2017-10-23: The First Thing She Ever Stole
- Log: The First Thing She Ever Stole
- Cast: Morgan Newkirk, Cassidy Cain
- Where: Bunker's Lounge, Hotel Renais, November City
- Date: October 23, 2017
- Summary: Under the cover of night, Cassidy Cain asks Morgan Newkirk for a favor, which he obliges her. What starts out as a conversation about business diverges into something extremely personal.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Smoke and vibrant jazz fills the interior of Bunker's Lounge; were the location different, Cassidy Cain would tell anyone who would listen that its legend is well worth the visit, a stopping point for most traveling singers and a rite of passage for these wayward, sand-locked bards as its atmosphere can turn deadly at the drop of a hat. She hadn't been immune to the allure of it, having performed here a few years ago, herself, if not just to add her name on the list of notable vocalists who have graced its breast.
But Bunker's Lounge is located in the middle of the Badlands, and there is no location on Filgaia that she detests more, the complete opposite of Lacour and what it means to her in all of its terrible, wonderful complexity.
Such thoughts plague her often, the major reason why she has largely been out of sight, out of mind, barely around since she had returned from Kislev and Sandy Springs. She hadn't even told Jude that she has returned, flitting here and there like a ghost. But her reasons are sound, at least that is why she would tell herself - she has not yet fully recovered from the grievous injuries she sustained from the mysterious blue-eyed Gebler agent and Vorthuzahl the Metal Demon, a testament as to just how deadly those bouts have been.
In a dark corner of the Lounge, the blonde waits patiently for her company - she had sent Morgan a message a day ago to meet her there, so she could ask him for a favor in person, and while the favor does exist, it wouldn't be Cassidy if she didn't have other motives as to why she wanted to look him in the eye this evening.
When Morgan arrives, he'll find a curious object on the table, as well as a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
It is an object that he wound find familiar; his dealings with the Adventurers Guild would have made him come across similar items before. It is rectangular, made out of metal, with switches and tumblers meant to keep its contents secure, though none of that would be present. Under the dim, ambient light, it gleams a metallic dull gray - it appears to have been cleaned recently.
Before him, the lockbox stands empty, and not of a make that is particularly expensive as further inspection would reveal no failsafes within, in case thieves decided to try their hands in opening it.
Presumably, the blonde has already picked it open and relieved it of its contents, but what it is doing here now is a mystery.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
To some than enter the Bunker, its a place of business. Some its no more than a transient location on the way to someplace else. A place to stop for a drink. To others its a place to preform. Or an oasis in the middle of the harsh life of the Badlands. A palce to rest, to relax, to find a moment to oneself.
...and then there are people like Morgan Newkirk.
The fox enters with a grin, his considerable height allowing him to wave towards the bartenter then. A bright smile, an easy wave. Reconised and welcome. A visiting noble in a different court. Exotic and bearing gifts from far away.
He can't help but make a scene, a touch on someones shoulder as he passes by. A wink to an old aquatiance. Everyone deals with the fox, the smuggler, the bandit, the salvager, many things to many people and none of them actually who he is.
With enough personas, its hard to tell which one is at the core.
Hard for most people at least.
With him come his boys, Briggs with his eyepatch. Sharpe with the slow lope and wide brim hat. Smith and Wessen, the brothers so close in height and stature its hard to tell them apart. They spread thoughout the crowd, laughing, joking. Dealing their own business and keeping eyes on them. Loud, friendly, boistrious.
So Morgan can slip away from the light and into the dark. Sliding into the quiet corner of the bar, ears flipping down to call less attention to himself as he smirks across the wooden table towards the lady he was meeting tonight. The box is notied, the whiskey and the pair of glasses. He looks to the label of the drink, how expensive it is was usually a hint just what he was going to be asked about.
Then he raises his eyes to the woman herself, brow quirking up in curiousity as his hand reaches for the drink. "So," His drawl amused. "I'm gonna assume this is going to be a I pour you talk moment?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
There's a jaunty salute aimed towards Briggs' direction when Morgan enters with his own crew of ne'erdowells, Cassidy's smile as sharp as a blade. With the rest of them clustering at the bar, and the man himself moves to join her, she angles a look over at him with a brow cocked and amusement treading over her pale mien. "Rolling with the big boys, ay?" she wonders. "Some might think you were trying tae one-up Carillo's entourage. Careful, luv, dinnae think you'd want tae mess with a fat bastard that literally eats his competition."
But he is offering to pour while she talks, and so she slides the bottle towards his direction, and while her tone is light, the presence of his boys make one thing dreadfully clear to her: Morgan, too, has yet to recover from what the Gebler operative had done to him, though unlike Lily Keil and whoever else he might have victimized, he got off relatively lightly.
She then offers up her own tumbler, for him to do what a gentleman ought, and that is to pour her a glass.
"This is why I asked you tae pick me up from Kislev, nae just so you can smuggle me out of the country without anyone noticing - I'm a thief, luv, but your knowledge of the underground trade routes I needed's always been better than mine." Taking things is one thing, transporting them safely from one border to another is an entirely different animal. "Could nae risk this falling out of my hands, y'ken."
An empty box?
She has said nothing about what could have been inside. "Anyway, I ken, this is a little unorthodox - found it in the Nortune sewers. Was hoping you can take this off my hands and ask around your merchant contacts tae see if anyone recognizes the make and model." She taps her finger on the faded maker's mark embossed on the top. "Dinnae have any failsafes inside tae prevent any unwanted break-ins though. Might be an older model, but I was wondering if you could look intae it for me." Emerald eyes glitter from under hooded lashes. "If you can find out who sold it, so much the better."
Whenever he pours her a drink, she draws the glass towards her and takes a sip.
"Take it you're still hurting from what happened tae you and ol' Blue Eyes?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"I could never one-up Carillo." Morgan replies with a laugh. "I think most of his entourage is prettier than mine." The fox's replay comes with a grin as he reaches to upcap the bottle and pour that drink. Minimal movement, minimal splashing. Can't waste or hurt the drink now can he? That would just be rude.
As that liquid gold splashed a generous helping into her tumbler the fox snorts. "I'm fine, the boys were just worried about me. A bunch of mother hens that group, so I figured I'd get them distracted and actually have some peace to myself."
The affection is there behind the groucing. The threads and ties of friendship built on shared adversity. He knows they would lay down their lives for each other and for him, and he would do the same. That unspoken bond of brothers in arms that he can't help but show, at least to her. One who is so very good at reading people.
His eyes slide to the box though as he pours his own drink. One hand reaching across the table to pick it up. Clever fingers turn it round as he quirks an eyebrow at it. "What was in it?"
She knew the question was coming. Morgan is a curious sort, so he has to ask.
"The sewers are a odd place to find something like this." A beatpause. "I mean D block isn't much of an upgrade, but its something at least."
His finger brushes against the makers mark, faded and rough. "A box with no trap, placed for you to find or was just a fortunate discovery?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Ay," Cassidy remarks in unison, her smirk laden with a sardonic edge as she thinks of Sonny Carillo, and everything he represents for her. "I'm pretty sure he feeds the ugly ones tae his dogs."
Kicking up her feet and setting them on a chair across from her, her pale-tressed head tips back to turn her eyes towards the ceiling. "Well, I would nae ken anything about busybodies following me around like a lost puppy, interposing themselves in my business and full of the reluctance of nae letting me die, nevermind the fact that I can take care of myself." Her tone is as dry and arid as the surrounding infernal desert, flicking those eyes pointedly towards Morgan at that. But her amusement remains, plain for him to see.
When the million-gella question drops on the table, that amusement only grows, tilting the tumbler to her lips once more.
"Stuff," she tells him, flashing him with an easy and downright infuriating smile.
His other question has more substance, and she shakes her head. "Nae any way it's meant for the likes of me, I can assure you," she tells him. "Just at the wrong place at the wrong time, I s'pose. Apologies, luv, but you're going tae have tae deal with me being cagey about this for a bit, truth be told, I dinnae ken what I have just yet, but I figure just in case, putting another set of eyes on it cannae hurt, ay? And speaking of..."
While the smile remains, a more serious look touches her eyes. "Humor me and tell me about what happened with you and ol' Blue Eyes."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"I have no idea who you're talking about," Morgan drawls right back towards her. Lazily he brings his drink to his lips to take a long and pleasent drink. "But," He adds as he points one finger at her around his glass. "This strange person seems to be comepleatly insane. I think you should try to get rid of him." His eyes dance with amusement as he leand back in his chair.
Amusement that only grows when she answers that question.
"Ass." He replies with a snort as he turns the box over once again, looking for specific metal marks. Little hidden nicks a metalsmith might leave. "...and for the record you're always cagey. But yeah, I can look at this. I have enough contacts on both sides of the underworld that I might can dig something up. I'm going to guess this is lible to get me killed?" He asks cheerfully as he sets the box down.
The smile fades though at the question though and he sighs. "Like you, wrong place. Wrong time. I ain't ever seen anyone with powers like that. He was using em to make a couple of city guards fight each other to the death. I objected. He objected to my objection. Hell I'm not even sure why he was in Nocturne."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
I think you should try to get rid of him.
Cassidy laughs at that, the sound lost amidst crashing cymbals from the drum set on stage. "Oh, ay. Dinnae worry, luv. I'm working on it."
She quietly drains her glass after that, and offers the tumbler back to Morgan for him to pour the whiskey within.
Those eyes observe him for a few quiet moments as he inspects the lockbox she has turned over in his possession, trying to gauge the make of it - he would not know it by sight, so inquiries will certainly be necessary. But with the epithet cast in her direction, she lifts her shoulders in a shrug, the corner of her mouth lifting faintly. "Like I said, dinnae ken what I have yet, so I cannae honestly tell you either way if it'll get you killed or nae. But it's just an empty lockbox. It could have held anything."
And that is objectively true, and with the blonde not telling him what's in it, he will at least have plausible deniability for whatever uncomfortable questions might come his way. It's for the best, Morgan has learned some of her tricks, but he isn't as good of a liar as she is.
She listens quietly, though it doesn't appear as if she is, when her attention ultimately gravitates towards the band on stage, retaking her tumbler once it has been filled, though she doesn't take a sip as of yet. At his confusion as to what the operative was doing in Nortune, she rolls her head to look at Morgan.
"He was investigating Lily Keil," she tells him. "Someone he attacked before he was sighted in Kislev. That's my guess, anyway."
How does she know that?
"Came across him twice." This would normally be the part where she would assure Morgan that she was fortunate to get away, but considering what he had seen from her the last time they fought Vorthuzahl, she doesn't see the point in feeding him what is obviously a lie. "Fought him twice." And nearly killed him as many times. "But given his activities, he's attracting some interesting attention lately. You ken a Marcus Rider from Smith & Luio? Based in Bledavik? He's been asking about him. That one's a curious lad, too. Ken anything about him?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Mmmm. Word of warning. This guy seems really stubborn. I bet he'll be hard to get rid of." Morgan imparts this knowldge of this 'mysterious figure' as his eyes turn towards the sudden noise. A smile remains lingering on his features though as he relaxes back in the comfortable chair.
"I'm just gonna assume it'll get me killed, then if I found out it isn't going to do that I'll be pleasently supprised!" He adds after a moment before turning back with a smirk. Once that slides off his face as they turn towards Blue Eyes.
"Lily? The Kislevite? I suppose that makes sense that he was there looking into her. Though how he got into the city..." A pause. "...well if he can confuse minds it wouldn't be that hard."
The fox pauses for a moment, attention on the drink that he lifts to his lips. Feeling it burn down, soothing away some of the pain from his old wounds. He's older than he looks, and some days he feels it. Mostly those days where people remind him how close he came to dying. "Did he attack you with a tree made of the bodies of his victims too?" Though its the last question that gets his attention.
"Marcus Rider? The..." He raises his hands in the most famous gesture known as 'air quotes'. "...Drifter? I've met him a few times. Something always struck me with him. I think he's just too polished. He doesn't scream Drifter to me. Even corportate Drifter. I can put some more feelers out about him though....always ment too, never quite had the time."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"You ken about her too, ay? She gets around, that one."
Or it could just be the reality asserting itself, of how small in the grand scheme of things the community of Drifters actually is. Certainly not fate; destiny is something Cassidy is determined to make herself, with no aid from finicky higher powers. Her eyes finally pull away from the stage to fix on Morgan. "Was told by a lad more knowledgeable than me in such matters that it's some kind of magic drawn from pure will," she tells him. "This Rider character dinnae think it is Symbology, also, figured two enterprising people cannae be wrong in that regard. You ken me, luv - magic and me dinnae get along all that well."
Did he attack you with a tree made of the bodies of his victims, too?
"Nae," the blonde tells him, mischief tugging on the corners of her mouth. "Tried tae kill me with me the first time, and nearly stole a kiss the second time. And you ken how I feel when people try tae take sommat from me. Things can get rather bloody."
Quite copiously, and rather literally, in her case, remembering the spray of red she had directed to his eyes.
When the conversation drifts away from Isiris and towards Marcus, Cassidy angles her face towards Morgan, adopting a slight cant. "If you find out anything more about him, I'd appreciate it," she tells him. "He went looking for me, the other week. Said I was a difficult woman to find. S'pose I made an impression. An able enough liar, but you ken what they say, luv. You cannae con a con. And whatever he actually is, he's definitely military, maybe former, maybe current, but considering he's based out of Bledavik, maybe it's nae so surprising."
Finally, she removes her legs off the other chair, turning to face the fox more fully. An elbow finding the table underneath, cupping fingers wreathe one side of her face. "Blue Eyes leaves a mark," she tells him. "Literally, on your body. Could be from a spell, could be from a weapon, but it tingles whenever he's about tae use sommat on you. It's how his magic works tae really fook with your mind...think maybe it tethers you tae him until you destroy it. So once you feel it, get rid of it. Cutting your skin works."
Trickster, liar, swindler, thief....and something else. Something with a tremendous facility for divining deadly secrets even in the midst of a life or death situation.
Just who is Cassidy Cain?
Her eyes hood. "Do me a favor, though, and keep everything we talk about today tae yourself. I ken that you're the helpful sort, Morgan, but dinnae tell anybody you know that much about him. And most importantly, dinnae tell anyone you heard it from me." She smirks faintly. "Dinnae like it all too much if people I dinnae ken look for me. The last thing I need is more of the likes of Marcus Rider sniffing after me."
A woman on the run.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The fox listens. A slight smile plays across his features as she speaks, but his eyes are serious enough as she talks of conmen and murderers. His eyes arc up as she speaks of Blue Eyes though, one long finger tapping gently against the side of his glass in thought. "Thats good information to know. Anything to give me an edge over him would help." A twitch of a smile crosses his face. Amused but dark, the expression comes with a slight shake of his head. "Seems that me surviving his attentions made me a person of intrest. He said we would meet again before he dissipeared like a damn travelin' show preformer."
The drink slides down his throat as he takes a quick slug of it before he chuckles slightly. "As for Rider..." A shake of his head. "...the two most stupid words ta put next to each other in human language is 'military intelligence'. Damn idjit can't project as much anything else. But don't worry, I'll be quiet bout it all. You know I can be quiet when I feel like it at least." News that he's after her though, now thats slightly different. Why would a man from Bledavik be after her? Just what did she do.
He meets her gaze as she speaks of the Blue Eyed Demon, but his mind is on a different question. Where has the thread that is Cassidy Cain come from. He's never really pried into that, out of respect for his friend and rival, and out of the sneaking suspicion that it would drive her away.
He hasn't risked it.
But the question still remains.
Typical of the Fox though, he doesn't quite headbutt it into submission. Instead a smile, a grin to be truthful, curls its way across his face. The expression warm and amused, honestly amused more than anything else.
"Just why is this Rider fella tryin' ta run ya down?" A beatpause before he opens his eyes faux wide. "Damn Cass, you didn't go an' steal tha' crown jewels of Bledavik did ya? I mean if ya did I wanna see em."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
The fingers of her free hand stroke absent patterns on the battered oak surface underneath them, a contemplative bent easing into her smile. For a moment, Cassidy doesn't look at Morgan, but somewhere past, over the line of his shoulder - after close to a decade of knowing one another, he would know the look for what it is. She is thinking, and there is equal odds that it bodes well or ill for the subject of her contemplations. Lips part, and when she speaks it's an absent note: "Maybe there's a way tae ensure there dinnae need for any of that..."
Eyes fall on the lockbox that she has entrusted into Morgan's possession.
But the look vanishes there. Her fingers stop drawing those patterns from the wood as she moves to retrieve the glass full of whiskey, taking a solid swallow. "Well, nae an expert about that sort of thing luv, but I'm pretty sure you should nae send a soldier tae do a spy's job. Civilians were always the perfect picks for that kind of work - trained, ay, but being part of anything strict like the armed forces will always leave a mark and the verra point of it is nae tae have any." She lifts her shoulders in a light shrug. "But what do I ken, ay? I'm just a con."
The question in the Beastman's eyes lingers in spite of what she says, however. There's a small smirk, tugging up the corners of her mouth.
"Dinnae think you want tae pull on that thread, luv." Watching him carefully, she sighs. "But since I asked you shite back in Adlehyde, I s'pose you can ask. How did you put it, then? 'Sometimes a body likes to feel appreciated.' " Her accent fades into the background to demonstrate a very close appromixation of Morgan's pitch and diction. "Just one." She lifts a finger to stress the number very emphatically. "So pick your queries carefully."
Why is this Rider fell tryin' ta run ya down?
"Beats the shite out of me. Must've made an impression when we helped each other out back in the Guardian Temple. Apparently he's been looking for me since then, as a woman of information. Damn cagey about it, though, based on how he answered a few of my casual questions." Her eyes lift to fall on Morgan curiously. "How do you ken him, anyway? Marcus Rider, I mean. He ask you about strange and unusual folks also or sommat else?"
Word about the crown jewels earns him a laugh. "Ay, well. Close enough." Eyes glitter from underneath long lashes. "Might need your help on a similar score later on."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"You," Morgan smirks. "Are a force of nature, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in goddamn nitro, wrapped in a con. Just so the records are streight here." His finger points towards her, the other digits of his hand still wrapped around his swiftly dwindly glass of whiskey. "But you are defintally not 'just a con'."
His point stated the man takes a swift sip of his drink before he shrugs slightly. "Military intelligence always thinks they know better than civies. Its just how they work, I've worked with enough of em in my time to know that much. Thats why I never even attempted to be a spy." A smirk. "I'm not great at being inconspicious." A beatpause. "Espicially when blonde interlopers steal my carefully planned disguise. I never got that damn fool hat back either."
Though the allowance of a single question. That gift of pure gold from a woman like her. That is enough of a suprise to rock him back in his chair, brows shooting up to caress his bangs as the odd fox just stares at her. "...and now yer doin' this just to suprise me." He mutters with a shake of his head.
"This is gonna take some thought." He adds as he lets the question perculate in the back of his mind.
A shrug though. "Well ya know I'm always up for a good heist. Though I'm not that well liked over there. Something about kickin' their army around when I was workin' for Kislev for a spell. Marcus though, yeah that he did. Tryin' ta find a specific Gear. Jus' like that Lady Miang was. Willin' ta drop some serious gella on it too, which sent up all kinda of red flags."
Raising his drink to his lips once more there is a pleasureable grimice as he feels that whiskey burn its way down. Eyes closed as he tilts his head back just slightly to saver it.
"Where did ya earn yer name?" He finally asks as he opens his eyes, turning towards her. Choosing a question of a more personal nature instead of something such as where she learned her skills. Where she was born. Where she was from. A question that might have a story attached, a question that seems to matter to him. Because whoever she was. Well. Thats not who she is.
He would rather find out how she became that.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
You are definitely not just a con.
There's a laugh at that, the blonde leaning back from where she sits, hooking one injured leg on top of the other underneath the table. Amusement glints from her virid stare. "Would you believe me," she begins. "If I told you there are times when I wish I was? Would make life and living bloody simpler, methinks."
With that, she drains her glass, tilting her head back against the seat and closing her eyes. "Fook, I hate it here," she tells him. "The Badlands, I mean. Nae anything good ever came out of it. Not even all of this..." She waves her hand towards the stage, and the excellent Jazz music pouring out of it. "...could make it any tolerable."
Her hand moves to curl around the bottle's neck, pouring whiskey into her glass, almost to the brim. Don't worry Morgan - there is still some left.
His remark - a blatantly obvious statement about not being a master at subtlety, earns him another peal of mirth. "You? Nae! I would nae ever have guessed!" Cassidy exclaims, feigning shock so convincing, the fox couldn't be blamed if he actually believed that he has surprised her after all of this time. Her lips give way to a broad grin, showing her teeth.
This is the first time she's heard of a 'Lady Miang', brows furrowing faintly. "Ay? Which gear were they looking for?" she wonders, dragging the nearly full tumbler towards her direction and taking a solid swallow. "So she and Marcus Rider were looking for the same thing? Opposite numbers or working together, do you think?" Not that she has any specific reverence towards large machinery capable of copious amounts of destruction; to her, gears are much like pistols, knives and grenades - tools meant to be used.
She doesn't pursue the idea about a heist any further; at least, not yet. A slender fingertip traces a ring around her glass, but as always whenever thoughtful, her expression becomes inscrutable and becomes all the more so when Morgan asks her about the origin of her name.
"Dinnae earn it," she tells him simply. "I took it for myself. It was the verra first thing I ever stole, the first thing I could call my own."
Smirking faintly, she lifts a brow towards Morgan's direction, canting her head sideways. "You could have asked me anything," she continues. "Pried intae the more sordid aspects of my life. Why that one?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Ha! Darlin', you and 'simple' go together about as well as 'military' and 'intelligence'." The fox replies with a shake of his head as he watches her with a slight smile. "Though I can't disagree with ya about the Badlands." The note is tucked away in his mind. So she hates the Badlands with a passion she resevers for very few things. "The only reason why I come out here is when some good salvage is unearthed. Though I can't hate the company at the moment." A smirk at that...
Then he's rolling his eyes. Smirking towards her show. "Are ya done?" He asks with amusement brimming in his gaze. "Damn showman."
A shrug. "A black one, I'm pretty sure its the one that Fei fella has. Ain't ever told em though, mostly cause neither o' them sat well with me." A smirk at that again. "And I'm gonna guess they worked together. Similar style o' workin' though, come in. Act superior to all us down in the dust types, and offer a whole pile of cash for the information. Somethin' no money grubbin' Drifter type would pass up."
Again a smirk at that.
"Not subtle really, but...I havn't seen the lady round in awhile."
He reaches up to grab the bottle, pouring the remainder into his glass as he chuckles. The answer to his question one that causes him no end of amusement. "Of course ya did," He drawls. "Of course ya did. That would only make sense."
Leaning back in his chair though the fox smiles easily at her. "Because I like the name. And I always felt names were important. Head of my family had nine." His eyes crinkle with amusement. "I'll be lucky if I get three what with the rate I'm going."
More of the whiskey dissipears as he tilts his bright gaze towards her. "Besides, who you are. Right now. Thats what matters, not where your skills came from or little sordid details and happenins. And who you are right now starts with the name, that you stole appearently." A smirk. "Come on, thats gotta be a story at least. Ain't just anyone that can steal a whole name."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Dinnae hate the present company, ay? Night's still young, and you're with Briggs." There's a nod to the one-eyed Beastman at the counter, her smirk curling up into a full-blown grin. "He might end up being persuasive one day and you might finally listen tae him when he says I'm terrible for anyone's health. Gotta stop this tendency tae keep falling intae the company of people who dinnae just write me off, I'm starting tae wonder just how bad it is in Filgaia that its consituents have gone obviously mental."
Another swallow of her whiskey as she listens to Morgan's description of the mysterious gear they're searching for. "Dinnae exactly narrow that down," Cassidy muses, though there's a quirk of her brows at the mention of Fei - about the second time she's heard the name in so many months. "Well, if nae else, they seem pretty well funded, your Lady Miang I mean. Cannae say the same for Marcus Rider, unless they really are working together. Could be a coincidence....but could be nae. You ken me, luv. When it comes tae the possibilities, I'm as open-minded as they come. Certainly seen stranger coincidences."
She is about to take another pull of her drink when the Beastman's following words stop her, eyes lidding as she fixes her stare on the glass instead, as if she didn't hear him. She breathes normally, looks as casual as she can be, but the words resonate so powerfully that it feels like a fist to the stomach, driving all the air out of her lungs.
Who you are. Right now. That's what matters. ...and who you are right now starts with the name.
Underneath the table, her spare hand balls into a tight fist. She doesn't lift her eyes - not out of fear that he might see something inside them when she does, but rather that she would rather not look at him and see the ghost that sits on the other side of the table, taking over Morgan's form. It is heartache so acute that for all the languages that she knows, she finds it difficult to quantify; so bitter and sweet, her mind drowning in the mad realization that for a moment, just a moment, Jonathan had been brought back to life, sitting across from her with his dark hair and his gentle smile and gray eyes that reminded her so much of Bridget, seeing and cutting through her.
She makes a living with words, they will forever be her preferred weapons, but they never fail to fail when it matters. She is ill-equipped to tell him just how much the sentiment means to her.
Lips part; she laughs suddenly, after that long moment of emphatic silence. She turns that familiar cutting smile towards Morgan. "Fook me," she tells him. "I really hate the Badlands."
With a sigh, she tilts her head back towards the fox. "Ay, I s'pose it's nae that easy. Unless someone's dead." She flicks a hand sideways, as if dismissing the task as something common or casual, while everything inside her twists and riots against whatever it is that she has - is building - with Morgan Newkirk. "You ken me, I set fires by nature, but this one, I had tae and with big fires come with big repercussions. Had tae shed my old skin, if you will. Ran as fast as I could away from it all, cut across the graveyard it was attached tae - was nae normal, the fire. I wanted it all gone, but since I was younger, I dinnae....maybe I measured it all wrong, but it came hard and fast. Dinnae ken if other people died. But I guess...I was nae looking where I was going and I tripped on sommat on the ground."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Briggs is always been a good judge of character. You're just lucky I ignore him quite a bit." Morgan quips with a laugh. "Which is why I keep bringing home problems like you I suppose." His eyes dance with amusement. "But I like problems, so I suppose that works out for all of us."
When she comes back to her senses, laughing with that sudden break in the slience that lengthed across the table. He would find her watching her, curiousity in his gaze. As if wondering just what was going though those hooded eyes of hers. She had hidden that gaze from him, which was always an intresting sign. Something he said mattered. Something he said hit home. Not what he said about business, that was just business. This was deeply personal, on a level that one seldom sees from the murcurial woman.
Morgan though stands by his words. His gaze steady, that slight smile on his face curving up with an honesty that is nigh impossible to manufacture. There isn't hesitation there, should she search for it, or some desire to set her up in some way.
No, that was just his words, flowing from heart to mouth with an ease that some people would be jealous of.
There is a laugh though, one that joins with hers. Rumbling up from the fox with bubbling amusement. "Well I hope I'm not the one sourin' ya on em." He smirks. "With all the talk about company."
The man settles back to listen to the story, nodding along. "Tripped over your own name eh?" A beatpause. "What kind of thief are ya?" He adds as he laughs once more, quieter this time. "But sometimes, restarting is the only way to make life work again. Sometimes you have to, sometimes you choose to. Sometimes its a bit of both."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
The implication serves well enough, and he understands just how she got her name without finishing the story, by his words about tripping over her own name. It was true - somewhere in Aquvy was the corpse of the real Cassidy Cain, dead and buried for god knows how long. In a way, it was only fair, sacrificing her old life for the sake of a new one where she could be free, putting to the pyre everything she hated about carrying her old name. It was a resurrection and rebirth in equal measure and in a way, perhaps that was when her pattern started, with how she tends to wear and carry and embody bits and pieces of others that have lived before on her person to give them new lives along with her own.
It would explain Jude, also, and how she finds herself unable to leave him no matter how necessary she deems the act for her very survival.
"Mmhm," is all she says at Morgan's last words. "Nae one tae preach tae the choir, regardless. I ken you have some experience in those matters. Nae the same, but similar. I mean...you got out, same as me, in a way. But after all of that, I've been taking ever since."
Amusement returns in a brilliant flare of pearlescent teeth. "Even you," she jests lightly, remembering how she had to con him into pursuing a job with her, the first time they met. "Just that you dinnae budge when I decided it was time tae throw you away. Cannae guarantee I will nae try again, though...but I think you knew that, ay?"
Especially when things get dangerous, when certain elements finally catch up to her - if they ever.
But no matter how much she says it, or how convincing she is...or how hard she convinces herself that it is true, she isn't lucky.
It is not an apology - it is anything but. Morgan had been the last person in the world to deserve the barbs she is capable of throwing, but it is an acknowledgment, in a way, of all the flaws that she is incapable of correcting. It is far too late for that....far too late for her.
What does that say, then, of the people who understand that, but remain by her side anyway?
She slowly moves to stand, pushing the rest of the bottle his way. Swallowing the rest of the whiskey in her glass, she sets it down with a quiet clack. "Anyway, keep me posted on the lockbox," she says, moving past the table, pausing just long enough to drop her hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Do me a favor, ay, and try not tae die in the next few months." She angles a wink in his direction. "Would hate for you tae miss out on a really big score."
With that, unless stopped, she starts moving for the stairs.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Well I didn't have to shead my skin," Morgan's reply is tinged with amusement as he touches one finger to the base of his ear. "I just had to put on a new one..." And that fur goes snow-white for just a split second before returning to its normal sandy hue. "...which is good for me, since I don't have as much experiance with settin fires. More with explodin' things, wich is a might more tricky when your at ground zero."
Her words are recieved with a smirk. He knows they are more warning that apology. The fox may be insane though, as he takes it as more of a challenge than something to fear.
"I'll look forward to it," The man replies as he reaches for the offered bottle to pour the remaining drink in his glass.
She stands, but he doesn't. Though the hand on his shoulder causes him to roll his head slightly and glance up toward sher. "No promises," He says lightly, smirking slightly. "But you know me. A promise of a new big adventure is a hell of a reason to stay alive."
A beatpause.
"You just tell me when ya need me." A smirk. "And take your own goddamn advice Cassidy Cain."