Re: The Cat: Matt & Cat
Cat didn't like any of it, but she was good at surviving in less-than-ideal situations. After all, her entire childhood had been something she didn't like, and she had a lot of practice. She didn't like any of the supernatural nonsense that surrounded this town, but Cat? Cat made do, and Repose was nearly home now, and leaving wasn't an option. She still had her mission, and Cat? Cat had a tendency to love problematic places. After all, New Jersey? Her part of New Jersey? Had always been a smoggy cesspool, and still she loved it.
She looked up when Matt walked in. It was an odd sense she had about him, one that she knew led back to a much colder, much more remote place than this misfit little town would ever be. It was all right there, right at the edge of her memory. If she reached for it, she could close her fingers around it and remember everything, and yet she didn't do that. It wasn't fear, not as the word was generally used, but more of an understanding. If she remembered, then things would change. So, she didn't remember, and she chuckled quietly when she saw his face shaved clean like that. He looked younger than her bones said he was, and he looked like one of the town's college kids. The thought of him washing glasses to pay off student loans was so laughable that it almost made her feel better about this whole locked-door thing.
She stopped mid-pour as he slid behind the bar, and she handed him the bottle of mid-grade whiskey. "I know. I'm a genius. And you? Are making me look old with that baby face of yours." Her Russian was flawless. Better than his, more natural, because it was the first language she could remember learning. Oh, she was sure her worthless father had spoken English at home, maybe Italian, but Cat didn't remember those days. She remembered the orphanage, and the orphanage was Russian. "Are we negotiating your salary?" she asked, after barely missing a beat and pouring out a beer for one of the deputies just off duty.