Spilled drinks

[Natalie Grey]

The frustration rolled off him, and Natalie could hardly blame him for it; he was left to pick up the pieces of Jay's stupidity. She was reassured, at least, that he did not condemn Jay without consideration -- murder was a strong word, after all -- and nodded her own tired agreement as he moved away to take a call. Alvis still stood nearby, visibly less agitated now the situation diffused. His hands slung in his pockets, his gaze far away -- though it was the body of the Atharim man he stared at.

"What will you tell him?"


He turned to regard her, all mild and unassuming. "Your father?"
A shrug. "I'll tell him you're safe. Make sure that stays true. I've better things to be doing than babysitting Alistair Grey's get."


"You have a way with words. Did anyone ever tell you that?"


The offer of a ride home was perhaps the sweetest of the day. She folded her arms about herself, really starting to feel the chill of evening now, the last vestiges of adrenaline long since drained from her body. She couldn't have walked home in this state, even if she knew the way. Her feet throbbed, and a vice cinched her head tight. More importantly, she needed to check in before her mother did something inconvenient, like file a missing person's report. How long ago had she landed? Thirty-six hours? Longer?

"Thanks, Jared."
Natalie wasn't one for outward displays of emotion, but she meant for more than the ride.