OOC: Formatting tomorrow.




Drip, drip.

Darcy placed her phone down as her phone call with Ned concluded, her face contorting into an annoyed sort of frown. Her eyes met that of her reflection, grimacing further prior to decidedly avert her gaze. Scanning her surroundings for something to focus on that wasn't the mirror, she saw the last droplets of water collecting around the faucet, plummeting into the sink that was still coated with bits of toothpaste and spit she had provided. There was something therapeutic about watching water drops to Darcy, like watching domesticated rain, the leash firm around her hand.

Drip, drip.

She rolled her eyes at her own thought, dismissing it outright. It was stupid. It was one of those dumb, poetic thoughts that she preferred to leave in the domain of the pretentious and desperate. Upon further consideration, she decided the faucet was “dumb,” and the bathroom was “actually pretty lame,” flipping the light switch off hastily and retreating to the living room. She glanced upward, reading a small, analog clock that ticked away overhead, hands approaching as rapidly as they retreated. Longing for an embrace they couldn't receive. She was needing to start leaving for work soon.

Tick, tick.

Darcy felt a sharpness in her stomach, as if her own body was rejected the sort of reflective melancholy passing her mind. All of that was Ned's realm. For him, there was some appeal or... something in dwelling over these little moments in ways that felt momentous. The kinds of thoughts those with a fancy job that flies them out to beautiful locales every week or so gets to have, but someone like Darcy had to go to work.

Wait- work. Shit.

She really needed to leave now if she had any chance of making it. Of staring at a screen all day and ensuring the tech illiterate had someone to hold their hand through the most minor of inconveniences. Someone they would insult and ignore every step of the way until she had an excuse to format a desktop or two. Her glare shifted from the door to the couch.

She needed to go to work.

----

Straining one's voice to sound audibly ill wasn't a skill Darcy was necessarily proud of, yet as she gazed upwards at the clock a few hours after her “shift” was supposed to begin, she couldn't help but feel something akin to hubris. She sat stretched across the couch, a blanket draped over her, the fabric mingling with her pjs to briefly give her an electric charge that came back to bite every time she went to touch a light switch. She balanced a bowl of cereal on her stomach, cinnamon milk sloshing inside the bowl as she shifted to prop her feet up on her coffee table. She lifted the bowl, slurping its contents as some episode of Survivor played in the background, providing the perfect ambiance for a day like today. Just her and her thoughts. No work.

No Ned.

And like a snake at the back of her mind, sinking its fangs into her subconscious until the venom flowed through her, the extended contemplation flowing through her veins. She hated that he wasn't here. Not in the manner she was used to, either. There was something about being forced back into this world of madness and then watching him just gallivant off while she sat her thinking about their future. Thinking about the Grand Canyon. Despite it all, being alone here is where she felt most infinitesimal.

KNOCK, KNOCK

A veritable gunshot rang out within Darcy's apartment. She jolted upward, catapulting her bowl, with the few remnants of cinnamon-sugar swirled milk splashing onto the floor. Plus the bowl exploded on contact with the ground, but Darcy had enough on her mind to last a few dozen lifetimes, so she did her best not to think about it. Somewhat shamefully walking to her door, she peeked through the peephole, not quite able to discern the person on the other side of the door. Hesitantly, she turned open the handle and stuck her head in the small visible space against the wall where she could communicate through the door while hiding her pajama'd self from the undeserving world at large.

That's when she recognized the person on the other side. Her auburn hair and trim physique almost glittering in the hallway light as she turned to look at Darcy, smiling brightly at the reunion.

“Dar-cee! If it hasn't been too damn long!” Kristen Kyers exclaimed, pulling Darcy through the small crack in the doorway to give her a “reassuring” noogie to her old coworker. Kristen and Darcy briefly collaborated on The Chameleon project back in the day before Kristen was... unceremoniously fired, to say the least. They stopped speaking afterwards. It certainly didn't help that Ellis chose to continue supporting the project despite the massive ethical questions at play while Kyers was forced to figure something else out entirely. Darcy... just didn't think about it. Avoiding certain thoughts made life easier for Darcy, even though she knew it was asking for some kind of nervous breakdown to happen. But a habit known for too long, regardless how bad, becomes intstinct.

“Yeah, heh heh... heh...,” Ellis forced out, clearing her throat gently, “It's good to see you, too, Kris. Any reason you're in town?”

“Well, I was going to see you at work, but I heard you called in sick.”

“So... you came to see me even though you might catch something?”

“Puh-lease, Darce,” Kristen swatted the air with the back of her hand as she let herself into Darcy's apartment, taking a note of the disheveled environment around her, “I've called off on enough days to know you probably just didn't feel like going in today. But yes, if you were wondering, why I came here is that important.”

“So?” Darcy shrugged, feeling especially awkward until her brain kicked in and she began to sweep up the shattered pieces of the bowl she flung into the floor earlier, “You don't have to wait 'till I'm done.”

Kyers's tone hardened slightly, crossing her arms before she spoke, “well... it's about The Chameleon project. We have reasons to believe it just kicked up steam again.”

Darcy stopped in her tracks, looking over her shoulder to meet Kyers's gaze, the shattered bowl jingling together as her hands shook.

“It's not just some amateurs this time. Whoever is planning this next thing is organized and motivated.”

“I-it doesn't matter,” Darcy shook her head in denial, placing the dustpan and broom down so she didn't accidentally spill the remnants on the floor, chuckling a bit as she dismissed Kyers's warning, “even if they got the data, they'd need the lead to make sufficient progress, and The Custodian... Dante is in federal custody. It'll go nowhe-”

“Darcy,” Kristen spoke frankly, “Dante was broken out of prison two days ago.”

Darcy looked to Kristen, sensing a similar shame in their past failures. But moreso... a similar fear of things to come.

The thought lingered.

---

Ned took a long overdue exhale. This whole endeavor had been crazy, but he had at least come out of it in one piece. His sleeves were rolled up, skin still feeling gravelly with specs of dirt strewn about the skin that was exposed during the tussle he had shared with BoB of all groups just a bit earlier.  Still, Ned figured, maybe the look he had currently suited this environment best. The grime on the beige tile below. The splatter of grease adorning the ill-concealed grill top. The uniforms with their unique brand of sky blue, concealed by a black apron, chunks of a thousand roaches and hashbrowns staining a different part of each employee's attire.

Needless to say, this was the cleanest Waffle House Ned had ever had the “pleasure” of dining in.

Bobby had insisted on waffles after the adventure they'd been on and Ned still could use a ride back, so staying around for some food made sense. Kaye's plate sat mostly untouched, a few smears of of margarine underneath a small pool of maple syrup, cut cleanly along the fourths lines. To be honest, it was going to be a pain to eat even if he hadn't had so much on his mind with the method Bourbon had chosen to devour his waffles, tearing them into soft, plush pieces with his fingers before dunking them in syrup and gulping them down, enjoying the experience heavily. Feeling awkward with the silence just lingering between them, Ned spoke up.

“Nazis, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Bobby's lips smacked together as he applied little thought to the situation, merely enjoying his breakfast. Ned was almost envious of Bobby's ability to seemingly apply little discretion to the events he traversed through, plowing through them and moving on shortly after. A freedom that Bobby had, but one that came at a cost Bourbon either didn't acknowledge or wasn't aware of.

“Geez, Ned,” Bourbon spoke through a mouthful of waffly goodness, “you're the only red-blooded American I know who can stop a cross burning, eat some Waffle House, and still look like a sourpuss.”

Ned stifled a chuckle, exhaling a puff of air before responding, “Well, most people don't have to fight alongside a bunch of people they disagree fundamentally on most things with. Plus, I'm pretty sure TK murdered children incredibly recently. I can't believe that just doesn't matter for you in an ally.”

“So?”

“So...? Bobby, he's a monster. A good portion of BoB is opportunists or depraved sadists. Or both.”

“They bopped nazis plenty good, Ned. And you had a good time! That's what matters.”

“Is it? What about tomorrow? What about the people they hurt? When are you going to want better from them, Bobby?” Ned asked, trying to see if he could really crack the strange exterior that housed Bourbon.

“You know, you are the only person I know who can't even unclench to take a shit, Ned. Sure, I can go expecting the best out of everything, but then I'm not focusing on what's in my hands. What's most important is right in front of you and you can either enjoy it while its here or it just won't be,” Bobby replied, taking Ned off guard for once.

“Bobby... that's oddly profound of you.”

“What? I'm talking about your waffles. If you don't start chomping, I'm laying claim here and now.”

Ned sighed, nodding a bit as reality set in, albeit smiling at being able to share the moment.

“I mean it I am going to eat your waffles.”

----

“Tough times define who we are. What we're willing to do for our goals. For the things we value most. The fact is that my time in the XWF has never been easy, and that's true for LSM and Finn as well. None of us had a free ride, hell we barely had tickets to the bus. But where they see a mountain, I see a ladder. Where they see a brick wall, I see a passageway waiting to happen! Where they see lost causes, I see burgeoning potential to do better! They see tough times and they hone in on that thought, focusing on it until nothing else remains. Because they don't want to fight through the moment, they just want it to end. They are the ones waiting and I am the moment after. When you see the mountaintop, when you feel the cool breeze on the other side of the tunnel, when you look at someone and see what they can truly be. Isaiah King needed a chance and he got one. Mark Flynn needed a chance! Bobby Bourbon needed an opportunity to be better and he got one!”

“This is LSM and Finn's opportunity. Because there is no time tougher than being in that ring with The Ace and you can take it or watch it pass you two by again. You know my preference. See you on Warfare.”

"You can't run from yourself."