[Emily Littleton] She had not been to the kitchen in nearly a month. Emily's schedule had been blank for long enough to let some people wonder whether she'd be returning to marshall their inventory into neat spreadsheets and a perfectly managed warehouse. She'd called in and asked if they needed extra hands for the night, motivated by some sort of spur of the moment decision... or boredom, or the faint feeling of guilt for not having done enough lately.
Emily is in the back room, near the office, with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil tucked into the spiral of dark curls at the back of her head. She's wearing jeans and a simple sweater. It's cold in the warehouse, but she moves around enough that her jacket would be cumbersome. She's inventorying some form of canned vegetable, making sure they observe the best-by dates or counting cream-of-something-soups.
This is honest work, and she enjoys it for its simplicity and lack of deception.
[Nicholas Bell] He'd been out amongst the masses most of the evening. Nick had a sweet, personable demeanor that made him a good candidate for any kind of social interaction, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy hanging around the place and chatting up the men, women and children who lined up for a free, hot meal. It didn't matter much that they were in a different socio-economic stratosphere. Unlike certain wealthy models who shall not be named, Nick made a point of not thinking of himself as separate from or better than society at large.
And he liked the soup kitchen. When he was there, the place tended to get just a little bit warmer. Now that it was late, and dinner had officially concluded, he was making the rounds and assisting with clean-up, wiping down tables and gathering up bags of trash to take out to the dumpster behind the building. At one point, when he walked by the back room, he noticed the light coming in from under the door and turned to ask another volunteer who else was working.
"Oh, I think that's Emily. She just came in kind of spur-of-the-moment."
"Emily with the accent?"
"Yep. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious."
And then the older woman nodded and went back to what she was doing. Nick stood still for a moment, as if contemplating something, then made his way into the office and grabbed a notebook and a pen before pushing through the doors that led into the room where Emily was taking inventory. (Someone would have to figure out tomorrow's menu, after all.) When he walked by, he glanced over at Emily and smiled politely.
"Hey. Emily, right?"
At five feet, eight inches tall, Nick was actually a hair shorter than she was. He had short, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and one of those incredibly infectious sorts of smiles that friendly people tended to have. At the moment, he was dressed in an old black sweater and a pair of brown corduroys.
[Emily Littleton] "Hey, yourself," Emily said, shouldering a box back into place on the stacks. She wasn't strong enough to move the heavier ones about by herself, but Emily had mastered leverage at an early age. She got it settled without so much as an oof! and brushed her hands off on her slacks.
She turned to face Nick, and couldn't help but mirror part of that infectious smile back to him. Hers was not as a bright, not as likely to spread (tonight) but she could reflect warmth well enough. Nick was a naturally social creature and Emily... preferred smaller groups. Whatever they were, they seemed to embody it genuinely, and that was a blessed thing in her book.
"Are you wrapping up out front?" she asked, noting the notebook and pen he carried. "I'm mostly done out here." She reached down to reclaim her clipboard and jot a couple notes onto the inventory page.
And yes, the accent was stronger. More focused. More decidedly British, even though she had traveled to the Orient. Emily didn't bother hiding it here as much as other places, so her words were heavily touched by the muddled collection of cities (Countries) she'd lived in.
[Nicholas Bell] "Yeah, we're just about done. I just figured I'd come in here and see if I could think up something a little more creative for the kitchen staff tomorrow. Food's been getting a bit repetitive." It probably said something about him that he thought about stuff like this. A lot of people never really put much thought into small luxuries for the homeless. Feeding them at all was supposed to be more than enough. (Or maybe the whole thing had just been an excuse, in which case, he wasn't so terribly selfless. More than likely it was a combination of both.) "Oh, I'm Nick, by the way. Seen you a few times but I guess we've never officially met. So. Now we've met."
He held out his hand to her and smiled again, and once they'd gotten over that bit of social custom, he went back to what he was doing. Or at least, it appeared so. Nick scanned the various boxes and tapped the end of the pen absently against the side of his head. There was a long silence, and maybe Emily would assume that any more attempts at conversation were unlikely to occur. But then he glanced at her again and said, "So, I'm a little curious. Do you know a guy named Jarod Nightingale? I thought I saw you with him, once."
[Emily Littleton] She shook Nick's hand firmly. Emily had a good handshake, well-practiced, just confident enough without being cocky. "Pleased to meet you," she said, and the words came across as genuine. Warm.
He turned back to his notebook, and Emily went back to her count sheets. She wasn't pretending to double check her numbers or review the next section of the inventory list. She initialed a few lines, dated them, and then found herself looking over at Nick as he struck up (seemingly) casual conversation.
"Jarod?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow and regarding Nick cautiously for a moment. Perhaps like he was crazy. Then she shrugged a bit. "I guess. We're sort of connected through mutual acquaintances. Like being in the same book club," she offered up with a cheeky grin. No, she wasn't suggesting they actually read the same novels. Yes, she was dodging the question.
Emily let a couple moments pass, before she added, as if from memory. "He was here one night, maybe that's what you're thinking of?"
[Nicholas Bell] Nick actually laughed at that. It wasn't exactly a warm laugh, but neither was it unpleasant. Ironic, maybe. "Interesting analogy. I can't quite imagine Jarod and book clubs going together. Actually, I can't imagine Jarod and any sort of club going together." He paused a moment to give this some thought, but if he suspected any deliberate falsehood in Emily's words, he didn't mention it.
"Anyway, I actually brought him here, that night. Didn't work out tremendously well, but... that's not really a surprise. He's a snob and a half. One of his less than savory qualities. Not that he doesn't have plenty of good ones as well." Or at least, a few very obvious ones.
[Emily Littleton] "The kind of clubs with loud music and beautiful people might work," Emily added, playing with the language a little once Nick had laughed at the book club remark. She could be remarkably easy to get along with, and Nick was a warm personality. It helped. With whatever it was that had prompted Emily to, just because she felt like it, stand in a cold warehouse taking inventory for a few hours.
Emily watched him while he talked about Jarod. Watched the shapes Nick's eyes made, his mouth made. Her smile softened a bit, but perhaps not for the reasons Nick might suspect. "Sounds like you two must be pretty good friends," she said, keeping any judgement out of her tone. Emily had chosen the words carefully, however nonchalant they seemed.
She reached back and tugged on the loose spiral that held her curls back. They loosed, and tumbled over her shoulders as Emily tipped her head from side to side to loosen the tension in her shoulders. She took up the clipboard again, and slid the pencil in the channel the clasp made where it met the board.
Instead of chiming in with (more) of what she knew of Jarod, Emily let Nick talk. She was good at letting other people talk, and Nick had come back here for a reason. Probably not to talk to her about Jarod. But he wasn't talking about madmen, or entreating spiders to dance down her limbs. This normal sort of banter was almost... welcome.
[Nicholas Bell] "Yes, that kind of club and Jarod absolutely go together." It was, in fact, the sort of location that he and Nick usually ended up running into each other, whether purposefully or no. Emily asked him a question, and Nick contemplated his response as he jotted something down on his notebook. One hand came up to slide through his hair thoughtfully, and it ruffled in a manner that was almost endearing.
Emily was watching him closely, so she might notice that her question had made his eyes look a little out of focus, as if he was thinking about something not in the immediate. (Or maybe that was just recipes scrolling through his head.) She also might notice that he seemed a little tense. (Or maybe just tired.) "Well... I don't know, really. I suppose as much as anyone can be. He's translated a couple of my Dad's books, so that's how we met. I swear the first time I saw him I just..." but he trailed off, because as open and genuine of a person as Nick was, he was still talking to someone that he might not want to be vulnerable with.
"Anyway, we hang out now and then. Well, usually we just get sushi or go to a club and then come home. You... made him those cookies on top of the fridge, yeah?"
[Emily Littleton] "Yeah..." Emily wasn't heartless. She could see that some point of this conversation was difficult for Nick. Emily pulled out one of the heavy plastic tubs from the lowest shelves and sat on it. She set her clipboard down and rested her elbows on her knees. It made her seem younger, and unassuming. "Though, to be entirely honest," not that she was ever entirely honest with strangers, "I was baking with Enid -- the red-head, she works here with her Dad some times -- and I thought it would be nice to share."
"And the first time I saw Jarod, I nearly spilled my tea in my lap," she said, with a self-chiding tone, and an open admission. She had found Jarod... intimidating. "So, you're probably worlds ahead of me on the talking to models front."
Emily was listening, though. Actually listening to Nick's tone as well as his words. And listening did not come without its own tension. Her stomach knotted, and the very base of her skull, where it met her spine, ached. It felt tingly and cold. She wanted him to talk about recipes, or the soup kitchen. Anything but Jarod.
[Nicholas Bell] It was rather difficult to hate someone when they were so friendly and considerate. Emily and Nick were probably feeling rather similar emotions, at this particular moment. On his part, there were conflicting urges. And unlike the awakened woman (slightly younger by a year or two, but possibly just a bit wiser in some respects) next to him, Nick wasn't terribly good at hiding his feelings. Especially not when they were so... strong.
He smiled a little when she mentioned nearly spilling tea in her lap, strangely gratified for that little bit of self-deprecation on her part. It brought them to a more even level, although the nagging little voice in his head knew perfectly well that they weren't. Not really.
There was a reason that he'd mentioned those cookies. A reason why they'd been marked so clearly in his memory to begin with. "That's actually almost exactly what he said, too. About the cookies, I mean. I asked him about them, and he said: she didn't make them for me, she just happened to give me some. But still, he ate them, which is pretty significant, since I've never seen him eat anything remotely unhealthy in the entire time I've known him. " His voice didn't sound bitter so much as just... sad. A little hurt, maybe.
"You're sleeping with him too, right?"
(Not past tense: slept with him. Present: sleeping. Not only, but also. A shared, mutual experience.)
[Emily Littleton] Emily's smile slipped a little and she reached up to rub at the back of her neck a little as she let out a slow, steadying exhalation.
"Alright... Nick," she said, taking a firm but largely tolerant (humoring) tone with him. She was trying to keep this civil, and civilized and... well, whatever feelings of sameness she had held with him were... fraying.
"We barely know each other, right?" she asked, looking to him for confirmation. And suddenly this wasn't about Jarod. This wasn't about Nick and Jarod, or Emily and Jarod, this was painfully about the two of them. Where the stood, sat, lingered in the warehouse. The look Emily pinned him with woud not let the beautiful grad student escape scrutiny or responsibility. "So you can't know that I've never lived in a city long enough to have to have this conversation before. That I haven't even lived in a particuar Country long enough to build the kind of friendships where I would, or wouldn't, discuss my sex life. And as much as I like you as a human being, for the work you do here, for the obvious emotion at play here, I am going to pretend this conversation didn't cross that line."
Emily shook her head a little, and muttered a foreign word under her breath. "Or you can look in me in the eye, right now, and tell me that you really want to ask that question. Because up until now, we were talking about a nice guy we both know and you happen to be sleeping with."
She wasn't angry, but Emily was... offended. And it came forward even more because of the British tinge to her accent, and the lingering frustrations she felt in other parts of her life. Also, because Nick had been right.
[Nicholas Bell] Nick asked a question, and although at the time he hadn't exactly been thinking about his motivations, there had been something of an attempt, in there, to find some mutually honest way to discuss the situation. Why on earth he'd thought that this would be possible, or that Emily had any interest in dealing with him at all, was anyone's guess, but Nick was the sort of person who tried to handle problems by bringing them out into the open and just... dealing with them. If there had ever been any point where he might have been able to process this situation in something approaching a healthy attitude, it hinged on Emily's response.
But, not surprisingly (because really, what reason did she have to be honest with someone she didn't even know who had just told her something she didn't want to hear?)... that response came in neither the tone nor the words that Nick may have preferred.
"Well I suppose you just answered it, anyway," he said, and this time when the short, throaty laugh came it sounded much harsher. Bitter and angry, despite himself. "Not that it wasn't obvious. I mean... this is Jarod we're talking about. People like him pretty much just take whatever they want from the world and don't give a flying fuck who they hurt in the process."
He was letting himself get worked up now, letting the months of repressed emotions finally get to him. He'd known better. He really had. There was nothing that Jarod had not been entirely up front and honest with him about, and Nick had been in these kinds of relationships before. But there was something about the way that Emily talked down to him now that was like lighting a match against a lot of very combustible materials.
"You know, you sounded like him, just now. I guess the two of you are more alike than I would have thought. That explains some things, because I was sitting here thinking to myself what it was that made you so different from the rest of us, because it can't just be the sex. I mean, no offense but you don't seem like you'd even come close to being able to compete with him on that front."
No offense, he'd said, like that wasn't an amazingly hurtful thing to say, and despite his anger he almost instantly regretted it. He sighed roughly and shook his head, striding towards the door. Fleeing.
"Look, whatever. It's not worth it."
And then he was gone.
[Emily Littleton] "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Emily hissed the words between her teeth in a decidedly heated tone. Her cheeks were pinked and her eyes had gone cold. Nick was picking a fight with the wrong person, but knowing that didn't make Emily any less (hurt) angry.
"Listen to yourself. I'm a person too, you insufferable git. And whether I am any good in bed is none of your damned business unless you and I are sleeping together."
She was on her feet now, stalking after him. She grabbed his shoulder roughly and tugged at it to turn him around. It surprised her, that she would touch him like that, and Emily blanched noticeably and took a large step away from him. If he cared to notice, she looked... unsettled... rather than angry.
"I know that this hurts, but at least you got to see it coming. For the record, I never wanted to hurt anyone. And you are not the only person leaving here tonight with a self-destructive streak and a deep hole to fill. Maybe it'll help you to know that I'm sleeping with him at least partly because the nights when I'm sleeping beside him are the only times I feel even remotely close to safe anymore. Or like I belong anywhere in this damned city."
Emily wrapped her arms across her middle. She was shaking. She had to stop shaking. She had to stop talking. Emily clenched her jaw to keep herself from saying anything (more) that shouldn't be said.
[Nicholas Bell] Nick tried to flee, but Emily wasn't ready to let him go. He'd said his piece, and she deserved the right to respond, whether he liked it or not. When she put her hand on his shoulder and whirled him back around, the look in his expressive eyes was a fierce mix of anger and pain, and there was nothing even close to a filter masking it. It was all there, in its truth and ugliness.
Maybe he expected her to simply haul off and hit him. Maybe he felt like he deserved it, though for different reasons than she herself probably thought of him. But that didn't happen, and instead he looked at her with a glimmer of wetness rising in his eyes, and he took a quick step backwards, as if it was more than he could bear to be touched by her. Her... who had been touched by him. Him. Always him. Only him, despite everything. Despite knowing better. Despite wanting better.
"No," he said quietly. "I know. But I love him. Can you say the same?"
[Emily Littleton] Whatever fire (piss and vinegar) had burnt in Emily's expression faultered now, fell away, and where Nick's eyes were full of anger and pain, Emily's were full of anxiety and ... sadness (loss). It was just as unveiled, as out in the open. They were tearing each other to shreds over hurts that the other could not solve. Could only bruise, reopening deep wounds.
Emily looked away from Nick. The fingers of one hand reached up and fished her locket out from under her sweater. That offensive thing that Jarod made sure to leave behind, on the coffee table, on the beside table, whenever possible. Emily wrapped the locket in her long fingers and it sang out with the steady chorus of Home, home, home... but it wasn't enough. Not tonight. Not for this.
"No," she said quietly, but there was far too much emotion in her eyes, too much to say in the way she stood (defeated [afraid]) for it to be really that simple. "No, I can't say that I ... lo--" The word got stuck in her throat. She couldn't even say it. Literally could not speak it, so that much of what she told him is true. "No, I can't."
[Nicholas Bell] Can't, she'd said. Not: I don't. I can't. And Nick... laughed.
"Well, I suppose you two deserve each other then."
And this time when he turned around, it was less about fleeing, and more about walking away.
[Emily Littleton] Emily didn't watch him go. She could hear his footsteps just fine, hear the door to the warehouse creak shut behind him. She could feel the tension between them stretch out like taffy, growing ever more tenuous, until it finally broke. Running her fingers through her hair, she slowly made her way back to where she'd abandoned the plastic tub. Emily wanted to go sit in the parking lot and cry until the sick-to-her-stomach feeling passed, but she couldn't leave the storage room unkempt just because she'd gotten in a disagreement with Nick.
She had things to do before she left. Like turn in her count sheets, and write her notice to the lead so they could find another volunteer to cover her time slots. Emily would miss the soup kitchen but perhaps it was time for this to change or segue into something new, like so many other sections of her life right now.
She finally made it to her car, and sat there for a long moment with her cellphone in her hand. Emily knew she had to talk to Him, with everything going on she couldn't just take a few days to herself without letting him know she was going dark. It would be... irresponsible. So Emily dialed Jarod's number and she prayed that she got his voicemail.
[Nicholas Bell] Funny how whenever you wanted to talk to someone, they weren't around, and whenever you were wishing for the ease of a simple voicemail message, the person would actually pick up. Life just had a sense of humor that way.
Jarod was actually in the car when his cell phone rang. Of all ironic possible intersections of fate, he'd just been talking to Henry Bell, Nick's father, about another translating job, and the phone was still in Jarod's hand, so he glanced at the caller ID briefly before letting the call connect. The blue tooth receiver (which he generally only used when he was in the car or if he had to make an extended call) was still fitted over his ear, so he could set the phone down and keep his hands on the wheel.
"Emily, hey. Everything alright?" Because she didn't usually call him, and there was a marauder running around.
[Emily Littleton] Oh... goodie. Emily used the sleeve of her sweater to dab at her eyes and tried very hard not to sniffle. Of course, Jarod would answer, tonight of all nights.
There was a little pause, as if she hadn't been expecting him to pick up and was possibly preparing her voicemail message in her head, and then Emily said, "No, no, everything's fine." Quickly. As if it hadn't occurred to her that calling him might mean ... no, of course, everythng was fine. No madmen here!
"I just... um, something came up at the lab, on campus, and I'll be spending a lot of time there for the next few days," she lied. Though she probably would be spending a fair bit of time there. "Most of the time I can't get reception down there," which would be why I'm not answering, not that I'm avoiding your calls. "I thought I should tell you, you know, with everything going on..."
She made it to the end of that little white lie and pulled the phone away from her face so she could exhale uneasily. She would still be able to hear his reply, whatever it was. And Emily hoped that he wouldn't read into it too much. Too carefully.
[Nicholas Bell] [Per+Subterfuge - cause I'm mean]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] (( ... Please don't ask me that ... Manip + Subt, +1 distressed ))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Nicholas Bell] "You... didn't really need to tell me that, but thanks, in any case." There was a pause as he seemed to mull something over in his head. "And here I figured the labs would be locked up this time of year. You really work far too much for a student on holiday."
The little jab was meant to be gently teasing. Possibly, he had his doubts about the truth of her claim but didn't want to directly accuse her of lying to him. In either case, he had no idea of the precise level of emotional trauma that had been caused that evening in his name, and likely, if he had... he might not have picked up the phone to begin with.
[Emily Littleton] "Ah, there's no rest for the wicked," she said, as lightly as she could, but it didn't quite reach their usual banter. No matter though. "And all right then. Next time I'll leave you in peace," it was meant to be a light jib back, but Emily didn't have the heart for it.
There was a pause, and then it grew into a quiet moment, and Emily felt the need to cut that short for some reason. The reason didn't telegraph, but the somewhat stilted conversation would read as wrong to him on many levels. "That's all from me, though. So, ah, I guess this is good night."
In the soup kitchen's parking lot, Emily was trying to get off the phone before she started crying. Somewhere, in his car that purred its way down the roads, Jarod was likely confused but hopefully unworried by his (Apprentice? [friend?] lover?)... by Emily's suddenly proactive communication style.
[Nicholas Bell] If she was desperate to get away from him, she might simply hang up without waiting for permission. As it was, though, if she didn't do that, her stilted and awkward goodbye would be met by another short silence. And then:
"...Emily." Jarod's voice sounded very gentle. Almost a whisper. And rather unlike her own, there was a calm stability to it. "What's going on? You seem upset."
And he didn't say that so much because he could hear it in her voice as just... the odd nature of the call itself. It was the sort of conversation that happened when one person had simultaneous and conflicting desires to both talk and not talk about something.
[Emily Littleton] She felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at the tenderness in his voice. (You two deserve each other.) After everything that Nick had said about Jarod, and had implied about her, Jarod was not supposed to be gentle. He was not supposed to care. And lying to him tonight was making her ache.
There's a long, quiet moment. Emily does not know what she wants to say, or what she should say, or even if she should say anything at all. The fingers of her free hand curled around the steering wheel, gripped it hard. (Something to hold on to)
The moment looms, growing larger and more insurmountable with every false start in her head. Over his bluetooth, he might be able to barely hear her breathing, but it's hard to tell with the static in those things. At long last she says: "It's no matter." But she means: Please don't ask me that.
"I really didn't mean to bother you." Don't worry about me.
There's another pause. Shorter. Not as conflicted and perilous to navigate.
"Good night," she says softly. And if he lets her, she goes. After that benediction (Good night [Stay safe] Sleep well), however it may come, she goes quickly.
[Nicholas Bell] It's strange how her denial somehow rang as more meaningful than even a confession might have.
But they didn't talk. Not really. They didn't say the things they meant. So Emily brushed it all off and begged her goodbye. And Jarod gave it to her.
"Ok. Goodnight."
But somewhere in the city, a car stopped. Turned an unexpected corner. And veered off in a direction that was not home.
