfully before shrugging her good shoulder at Natalie. "Probably much like we're drinking it."
"I was in a different line of work," Natalie answers, swirling her whiskey mournfully as she studies the way it flows and swishes over the melting ice. "It was a fantastic line of work. I /miss/ my line of work." Her tone is wistful and sad and more than a little bit drunk as the whiskey seeps into her blood and does its magic.
"I'm sorry," Kitty says genuinely, an apologetic look towards her companion. "You can't get back into it? I heard a couple people were not given options of being here." She gives Natalie a small but comforting smile.
"Oh, no, I could," Natalie answers, although Kitty's second statement sends a scowl flitting across her features. "/I/ was not blackmailed into being here, thanks. /I/ walked away from a very nice job at Tompskin's Square Park to be here." There's a pause for a drink, and then she adds, "I /chose/ this shit."
Natalie's gesture of mock toasting is copied as Kitty raises her glass. "Cheers to choosing. How much comfort it must provide that it was a decision and not forced upon us." She sips on her drink with a tiny shiver travelling up her spine.
Natalie laughs shortly, the sound harsh and only a little bit amused. "Ain't that the fucking truth," she answers, swirling her glass so the ice clanks cheerfully.
There's another one shouldered shrug as Kitty leans against the counter more. She doesn't offer anything to the conversation, her whole body language uncomfortable about Natalie's unknown quantity. Hey, that woman is /hard/ to read.
Natalie is an enigma. An enigma wrapped up in a mystery and covered in conundrum. It's all very confusing. She is, however, also quite happy with silence, and so she falls into some as she finishes off her second glass of whiskey. What? They're small glasses!
If it's a contest on who can stand the silence the longest, Natalie wins with not too much competition. As the silence extends itself, she finishes her second glass, but instead of refilling it she opens up the liquor cabinet once again to pull down a bottle for herself. Apparently, she doesn't intend to drink in uncomfortable silence too much longer.
Natalie's smile is dry and wry and other things that rhyme. "Heading out?" she wonders, peering down at Kitty from her counter perch.
"More comfortable to drink in the dorm," Kitty replies with a nod. She returns the smile with one of her own, friendly but disinterested. She slips out of the kitchen, leaving the door as it was when she entered.
"Right," Natalie says, although, politely, she does not move. She remains where she is, her empty whiskey glass balanced on one knee, and watches Kitty leave with the shadow of a tired smile still ghosting across her features.
Drinking.