Rhiannon Lee (rhiannon_lee) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2021-10-22 09:05:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | marsh grey, rhiannon lee |
Tetchy
Who: Rhiannon, Marsh
What: A Business Arrangement?
When: Present
Where: Lucky’s, Searchlight
Once upon a time, and not long ago, Rhiannon loved Searchlight, or if not the town itself, then her rented trailer and the desolate land beyond, which stretched for miles upon miles into nothing. It was freedom, a place beyond her uncle’s reach. She began to think of it as ‘her town,’ the way hunters became protective of territory. She had a favorite booth at the Roadhouse, a preferred high-top at Lucky’s. Along the way, it soured. If pressed, Rhiannon would say it was the moment a staked vampire was dumped in her driveway, announcing the arrival of the Corrigans and a small army of hunters racking up kills for cash. The love affair ended.
Today, she returned with an envelope for her old landlord and a cat carrier in her passenger seat. Rhiannon was thinking of the stray she fed and watered for two years. He was a blackish-brown fur ball who alternated between rubbing all over her legs to latching on and going for blood; she called him Nik Fiend and sang him an Alien Sex Fiend song about walking the line between good and evil. With any luck, he’d be waiting near the steps where she could scoop him up before leaving town.
Rhiannon parked outside Lucky’s and made her way into the saloon. An old guy in a trucker cap stood up and she met him by his table, passing a final check for what she owed giving in to the quick hug he offered. When they finished saying goodbye, the hunter walked up to the bar on a whim. She put her hands on the shining wood with its years of etched initials and marker obscenities. She climbed onto a stool, looking ordinary in black denim leggings, a merlot off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, and her hair in a messy bun.
Being back at Lucky’s had been an adjustment for Marsh, to say the very least. He knew part of the appeal of having him here was his telepathy but it felt wrong to use it anymore, especially when he was trying to better himself. Still, Marsh needed money and Lucky’s was about the only job that he could do that was close enough to his trailer. He saw an exchange across the bar, an envelope between two people who didn’t seem to fit well together but nothing too sketchy so he kept his blinders on.
The shirt he wore was a newer one, his mom had spoiled him rotten when he went to visit them over a couple of months. It was an old blue cowboy shirt with roses along the collarbone, paired with his favorite pair of worn jeans.
He hadn’t been talking to Ronnie and somewhere in his heart he knew that it wasn’t fair to the other man. Of course he was interested in him but his anxiety had increased ten fold and he wasn’t sure he was good enough for him anyway. At least tonight wasn’t too busy at Lucky’s so when the woman came to the bar he was ready to take her order. “What can I get you?” he asked, realizing she seemed familiar but not quite being able to place her.
Rhiannon leaned down the bar to see what was on tap. Her mouth quirked. “Sweep the Leg,” she said, referencing a pilsner from Tenaya Creek. That decided, she rested her arms on the bar and observed her surroundings, a fingertip tracing a knothole in the wood. She came back to attention and watched the bartender. He wasn’t in a Lucky’s shirt, which could mean he was new, but the saloon was also lax on dress code; she’d seen Brian behind the bar in a Black Flag shirt.
A thought occurred to her.
“Are you Marsh?” She watched his face.
The glass he grabbed from behind the bar was tipped beneath the tap as he pulled the lever to let the amber liquid slide neatly inside. He was surprised that he never seemed to lose that instinct, that he wasn’t all thumbs after being away for so long. Once the glass filled he placed it on the bar before and paused.
“I am," he replied, skepticism clear in his voice. He wasn’t used to people recognizing him that he didn’t know well but something told him this had something to do with that god awful text chain. “And who might you be?”
“Rhiannon,” she offered. Her fingers wrapped the pint glass and she tasted the craft brew. Dry hopped with mango. “Let’s make a deal.” She took a napkin and set down her drink. “You won’t read my mind. I won’t brandish any weapons or...” She shook her head, thinking through the possible points of conflict. “Summon any dark forces from Hell. I’m off the clock anyway.” The hunter extended a hand toward Marsh.
This was her first encounter, post-text nightmare, and an awkward beer wasn’t what she’d come here for.
The name immediately brought up the images of secrets, his own being among the first to be revealed. It had been pretty damning for all of them and he had no clue who’d said anything. Marsh was used to keeping secrets, there were plenty he still kept inside but he couldn’t say the same about the others.
He looked around the bar to make sure no one heard their exchange and leaned over the bar to speak in a low tone. “Listen, I ain’t over here reading people’s minds on a daily basis alright. I’m done with that.” At least when it came to his social interactions. “You here to blackmail me?” It seemed like a logical conclusion in Marsh’s mind.
Rhiannon’s eyebrows arched. “Seriously?”
She withdrew and put her hands underneath the bar. Palms rubbed on the thighs of her jeans as she took a breath, then continued, keeping her voice measured, “What about me ordering a beer, suggesting a deal where neither of us uses our abilities against each other, and offering you my hand to shake, and God,” Rhiannon laughed, “I don’t touch anyone... what about that says blackmail to you? Jesus fucking Christ.”
Marsh put his hands up in surrender and stood back, bringing them back down to rest against his jeans. He paused a moment to really think about what he would say next. “I’m sorry.” He began, since an apology seemed necessary at this point. “This whole thing… it brought up a mess of emotion I been working hard on trying to control.” He shook his head and extended his own hand this time.
“I ain’t in the business of telling other people’s secrets, even to those closest to me.” He raised a brow at her, a silent plea to do the same.
Ronnie knew now, and the few others he interacted with in Searchlight but that didn’t mean he wanted the whole town to know.
She considered his hand, then took it peaceably. “I hunt vampires for a living. Having secrets is my life,” Rhiannon said. “But I’m not worried about you telling anyone because you’d have to explain how you knew.” The beer called to her, another sip washing away the uncomfortable start to their conversation. “It’s more like… I’m careful with whom I share other things about myself, and I’ve been in here a lot, so.” As she settled more comfortably on the bar stool, Rhiannon crossed her legs. Talking to people she could do, but getting deep was reserved for a chosen few.
A firm handshake was given before returning to his person to grab a rag and wipe down a wet part of the bar. His hand slid across the length of it and mopped up as much as he could. “You make a good point,” he agreed, placing the dirty rag under the sink to wash later with the rest of them. He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. “That whole…situation made my head hurt. I would not suffer if you told me I’d never be in a group text ever again.” He chuckled a bit. Truth was that Marsh didn’t have a lot of people texting him so while he did hate it, it was almost nice to connect with other people.
“If you stick around, it won’t be the last.” Rhiannon reached up to adjust the elastic band in her hair and rewrap the loose strands. “But that’s only if you decide you want to use that talent of yours for something good. Be the guy that we call on when we need help. I don’t mean counseling, I mean with supernatural stuff. But it takes a lot of guts, especially if your gift is the mental kind and not physical. It’s easy for me to run towards danger. I can hit it.” Rhiannon observed him for a beat longer, then down and away. “Anyway, don’t worry… I’m not on the recruitment committee. That’s the extent of my spiel.”
As she sat, she took out a cigarette lighter, not to ignite anything but to feel its reassuring weight and run her thumb over the filigree.
He raised an eyebrow at her and gathered a couple of finished glasses from patrons. “What exactly does that entail?” he asked her, pushing the dirty glasses into the soapy water before he dipped them into the sanitizing water. He didn’t even think about it anymore, the act of bartender came naturally.
He wasn’t confident that he could help anyone, even when it did come in handy. If he really thought about it, it did help a few times. When there was an attack on Lucky’s, when Nobu had been captured but Marsh didn’t do any ass-kicking, he only assisted those who did.
“It depends on the situation,” she said. Rhiannon opened the lighter and watched the blue flame leap to life. “So for me… let’s say I was going into a situation where I had to meet with an enemy, like a negotiation, and I needed to know they weren’t lying, you could be a useful person to have nearby. Or in a big fight, if I had you in my ear.” She snapped the lighter closed. “You wouldn’t be fast enough to tell me when to duck, but you might be able to tell me if they had a weapon I couldn’t see, or if back-up was on the way.”
Rhiannon set the object down. “Every one of us you ask would give a different answer, and maybe it’s not for you. But if you wanted it to be, it’s there.” She thought about how much the cops would love to have him as an informant. That was a nightmare in the making. She took a few more sips of beer.
Something deep in him, something darker liked the idea of putting himself in that sort of danger. That being said, the more prevalent and logical part of him was skeptical. His eyes followed the lighter and flicked back up to her. “You offering me a job?” he bargained with her. He didn’t actually believe she was but the idea was appealing in a completely new way.
“I don’t know how helpful I’d be. Some people’s thoughts are gibberish to me.” Like people who spoke different languages, or those who thought a mile a minute.
Rhiannon’s eyes widened. Oh. Okay.
The wording here would be important. Rhiannon took a breath and held it. “How about this… the next time I get a commission, meaning a paid job, I’ll call you. I’ll let you know the details and if you want in, you can come with and I’ll give you a cut.” She lowered her chin, thinking about the hesitance in Marsh’s posture. “Or... if you ever want to come along on a regular hunt, something local, simple, just to get a feel for it... we can do that, too. Most vampires around here speak English as a first language. You could take a listen. How close do you have to be to hear someone’s thoughts?”
The brunette’s fingers were in motion, a slow rotation of a silver ring, but her eyes were steady on Marsh. Of all that Rhiannon was, a liar wasn’t part of the package unless it was a life or death situation.
He really took a moment to think about it now, mindlessly taking a drink order for another patron. When he came back to her he leaned over the bar and spoke in a low voice. “Twenty yards give or take. If I can see them I can hone in on them.” Though it usually started with a loud clamor if he was in a crowded place.
“You got my number,” he added, standing up from the bar and grabbing another rag and wiping up some of the beer that had slid out of another patrons drink. He pointed at her with the rag. “I reserve the right to leave whenever I want to.”
The pointing was an eyebrow raiser. “What do you think I’m gonna do, tie you up and make you watch?” Rhiannon drank the rest of the pilsner. What happened to this guy in a former life that made him this tetchy? Noah had been imprisoned during his adolescence and he wasn’t this worried about manipulation.
The brunette set down the empty pint glass. When he was closer, she added, “Marsh, I’ve been training or hunting for eighteen years, none of it with a telepath. If you don’t want to be there, I don’t mind. This is a window of opportunity for you, as much as it is for me. If it feels like a burden, or too much...” She lifted her shoulders. “Leave.”
She took a debit card out of her wallet and held it between her fingers.
An urge came, that overwhelming feeling like he wanted to know what was in her head but he didn’t let his resolve slip because this was his choice and he was sticking to it. Her thoughts were silent to him.
A hand came up between them as she pulled out her debit card. “It’s on the house,” he replied, arms crossing over his chest.
“I accept.” He was keeping his guard up but the idea of having a bit of extra money for an upcoming trip was enticing and Marsh didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of money to spare.
“Okay.” Rhiannon recaptured the debit card in her palm. “Thanks.” Rather than putting it in her wallet immediately, she studied the way he held himself. Never having had the dubious gift of telepathy, she had to learn -- as most others did -- how to read people’s body language, and in between the lines of their words. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth.
“In some ways, it's an easier life for hunters and witches… even most Weres. We’re usually brought up in it, or we have people to teach us the ropes. It seems like when you’re a human with a gift, it comes out of nowhere.” Rhiannon rested one corner of her debt card on the wooden bar and pictured Noah’s face when he told her about his childhood. “You probably scared the hell out of anyone you tried to tell, if you bothered, and so here you are, an adult, and suddenly…” Rhiannon lifted her shoulders. “It’s out there. I’ll never know how that feels. Or what it was like to be alone the way a gifted person has to be. For better or for worse, you aren’t alone anymore. The secret’s out.”
She finally put her card away and climbed down from the stool. “I gotta go. I’m trying to find a stray cat before it stops hanging around my old house. I’ll talk to you soon, cool?”
All within the span of a minute Rhiannon had described his upbringing to a T. He sighed as the memories flashed through his mind like a lightning storm. He’d heard lectures on development that would rival her observations and fail. Maybe it was luck or maybe Marsh was just that easy to read.
“Cool.” Was all he could manage because he couldn’t put words to all the things he wanted to say. No one had really hit that nerve before and Marsh thought this might be something to bring up with Dr. Burke.
“Good luck with the cat,” he added for good measure.
Rhiannon smiled. “Thanks.” On her way out, she put some cash in a tip jar and waved goodbye to her old landlord. The door to the bar swung open, admitting a new customer. She slipped through the open space.