Unexpected deliveries
Who: Everett, open to Bethany
Where: the bar
When: early evening
The rain needed to stop, in Ev's opinion. He was getting too old to keep trudging through it and letting it bring out every ache and pain. Too old to feel like dealing with getting sick, even if his surroundings were better. And it was too fitting of a frame for his thoughts and fears. The day had already been a mess between the reported disappearances and the check-up on Svetlana's house, and it wasn't over yet. It was, just like the weather, a steady downpour that would leave you soaked the longer you dealt with it.
But before Ev could stop and get dry, before he could situate himself to try and make sure Janie was steady, he had one other stop to make. A package for me. He didn't like the thought in the least, it made him paranoid and fretful. Was Bethany helping the scientists like he and others had back in the mansion? Or was she maybe an unwilling participant? Did she know what he'd gotten? If she did, it made him dread finding out the contents that much more, if only because it'd mean he was a step behind. But if he lingered and worried about the results, well, he'd be left standing in the rain.
He pushed open the door to the bar with a grumble, wiping rain from his smooth scalp with one hand as he glanced around the interior. Somehow he was surprised there weren't others around; drinking had been a perfectly good way to pass the time in the mansion, and if Bethany was willing? Ev'd make sure he did a little tonight, before he went to prepare dinner for Janie.
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Exactly why the scientists had left the package with her, Bethany would never know. She was positive that she wasn't the only intern in the town, and she certainly wasn't the most loyal. So why not give it to another? Perhaps they wanted to test her—that seemed fitting, and very like them. Besides, they knew that if there was one thing she had never learned to do, it was accept defeat gracefully. They knew she would deliver the package, and they knew she would play dumb as to its origin.
She hated herself a little for it, but curiosity always won out over practicality.
When Everett walked in, she was sitting on a bar stool, one elbow propped on the counter and her chin resting in her palm. The picture of deep thought. Or boredom, depending on who was analyzing her position. The former was the correct deduction, but the way her eyes were rather unfocused, she could understand how one might conclude the latter. She did, however, glance up as he entered, and shifted slightly to face him, gaze thoughtful. She really didn't know what was in the package sitting so innocently a few inches from her arm, and a part of her sort of didn't want to know. But that was only a small party. A very small part.
"Good evening," she said politely, not able to forget her manners, even now.
"Hey," Ev replied, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. Things earlier with Svetlana still had him tense, and while he didn't want to be rude? Well, a blonde little white girl with a package from his captors definitely put him back on edge. "Don't suppose you've got a drink to spare, do you?" he asked, sauntering a little closer to the bar.
She'd been waiting for that cue. With one fluid movement, Bethany slid from the stool and walked around the counter to the other side of the bar, each step precisely relaxed. She didn't want him to think she was uncomfortable with his presence, after all. She was relatively sure she could run faster than him, but she was hoping whatever was in the box wouldn't cause that sort of reaction.
Grey-green eyes flicked down to his hands. Yes, they looked big enough to crush her skull with very little resistance.
"What'll it be?" she asked casually, leaning on the smooth wood again, this time on the opposite side of the bar.
"Scotch," Ev rumbled as he moved in her wake, sauntering to the bar to sit a few spots down from where Bethany had been, eyes on the box. "I'm not real picky on brands or labels tonight, it's been one of those days. This is for me, I'm guessing?" he asked, nodding at the unremarkable parcel waiting nearby. "It just... showed up on your door, huh? And was marked for me?" Yeah, he was still suspicious of the unfamiliar faces in town. Seth had been appointed to security, and Bethany? Well, Everett had yet to hear if she'd been in the experiments or a volunteer. All he knew right now was that a pretty girl had the liquor in town, and while that'd be a great combination in most settings? Not here, not now.
Nodding, the blonde reached beneath the bar to get a glass. She scooped some ice into it before setting it on the counter. Without looking, she reached back and grabbed a bottle. She knew exactly where each bottle of alcohol was; it had only taken her a few days to rearrange the bar to her liking. She flipped the bottle over her shoulder, catching it in her left and and spinning it around her fingers a few times before filling the glass halfway full.
So maybe she was showing off a little. But that never hurt. She nodded as she flipped the bottle to her right hand, nudging the glass towards him with her free one. "It says 'To Everett' on it," she said, turning the box so he could see the label. Wide eyes watched him thoughtfully as she reached back to set the bottle down again.
"Hope you don't mind if I open it in private," Ev said, leaning a little to study the label and taking his drink. "It's not ticking, is it?" he asked with a dark smirk, raising his glass for a drink, "And thanks for the drink. After this day? I need it." He'd probably need several more, no matter what the contents of the package were. Svetlana had been rough, this would be no better, and then he needed to go and comfort Janie in whatever way he could. What the hell did i get myself into? he mused over another drink, picking up the package and shaking it lightly, listening to something toss around inside.
The blonde shrugged, placing the bottle lightly on the bar top. She was careful to keep her disappointment from showing, making sure a small, pleasant smile was the only expression on her face. She was sure he'd be able to figure out that she was curious, but why did it matter? She hadn't exactly expected him to waltz in and divulge any secrets, after all. That would have been stupid of her.
"It wasn't, last time I checked," she said conversationally. She slid one finger along the counter, tracing the grain of the wood. "And you are very welcome. Everybody needs a little pick-me-up sometime." One good thing about being a bartender was that a lot of people weren't afraid to talk in front of you; there was just something about alcohol and the anonymity of a bar that was good for the soul.
Lord, wasn't that the truth? Working in law enforcement had left Everett needing them more often than most people, and seeking them out from multiple sources. Mostly it was the bottle, once or twice a high-priced call girl, and a few times? Well, he'd gone into bad parts of Atlanta, plain-clothed, just looking for a reason to bust somebody. "Indeed they do. We all do," he said agreeably, raising his glass for another drink and eying Bethany shrewdly with it hovering inches from his lips. "How're you doing with all of this?" Ev asked thoughtfully, taking a drink and setting his glass down, then patting his pockets for a cigar. "Hanging in okay? I've heard from a few of the others, but I don't think we've talked much yet. Were you in one of the projects?"
Bethany decided that Everett was most definitely easy to talk to. He wasn't someone she would seek out on a regular basis for company, but she could handle him as a regular to the bar. She hardly ever took the time to learn her patrons' names, but in a town this size? Doing so would probably be a good idea. Then he asked the question she'd known was coming, had dreaded, and was only half-prepared for.
Green eyes immediately dropped down to stare at the bar, and she nodded stiffly. Her hand stopped its path along the wood, and she merely stared at the spiraling patterns beneath her fingertips. "I'm surviving," she said quietly. The lines coiled and twisted as her eyes lost focus for a moment. "And yes, I was. Experiment C, they called it." Goosebumps rose along her arms, her eyelids fluttered involuntarily. She had to act like a participant, make them all believe her. And her body, for some unfathomable reason, was actually cooperating.
"We're all surviving," Ev replied, sighing in frustration as he realized he didn't have a smoke on him. There was still one or two back at his house, but for now he'd just have to do without. "Problem is, surviving isn't enough," he told her, frowning thoughtfully. Experiment C? That had been the tunnels, if the snippets he heard and read were right. He probably wouldn't have done too well cooped up like that, and sympathy showed in his expression. "Lord knows I've seen plenty of good men get dragged down from just surviving. It wears you down, breaks away the little aspects that keep you human and sane." Hell, that was what he'd seen today with Svetlana; a person who'd become so focused on her own survival that she was a danger to everyone else.
"Sorry, I'm not the best company tonight," Ev told her with a grudging smile of apology, washing down the rest of his drink in a heavy swallow. He wouldn't ask for another, but if Bethany poured him one? He'd hang around. If not, he'd just take his box and head on. "My being grim aside, you did something right to get this far. Good on you for that much. From here? If we trust each other, we'll all manage a lot more than just surviving."
Bethany shook her head as he spoke. No, he was wrong. Surviving didn't mean you had to lose your mind; it just meant you had to find something to help you keep it. "Good thing I'm not a man," she said unthinkingly, a touch of sarcasm to her voice. She closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself before looking at him again, apology in her glance. "You need to keep those little things," she said, hoping the sudden change in response would halfway erase her rudeness. "For me, it's art." God knew she'd have been destroyed mentally if she hadn't been able to paint.
When he started talking about trust, she decided that maybe he needed another drink. Because what sort of person would say something like that in a town like this? She grabbed the bottle, deftly refilling his glass and giving him a thoughtful look. "Maybe survival is all we need," she said, her tone almost challenging. "Basic necessities are just that—basic. Nobody really requires anything else."
"You'd be surprised," Ev told her, nodding his head in thanks and taking a drink. "No offense? But you're young, you haven't seen what real stress can do. And you have a good point about finding something to hang onto, but still... stress can break a person right in two without some kind of release. And that sort of very necessary outlet doesn't usually fall under basic necessities." He'd seen it in Vietnam, the difference between the guys who had a hobby or outlet and the guys who just waited for every chance to go on patrol.
"Shellshock doesn't only happen in war," he explained, "Something like this, or the experiments we were all in, they can push people over the edge real fast. That's why we need that trust, if no one's there to grab each other? We all fall down." Maybe she hadn't been subjected to too much torture in her experiment, or her art really was that beneficial. "I'm not any kind of learned man, but what sort of art is it you do?"
Her fingers twitched automatically at the word "release." He had no idea just what happened when she became too stressed. She knew she should get help for her outbursts, find someone who could tell her why it happened, but it was embarrassing. And it was more or less out of her control. That, more than anything, made her want to end this conversation as soon as possible. Because he couldn't know what it was like to lose himself completely, to have no idea what happened during those periods of darkness. To have only cuts and bruises as a hint at the damage that was caused.
"I paint," she said, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. A wry smile touched her lips, but it only lasted a moment. "As I'm sure you noticed at the church." The crucifix had turned out rather well, and she was pleased with her work. The others might have found it stupid, inane, useless, but to her, it was a masterpiece. It had been necessary. "Still-life and portraits are my forte." Bethany glanced down at her hands, her creator's hands, and realized her mistake. She shouldn't have told him that. The connections could be too easy. But she simply smiled down at her hands as if she hadn't slipped, her eyes focused on nothing in particular, the picture of nostalgia. "I'm not very good, really, but it helps." A lie. That man had bought one of her paintings for well over five thousand dollars, and she had only been six. But who needed to know that?