Dr. Sepúlveda
Call it the morning after a Kha'vadi the kids had neither met nor ever heard of let herself into Dr. Sepúlveda's basement and found her vengeance interrupted by the two students who are now occupying precarious places on the Etherite's shit list.
He woke up on the couch with no recollection of having fallen asleep there and stumbled back down into the basement to find the lab trashed and his devices all out of order. Hangovers are not an impediment for a fellow who can cure them with a swig of a concoction he slaps together in a test tube. He wasn't looking for his chemistry set. He was looking for one of the radar-type devices. The one that lets him look back in time to see what happened when he was mentally checked out.
It's barely dawn when he pulls up first outside of Ned's apartment and then Margot's student housing. They're awakened first by the blaring of a Jeep Wrangler's horn. Obnoxious blaring. It would be obnoxious in the afternoon but on a Saturday morning when everyone in the fucking world is still asleep it's not only obnoxious to them but to everyone within a two-block radius.
He interrupts both of them to send a text that says:
Get the fuck out here, I have a hangover and a bone to pick with you.
He doesn't use emojis this time. Thanks, Hangover.
---
Flash forward to eight o'clock. They are not the only ones in the restaurant but they are the least happy-looking group. Sepúlveda ordered a Bloody Maria with a beer back and told the waitress to keep them coming. He had not taken pains to explain a damned thing in the car and now that they're seated he's the first one to speak.
"Let's not dwell," he says. "If either of you fuck-ups have any questions, I'll take... three of them. Total. And before you say anything, let me say this: Margot, you need to keep your shit together in situations where people are screaming and breaking things. Ned... just... you're limited to a hundred forty characters until further notice."
Ned
"Waffles."
It's the first thing out of his mouth when he goes to meet up with the Doc downstairs. He doesn't send back replies to texts or even make much of a fuss when the Doc pulls up with the world's worst hangover. He just says it once, climbs into the Jeep and off they go to pick up the other 'Fuck up'. Ned nods, with a small wave toward Margot, taking the back seat comfortably enough when she meets up with them. Then away they go.
* * * *
"Cafe Mocha." Is Ned's drink order and he's already reaching for the Menu, scrolling through it's contents in search of the fabled Belgium Waffela that is purported to roam these parts. Bacon, home fries, eggs and orange juice for a teaser. It's the order he shovels off to the waitress when she arrived and handed off his menu without much more than that.
Then he's listening. First to the placement of questions to be asked, then to the Reprimand. His face screws up slightly and his eyes flick upward as if considering the honest allowance of those characters. It's a moment longer, his wool coat draped over his chair, jeans and a simple black sweater, serving as attire, that the older Apprentice seems to cluck his tongue and turn to regard Margot with a perked brow and a suggestive air.
You first
Margot
The day before had no doubt been exhausting for everyone involved. Margot stuck around until the Doc was conscious and well enough to assure her that he would be fine and that she should get the hell out of there. She went back to her studio apartment and stayed there. Spent a very long time out on her balcony considering everything that had occurred.
She was not sound asleep when the Doc rolled up outside her apartment, but had actually stepped out of the building around the same time that the text buzzed in her pocket, searching curiously for the source of the blaring horn. She was dressed in a pair of running shorts, tall socks, sneakers, and a sweatshirt with her hair in a ponytail-- about to go out for a jog, apparently. She'd have looked confusedly in through the Jeep's window, asked if she had time to go inside and change, was no doubt assured that the answer was 'no', and climbed in the passenger seat (as Ned was already in the back) and they were off.
At the restaurant she had water and coffee and took it with cream but no sugar. Would order something cheap and simple (eggs, bacon, toast, thank you very much) when the time for that came, and ducked her head like she could shift attention off herself in a party of three when the Doc told her that she had to learn to keep her shit together. Glanced away and put her mug to her lips to stem whatever apology might otherwise try to fall from them.
They had three questions, apparently, and Ned offered for her to go first. She looked at him owl-eyed over her coffee, then at the Doc. She took a dozen seconds to think about it before finally putting her mug down on the table's edge in front of her (still cradling it with both hands).
"What's the bone you wanted to pick?"
Dr. Sepúlveda
What's the bone.
As heavy as Sepúlveda drinks, neither of them has ever seen him drunk, let alone hungover. Yesterday he was suffering from a concussion and the effects of Paradox backlash and whatever else the Kha'vadi had done to him. Today the intelligence is back in his eyes but they're bloodshot behind his glasses and his hair is still damp from a shower and he's wearing a wrinkled patterned polo shirt that looks like it fell out of the 1950s and corduroys.
No one passing by will mistake either of them for his biological children but their table does have the look of a dysfunctional family meeting. Maybe he's their academic advisor. An uncle or something.
He scrubs his face at the first question and groans.
"I just told you," he says. "I just told you what's the bone." Down comes his hand. He looks her right in the eye and decides to reel it in before he upsets her to the point of tears. "Look. I can appreciate that what happened to you, before, in Boston, that this was... a trauma. And trauma, you know, it actually changes the way the pathways in your brain function, you become a, a, a less functional person, it can become a disorder if you let it. Trust me. I know. Not the way you know, okay, I have no way of knowing what it is you have to live with... but you do have to live. Okay? And in those moments, when shit is blowing up, and you're... freaking the fuck out, reliving shit that happened last year, that's... that can't happen again. You understand what I'm saying?"
Ned
"...Is she still a threat?"
Ned had counted the characters. Mentally insured himself against potential reprimand for going over the limit. Or at least, he'd maintained the level of degrees necessary between now and waffles, he would require, to minimize the Doc's 'lesson' to as brief as possible. The question comes off at the tail end of their drinks arriving, caffeine and alcohol coming in to save the day and give them all some breathing room between 'functional' and 'freshly woken the fuck up'.
Ned's Mocha has whip cream. He scoops out a finger of it and pops it in his mouth then picks up the cupi.
Sip.
Margot
Margot had jumped a little when the hand came down on the table, but when he stared into her face she looked mildly surprised as opposed to upset or on the verge of tears. Still, he reeled it in and her shoulders relaxed and her grasp on her mug did too.
When her finished her expression soured up with displeasure and disagreement and argument. Mouth scrunched and brow knitted to some degree each, but all she did was mutter darkly: "Okay, sure, I'll just get right on that."
Hopefully he'd skip over to Ned's question about Oni still being a threat and leave that alone for a minute and let her drink some more coffee.
Dr. Sepúlveda
[intelligence + empathy: you're being sarcastic aren't you.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 ) [Doubling Tens]
Margot
[Not contesting. Sullen teenagers are GREAT at sarcasm.]
Dr. Sepúlveda
"She wasn't a threat before. She was a pissed-off medicine-woman who had a very good reason to be pissed off, and you were waving a phone in her face and threatening to call in the fucking Hermetics. You should write her a thank you note, you know, thanking her for not setting your hair on fire."
Margot isn't getting off easy.
"You should get right on that! Do you LIKE having panic attacks and hiding under blankets? Because it didn't look like you were having a very good time upstairs while Edward was pissing her off even more than she was already pissed off."
Ned
"Doc does not consider wrists being fused or concussions or lab invasions, threatening. Neither should we. Check"
More Mocha. More whip cream. Ned's watchful as Margot receives a dressing down about her behaviour during the moment.
"Also would prefer rational reactions to unknown assailants." Ned's staring now, at the Doc, a bit more flat than one might reasonably expect. It was his turn to be sarcastic.
Dr. Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda sighs a long-suffering sigh and halves his Bloody Maria.
Margot
"Of course I don't like it!" Not shouting, but speaking tersely instead. She didn't like drawing more attention to their table than what they already did, between the cocktail of discomfort that their Resonance created and the fact that relations were difficult to disect here as well. She put the coffee down and left it there for now, pressed her hands down on the tops of her thighs and scowled across the table at her mentor.
"I'll talk to Nick, then. Ask him to help. Beyond that I don't know what the hell you want me to do because I can't just fucking turn it off."
Ned sipped his sweet drink and ate the whipped cream from it while dolloping up some sarcasm of his own. Margot glanced briefly to him, huffed, and looked angrily down at her plate.
Ned
"In the interest of future problems arising..."
Their food arrives and Ned shuts up for a minute to eyeball the Waffles and generous breakfast. It's almost like he forgets what they were talking about when the food is put infront of him as he reaches for the Maple syruip and begins to lather it on generously.
"Would you like to tell us about any other threats that come arrive unannounced into your life? Or other vulnerabilities you have that could put us in immediate danger?"
Dr. Sepúlveda
... I can't just fucking turn it off.
"Yes, you fucking can. You're a fucking witch. Learn how to control your fucking emotions. I can teach you how to control your fucking emotions. It's not difficult."
He's not drying to be funny. It's a callous thing to say, sure, but he'd set the tone for the day with his text message and besides it's a callback to something she'd said to him the last time they got into a proper argument. This is amping up to eclipse that proper argument. At least they both have an ally this time. It's easier to argue with him when there's two of them.
Which brings them back to Ned's question. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Their server comes over to drop off the kids' food and ask if they need anything else. Sepúlveda wants to know if the Bloody Maria can come in a pitcher. She laughs and says 'sure' and asks if he wants another beer and he says 'might as well' and then she's off again. He kills his drink and chases it with beer. Does not eat the celery or the olives or any of the other nonsense garnishing it.
"Edward," he says, "my vulnerability, in that scenario, was my fucking apprentice running in and making things worse. I would've had it somewhat under control if you hadn't come barreling downstairs. Yes. I would very much prefer you to approach life, in general, let alone situations where I've just been bitch-slapped by Paradox, in a rational fashion." A beat. "I'm a fucking Scientist, dummy, what do you think I'm going to say? 'Oh yeah sure come tear-assing in the next time something goes tits-up and start running off at the mouth even though you have no idea what the fuck is going on.'"
A pause. The waitress drops off his pitcher and his beer. The mood at the table becomes apparent to her now. She scoots off without asking how their food is or if they need anything else.
This is their chance to interrupt.
Margot
"It is too difficult, Doc!"
The poor waitress, to have to serve a table so rife with sarcasm and anger and frustration. The food was dropped off, the Doc had drinks refilled. Margot clenched her jaw and held her words when the woman was hovering around them, but soon as she was gone again Margot was back at it in a whisper-shout.
"I'm a fucking witch, but I've only been one for half a fucking year, and most of that time was me running away wondering what the fuck just happened. It's possible, but that doesn't make it easy. Jesus Christ, Doc."
But, Margot, take a breath. She swallowed and looked down at her plate. Two eggs (over easy), wheat toast, two strips of bacon. She started to construct a sandwich out of the fixings on her plate even though her appetite was dwindling as quickly as her ire was growing.
Ned
Ned claps the Table beside his plate, utensils fluttering about. They were beginning to make a scene, but I doubt any of them (save Margot perhaps) seemed to care.
"Pardon but when you get dragged out of the laboratory you expressly told us would electrocute us if we tried to go inside, by a woman we've never seen before, who's obviously hurt you in some way and you without any of your fancy instruments on hand that allow you to 'work' properly my first instinct isn't to step back and say "He's a fucking scientist...let's see if he can invent his way out of this one' then sit back and observe calmly while taking notes..."
He'd leaned forward across the table to stare the Doc in the eye. Different reactions, these two. The character limit had been abandoned as had the Mocha and his meal for the moment.
"Lack of information breeds reflexive reactions. That scenario I went into Orderly mode just like Margot went into panic mode. Both of which you're very familiar with. The fact we didn't have any info. except what to be scared of and the one thing to be dependent on, was getting his ass dragged around by the hair in a concussive state, sort of lends itself to "Deal with it on your own terms"...Which we did. Marvelous as that turned out..."
A piece of bacon vanishes into his mouth. Crunches loudly, adding some brittleness to the table's pressurized discomfort.
"We're not scientists. You're gonna have to get used to that. Someone tries hurting one of you, much less succeeds, you're fucking right I'm doing anything I can take the attention off the hurt party."
Kind of like this moment. A brief glance at Margot.
"Chewing helps with stress." He rips a part of his Belgium waffle off the plate and stuffs it into his mouth, syrup, a bit of home fries and all.
Dr. Sepúlveda
[forces 2: go go gadget noise-muffler!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (4, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Dr. Sepúlveda
For the sake of not having a time fracture in the midst of the scene, he gives her a Look that says they'll get back to her fatalistic outlook after he's done addressing Ned's question.
Which provokes an outburst. When Ned slaps the table, his mentor sighs again and, affect flat, shifts in his seat to pull the little noise machine out of his hip pocket and clap it down in the middle of the table. Aside from that movement, he doesn't have any outward reaction. They've seen their mentor effusive and hyperactive and contemplative. Even attempting to be helpful, before, on rare good days.
They may now be beginning to sort out that his patience is tied into whether he's actively suffering from Paradox backlash. He has attempted to heal himself because the episode is having its death throes. If he botches an effect now it will send all the Paradox that did not discharge yesterday slamming into him.
He pours another glass of Bloody Maria and settles in for a rant.
"I," he says, "am older than you, and smarter than you, and more experienced than you. I'm not going to get used to shit. Your only job, as apprentices, is to pull your heads out of your asses and figure your shit out so you can be present during scary situations without making them worse. Thus far, neither of you has demonstrated the ability to do that, so..." Glug. "Here we are."
He draws a breath. Rubs his temple. It won't alleviate his headache but his hands are slowly ceasing their shaking. Thank you, calories and sugar.
"Just... shut up, and eat your food, and let me tell you something. We can get back to yelling at each other when I'm done."
Dr. Sepúlveda
[Er, "has not attempted to heal himself," that should say. I'm sure there are other typos. *magic wand*]
Margot
The slapping of further hands on the table had silverware scattering and people looking over at them with mixed aggravation and concern and curiosity. Margot slipped down lower in her seat like she could just disappear from the public eye. Thankfully, The Doc had his sound barrier machine and partway through Ned's rant silence swallowed them up and blocked out the muffled murmer (or conspicuous lack thereof) of the restaurant around them.
Advice and a glance from Ned: Chew on something and it'll help with the stress.
She cast a brief glance up at The Doc when he advised them that he was smarter and older than them and they needed to shut up. She frowned like she wanted to find a reason not to, but ultimately picked up her self-constructed sandwich and bit into it. Maybe chewing would help.
Ned
"...Apprentices grow up. You need colleagues and this isn't the way to get them."
It's Neds end point, before the Doc has a chance to tell them to shut up. He has something to say. This gives Ned the opportunity to inhale half of his plate. He's famished. Obviously the previous day's efforts and his own eating habits left him minimally nourished and he's taking this opportunity to devour the meal, the plate and the mocha as quickly as possible.
He's listening, mind you.
Dr. Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda opens his mouth to retort and points at Ned and then catches himself before he can say something incriminating. Points at him a few more times and then flicks his eyebrows.
"Shut up."
Now that that's out of the way:
"Tomorrow," he says. "Tomorrow?"
He consults his right wrist in a move they've seen him execute before. He does not wear a wrist watch and yet he's somehow attuned to time even in its absence. A tic that reminds him of his latent awareness.
"Tomorrow, a Verbena woman you haven't met yet, Kiara, Kiara and I are going to a location whose address I'm not going to tell you, because... whatever. Because you don't need to have that information in your coconuts. We are going to retrieve from this location, which is a building operated by the Technocratic Union, an Orphan apprentice whose name is escaping me at the moment. It's not important. I've never met him. He got himself taken into custody trying to be a fucking hero, and now everyone else is all bent out of shape about him getting arrested, even though he's a cop and getting assimilated into the Union is probably the best thing that could ever happen to him, and we have to go get him."
He puts another good-sized dent in his second Bloody Maria and stifles a burp in his fist.
"I'm telling you this because there is a... ehhhhh?... three-point-six-six-six-six-six-six-six-et-cetera-et-cetera-percent chance someone is going to do something to fuck this up, and I'm either going to get captured or killed, and I figured I should tell you now so you could absorb this information and get all the histrionics out of your system before I go to meet Kiara."
Margot
an Orphan apprentice whose name is escaping me at this moment
"Brandt," Margot offered in a dull and unenthused tone between small and deliberate bites of her sandwich. Making herself eat. Even if she was aggravated, she couldn't just sit by and not plug in missing information if she could.
As for the rest? Margot was surprisingly... unaffected. She scowled darkly and glared at the a pattern of wrinkles on the Doc's shirt but that was about it. The last time they talked about this Margot yelled at him then hit him with the cold shoulder. Looks like the cold shoulder was going to be her continued plan of attack in this.
Ned
"....That's stupid."
....What? That's it. Ned pauses eating. Says those two words. Then continues eating. Down three quarters of a plate.
Dr. Sepúlveda
"Yeah no shit it's stupid. That's what happens in a democracy, Edward. People get to have their stupidity taken seriously and put to vote."
Margot
"And then the Revolution."
Margot muttered and abandoned the rest of her food on her plate. There wasn't much there in the first place but by now she'd eaten about half of it. Went back to her luke warm coffee and picked it up. "And then War." She took a sip and scowled.
"What happens if you guys even pull this off, Doc? Has the Democracy thought through that far? Like, what the repercussions are of taking this guy back from the Technocracy? I mean, is he really worth their retribution?"
Ned
"...Pardon but-" He swallows, takes a moment to adjust himself so that he doesn't choke and then leans over the table to stare at the Doctor.
"Did you not just get finished telling us that you were a Scientist and older and wiser and all that nonsense? If I'm telling you it's stupid and you agree...then why in the utter shit fuck are you still doing it and please-" He holds up a hand. Motions at the Doc and then around at the table "-spare me the 'take one for the team' mentality here and actually give me valid reasons as to why this fellow who "would be better off in the damn Union" deserves a potential suicide mission rescue on the word and back of a bunch of other fucking mages who have such stupid opinions in the first place?"
He levels a hand at Margot, while still talking to the Doc.
"This idiot goes and gets himself tagged and you guys do rescue him. That puts all of us at risk if you manage to get him back...nevermind the very real risk of getting yourself and captured and all the details you've got in your head, available to them as well. What are you gift basketing this entire affair? Or did the lot of you just decide that losing one war wasn't enough?"
Dr. Sepúlveda
He weathers the first wave of complaint-riddled questioning with boredom staining his features.
"Let the record show that Margot previously expressed disgust at the idea the traditionalists would leave this guy to rot in Technocratic custody."
The second wave provokes him to kill his Bloody Maria, then put a dent in his beer and pour another drink. Some of his color seems to be coming back. His eyes are still bloodshot but only sleep will do anything about that.
"Do either of you know how many of our fellow traditionalists have any exposure to the Technocratic Union? Or how many of them are capable of technomancy? To most of them it's a fucking alien paradigm, and they shit themselves if you even whisper the word 'Technocrat' around them. Eeeeeeveryone wants to--" Stifled burp. "--to bitch about the infraction, you know, the impediment of freedom and autonomy and blah blah blah, but nobody wants to do anything about it, and even if they are capable of it... Grace was going to 'hack the shit' out of the Technocracy to get him back. We're dealing with stupid assholes, kids. I can go in, grab him, and walk back out without tripping a security alarm or clamming up if a mirrorshade starts talking in technobabble." A beat. "And we have ID badges and doctored transfer orders. Okay? We're not kicking in the door and shooting everyone we see. On paper, it'll look legit."
Margot
"Which sounds awesome until you put together the fact that Alexander Brand is going to go missing. He's not ending up at another facility, they're not going to check in some dummy that's going to pass for him to keep them busy forever. The point that we're trying to make is that no matter how smoothly this goes, whether you and this Kiara and the prisoner walk out of there alive without tripping alarms or suspicions, at some point they are going to work it out, and then we have to deal with their reaction."
Margot was speaking through clenched teeth. She'd listened to Ned and nodded quietly here and there with agreement. Ignored Doc's comment about what her previous take on the situation was entirely, and now looked to be remaining at the table as though bolted by a physical manifestation of her own stubborn loyalty. The plate was left with utensils on it, the coffee cup pushed away as well. She held a hand around her water glass because she told herself she needed to down it before she stood up but didn't make any moves to actually drink it yet. Just stared hard at the Doc from across the table just as Ned did.
"You say the rest of them are idiots. But the Technocracy did kidnap this guy. I'd have the same feelings about the Order of Hermes if they were the ones abducting people and doing god-knows-what with them. I'd still be worried about what they were going to do when they lost the person they wanted to have."
A pause, then a scowl.
"What if they fucking track him back to us?"
Ned
"....This fellow got himself captured. He's also presumably got some information about the other mages here in the city? Any of the members on this 'heist' group of yours know him personally?" He pauses, thumbing at himself over his plate. "This is me not pointing out you're going to use Technomancy to try and fool the Group that specializes in Technomancy and how utterly ludicrous that sounds....I'm not pointing that out right now...instead?"
He lifts his arm, syrup having gotten on the cuff. He pushes his plate to one side and then leans on the table again.
"Instead, I'm going to ask how well you know the individuals you're going with. How well your own work will interact with theirs? How much you trust any of them or this fellow who's name you can't remember? Or how much you trust that everyone involved in this situation beyond yourself, will not ultimately fuck around with your carefully laid plans and leave you spitting dust while they pull their 'dear dear hack the planet worthy friend' out?"
Dr. Sepúlveda
Somewhere after Margot's interjection, he rummages for his cigarettes and dumps the ice and other nonsense out of his now-emptied Bloody Maria into the pitcher. He's appropriating it for an ashtray. No one is going to tell him not to. He is too unnerving and besides: it's not like the health inspector has been here recently.
"Where did you two get the idea that you have any say in this, let alone that I give a shit about what you think? Listen: I'm the most capable person in this city, alright, I'm confident in my fucking ability to talk to security and medical personnel without tipping off, I'm confident no one is going to follow up on the fucking transfer order and you're worrying for no reason. I trust Penelope and Gracia about as far as I can throw them, and I trust Kiara because Eloise was Verbena--" Has he said her name out loud yet? He hasn't. "--and, hey, if it were one of you, I'd beat the shit out of anyone who asked me why I was going in after you, and I wouldn't have farted around as much as everyone else farted around, because you have no idea what Room 101 is like, and as paranoid as you two little shits are, you're never going to, which you should thank whatever higher power you subscribe to because plenty of Orphans end up getting scooped up by them, and the Technocratic Union is where individual thought and creativity go to fucking die. My plans aren't careful. Or... laid. Okay? I don't have a plan. I don't need one. You two don't feel the need to trust me and/or not question every other fucking word that comes out of my mouth. We're even."
He drains his beer and fills the glass with his liquid breakfast.
Margot
At first it looked like Margot was getting ready for another round of firing shots right back across the table. Maybe if she and Ned tore this plan enough holes it would fall apart and the Doc would no longer have to go in on this potential death mission.
But...
If it were one of you...
The tension and readiness to her posture slumped, like sails in which the wind had suddenly died. She chewed at the inside of her lip and cast a glance over to the side of Ned's face, gauging his reaction as well. Back to Sepúlveda while he poured more breakfast booze into his glass. Then, speaking in a voice that was a smothered fire compared to the heated insistence she had before:
"....Just.... please come back."
Ned
"...Fine."
Ned says it. Firmly. If he's come to any conclusion about this life it's that rolling with punches is a learned effort and you have to be ready to do so at a moment's notice. Sometimes literally, but more often then not at the behest of Andres fucking Sepulveda. His hands are on the table and he's staring for a moment, before reaching out to take his plate back and drag it infront of him. Fork, knife and appetite return with slow and calculated movements.
"What happens to us if you don't come back?"
Dr. Sepúlveda
"Jesus Christ, you two realize every single traditionalist in the city knows you're my apprentices, right? There's a--" He stubs out his cigarette and burps under his breath. "--a fucking... a waiting list, for people who want to take you under their wing and undo all the damage I've done. Don't listen to them. They're well-intentioned but they'll want to indoctrinate you into their traditions and you two, you don't... any tradition one of you would join, the other would not be suited for. Stick together and--"
A beat.
"Fuck both of you. I'm going to come back." To Margot: "Did you get enough to eat?"
Margot
The information that a list of traditionalists was waiting for the opportunity to sweep either of them up and indoctrinate them for their own numbers sat odd in Margot's mind. That made it sound like the traditions were desperate for numbers. Hadn't Pen referred to them as being borderline religious? In some cases, the Verbenae, it was a religion in a way. She said something about holy days, as she recalled.
A glance to Ned at her right. She had to agree, she wasn't entirely sure she could see Ned subscribing to any tradition at all, but he certainly didn't seem the devout enough sort to worship a diety or observe holy days or customs.
if you want to be one of the Verbenae, you have to actually spend time with somebody who is part of that Tradition.
He paused and dismissed the possibility of his death during the mission with a 'fuck you', and while Margot may have ordinarily chuckled she didn't seem to have much humor left in her bones right now. Instead, she looked down and dutifully picked up a piece of bacon from her plate. Nibbled at it and thought quietly aloud.
"I never considered not joining a tradition. I didn't think you could be much of a witch without being a part of the Witching Tradition, you know?"
Dr. Sepúlveda
"I'm sorry," says Sepúlveda, "I stopped listening after 'I didn't think.'"
Ned
"We're apprentices. Last I checked, that was part and parcel to the whole schtick.."
Ned offers from behind his mug of Mocha. Then he sets it down and stares skeptically at the Doc.
"...You've spent the better part of this conversation telling us how much of a Fuck up each of them probably will be, including the sentence that was meant to reassure us that they're our best option. So thanks for that..."
Ned is cutting up the last of his Belgium waffle, brows pinched together in obvious thought.
"I'll find Nick. He's at least a listener." A glance at Margot, still frowning. "...Push comes to shove we'll get out of the city and wait until Margot's Spirit game is strong enough to come find you in the Afterlife so we can continue to annoy you with weird questions and paranoid delusions...."
He gobbles down the piece of Waffle he was cutting, eyes lifting to regard the Doc matter-of-factly.
"Food for Thought incase you were thinking of not coming back...."
Dr. Sepúlveda
"Alright. Good talk."
Sorry, Margot's abandonment issues. Doc is leaving a third of a pitcher of drink on the table and picking up both the noise muffler and the check. (Or: will pick up the check on his way out. He has to go to the register since their server is not going back over there unless someone summons her.) He stands and both coughs and burps before making sure he has his car keys. Then a thought occurs to him and he fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and tosses two twenty-dollar bills down. For cab fare for both of them.
"Later!"
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