Re: Newspaper office: Cat/Jack
I can afford very expensive lawyers. I think I'm going to give you a run for your money. Because, Jack? People here see things, and they talk about them, and they post about them. You can write those. This isn't the Enron scandal. This is footprints outside a lake. This is verifiable computers that call themselves daddy and threaten to explode. This? Is following a trail, and we both know that's what journalism is. [And she was half considering it, setting up competition. After all, Cat? She had money to burn. She could live her hedonistic lifestyle five times over, and she'd still be loaded, so why not? If it gave the man sharing the dusty space with her a migraine? Then it was entirely worth it. Because Cat was feeling petty. There was a thorn firmly lodged in her paw, and it wasn't showing any signs of coming free.]
Are you giving us privacy? [Her eyebrow rose, and her features were entertained, because he shoved the door and the blinds swung, and she chuckled. But she passed him the notepad, as he asked, and she went over to appropriate his whiskey with hips pushed elegantly away from the desk. She refilled her glass as he relocated papers to the couch, and then she sat on the arm with her refreshed drink. No, not sat - she perched.
His question, though, that made her watch him over the edge of her glass. Ah, this was a chess move, and she was considering. She sipped. She sipped again.] In your room, actually. Your little Russian display? That was a ghost. And, for what it's worth, I wake up with my ghosts every morning, and I go to sleep with them every night, and I don't drown them in a bottle. Not talking about them? Doesn't mean we aren't intimate friends.