Who: Rebecca Rice, Deacon Cartwirght What: A night out, ladies choice When: Backdated to Friday 1/22 Where: San Fran?
It wasn't really the jet-lag that bothered her as much as the internal conflict that always seemed to exist between herself, her fledgling conscience, and the self-proclaimed 'fallen angel on her shoulder.'
Sure, she'd crafted a spell for CORE. Sure, it was one of those persuasive truth spells that were generally considered to be bad news because they were designed to force another person to do as you bid without their knowledge or consent. Sure, she'd justified it by reminding herself that Michael had asked her to try and get closer to key members of the Conglomerate in order to with their favor. She had even reported back to Camelot to apprise them of her actions and how to dissolution the spell on the little redwood charms--funny how a little salt could wreak a lot of havoc in the supernatural realm--but it was still a bit like saying, "Hi boss, I'm helping the bad guys!"
So when Friday rolled around, she was more than looking forward to a night out with a near perfect stranger, because it meant that she wouldn't have to face anyone that she already knew--who knew neither side of her somewhat double identity. Somehow the expectations of a first date seemed easier to live up to than the expectations of someone who had seen her at her best and worst of moments.
Deacon had said ladies choice, and Becca already had an idea what she was in the mood for. Something that would make her feel good, that was oh, so bad for her. Steak and ice cream, maybe?