‘A few’. Okay, Miss Personality. That was helpful. Not. Mercy rocked back on her heels a little and started scanning the streets below them. Not a single car except The Car, but she’d known that. It was just a little heartbreaking to see it from up here. Still had no job.
“Well, aren’t you just all sorts of helpful, Miss Personality,” she said, settling herself on the nearest stool-like object. So much for quietly getting out of there before he started asking her awkward questions she couldn’t quite answer without totally shooting herself in the foot. “Is that a pageant skill? How to be as vague as possible while still making people think they’ve learned something about you?”
And now they came to the big part of the issue: what exactly was Mercy Thompson doing up on this roof in Clint the idiot’s nest? (Actually, bigger question: why did Clint the idiot even have a nest?) “I’m used to having a high-up place,” she said. “Something to look out of. It kind of trips me out that I don’t have a vantage point.” Total lie. Mercy had had a tiny little house with a cat, and a vantage point wasn’t really a priority. What was a priority? Getting someplace to change, and quick.
“I’m, uh, I’m used to being able to jog around in peace, you know, but it feels like something’s watching me here. So I was kind of hoping that if I got up high enough, I’d be able to see—you know. Somewhere to jog safely.”