Thread: Conspiracy theorists make the best conspiracists Who: Bethan and Debra What: Plotting, scheming, and conniving, AKA girl time. Where: Debra's house When: Saturday night/the small hours of Sunday morning Warnings: Bethan warnings, basically.
She hadn't told Dan she was going out. It hurt her a little to keep him in the dark when she knew he was worried about her, but the less he knew, the safer her was. So she didn't tell him she was going out, or where she was going; she just climbed out of the window into the night, knowing he wouldn't question her. She went out most nights, after all, to sit on the roof or in the trees near the house, to be alone with her thoughts in the clear night air.
So as long as she didn't start up the Mongrel within hearing of the house, she'd probably be okay.
She pushed it, instead, right out onto the road where it could be mistaken for other traffic, before she mounted up and kick-started the engine, roaring down the empty road into town. Parking it behind a Dumpster in the outskirts of Lima, she headed for the rooftops, which by now she knew like the back of her hand. There was still that heady feeling of freedom to moving around alone in the open air, even though she kept as low to the roofs as she could, not wanting to be seen; she wasn't wearing her disguise or her helmet (left at home in case Dan checked; she didn't want him thinking she'd taken the vigilante out without him) and it wouldn't take much of a brain for a casual bystander to put two and two together and come out with a criminal assault charge for her. At the same time, though, it was nice to be out and running without listening for screams; nice to be able to feel the wind on her face; nice to move freely without her padded jacket getting in the way. So, although she was on a serious errand, she took a detour on her way to Debra's house, enjoying the air.
She had let Debra know in advance, with a cryptic text which came down, in essence, to try to be around tonight. Debra's house still seemed like the safest place to hold these kinds of conversations; tinfoil hats might be going a bit far, but that didn't mean paranoia couldn't be helpful. So Bethan scrambled down the side of the Grays' house, tapping her knuckles smartly on Debra's windowframe - and, in the name of paranoia, elected to stay out of sight as much as she could until Debra opened the window.