Rebels & Mutineers is set in modern day New Orleans, Louisiana. R&M is fueled by player's plots and group input.
Supernatural people have always had their place in society, hidden in plain sight or locked away for their own protection. New Orleans, a haven for the strange and mysterious and a magnet for the supernatural.
Established: Oct. 27th, 2018 Recently Updated Posts && Recently Updated Threads
05.11.19
As the community reels from the untimely death of Lucia Lovelle, life has to move on. Primrose readies for the annual Prom celebration! Keep your eye out for a event board and have fun!
02.27.19
It's not too late to vote for February's OTM winners! The winners for January, keep an eye out on your messages for your winner's graphics for your signature. Already voted? Make sure you check out the Mardi Gras event board! Party up, have a good time, and enjoy!
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
Friday evening could not come fast enough. Marilyn had spent all day guest speaking for LSU’s psychology program and she was exhausted. As if driving out to Baton Rouge at six in the morning wasn’t enough, she had to be back at Monroeville the next morning at the ass crack of dawn as well. Patient appointments started as early as seven in the morning, and if Mary wanted that night cap she promised herself she’d have to leave as soon as possible.
It was finally the end of her last lecture. Students were filing out of the lecture hall as Marilyn was wiping off the marker board and cleaning up her space. Papers had been shuffled around, several pens lying about, and somewhere in all this mess was Marilyn’s phone. As she was unceremoniously stuffing papers in her bag, Marilyn heard a noise approach her desk. She inwardly groaned – the dark haired woman did not need to be flooded with questions right now. A nice glass of whiskey was calling her name, along with the hopes of just not waking up in the morning.
“I’m sorry, but I’m running a bit behind. If you have questions, please feel free to contact me at my email address provided on the packet.” Her voice was tired. She was tired. God, right now more than anything she needed a cigarette and a drink. Or lots of both.
Eppie had signed up for the guest lecture as soon as she had gotten the email geared towards alumni. She had recognized the name from her notebook of research, where she had underlined it in red several times. This woman, this Dr. D’Arcy, was sort of a big deal around Monroeville, enough that she was publicly listed in the hospital’s hierarchy. Without really thinking out the full plan, Eppie had put in for a half-day at Phalanx, grabbed her keys, and was in Audubon in time enough to catch the last lecture. She felt a little guilty for having to omit some of the truth on her request for leave, but Dr. D’Arcy’s lecture could be construed as a sort of professional development.
She had sat on the first row, and despite herself, she was quite rapt at what Dr. D’Arcy had to say. She had done her research beforehand, knew just enough of the woman’s scholarly work to be dangerous. By the time D’Arcy had finished, Eppie had quite a full notebook, which she quickly gathered when the lecture was over. Students, young and old alike, streamed out, chatting amongst themselves, but Eppie stayed back, stuffing her book in her messenger bag. When she had a straight enough shot, she made a beeline for D’Arcy and scooped up a few fallen pens and papers on the way. She was about to hold them out to the woman when the doctor cut her off.
She recoiled a little bit, but Euphemia Louise Morgan had not driven all the way to Baton Rouge just to be told to email her. Absolutely not; no, ma'am. She thrust her handful of stray belongings back out with an undaunted smile. “I just wanted to thank you for the eye-opening lecture, ma’am,” she said easily. “I know you must be a very busy woman and that this is a long shot, but if you had even a spare half-hour, I would love to pick your brain over coffee or something. I’ll even pay.” It was rather forward, and the lecturer could very well make her excuses and still leave. Eppie wasn’t a betting type, but the window for opportunity was closing and quickly. If a trip to a local bar or restaurant bought her even a little bit of time, she would take it willingly – that and the tab.
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
Marilyn’s irritation grew as the voice behind her seemed to be adamant about speaking to her. She just about snapped at the other woman when she offered drinks. And paying. Marilyn’s ears perked up.
“If you make that coffee a couple of beers, I’m in.” Mary finally turned to face her new drinking partner. “There’s a quiet bar not too far from here, it’ll be easy enough to talk.” The sad woman wrapped everything up and tossed the paper remnants in her briefcase. A sigh escaped her mouth, but she quickly covered it with a smile. It was rude for her to be showing how tired she had been growing. She stuck her hand out to greet the woman.
“Dr. Marilyn D’Arcy. And you are?”
After their greetings Marilyn led the woman outside of the lecture hall, being sure to turn out the lights and close up behind her. The bar Marilyn had been familiar with was about two blocks away from the lecture hall – the great thing about being on a college campus in Louisiana. Bars were just as frequent as classrooms. Unfortunately, she couldn’t drink as much as she had wanted, but a beer or two before the drive back to New Orleans wouldn’t hurt.
Upon claiming a booth in the small, dimly lit bar, Mary ordered some on-tap beer and leaned back into the cushioned seats. It was quiet, most patrons were older – the college aged drinkers were likely at loud clubs off the main strip. The small hovel made its money catering to the tired and weary, those who would give them every last of their dimes. Marilyn supposed it was a little depressing, but she found comfort in the quiet brick walls. Surrounded by her own. “So what brought you to my lecture, miss? Interested in studying psychology?”
That seemed to have been the ticket, and Eppie found herself grinning at the woman as she acquiesced. “Sounds like a deal to me,” she told her. A quiet bar in Baton Rouge was something to see, and she hoped that it would be a place conducive to questioning her new companion. The woman stuck her hand out, and Eppie shook it before she could think better of it. “I’m Eppie Morgan. It’s wonderful to finally get to meet you in person, Dr. D’Arcy,” she replied.
Following Marilyn out of the lecture hall, Eppie was glad to be back in the fresh air. She stuck rather close to the doctor as they walked, observing her and trying to already put the pieces together. Marilyn seemed relatively normal, despite her curtness and her fatigue. Even with her sighing and dark circles, she was not an unpretty woman by any means; she reminded Eppie of any of the young, overworked professors she had had in college. It really did not add up with her working at Monroeville. Maybe she really was barking up the wrong tree, but they were almost already at the bar and she had already come too far.
The bar was a new one for her, which didn’t actually say that much. She may have lived only a few blocks from it when she lived on campus and then elsewhere in Baton Rouge, but she had never been the type to go bar crawling. When she and her friends had “gone out,” it was usually to a restaurant or a more relaxed setting, where they could talk without fear of being bumped into or hit on by some guy named Chad. She was not a stranger to dives, though, which gave her a little pause before she entered. A few tangents pulled at her from the well-trod floorboards, but there was nothing overwhelming. Good. That meant she could carry on a quiet conversation without being inexplicably pulled into a decades old event.
She sat across from Marilyn in one of the old booths and ordered just a Coke to start with. As she settled in, she looked from the older patrons, who all seemed hunched over their various drinks. There was even a little jukebox in the corner that seemed to play blues exclusively; she could already hear the familiar lamenting of Lightnin’ Hopkins. It was an interesting choice of a venue, but Eppie liked the anonymity it seemed to offer.
The question was an easy enough one to field. “I teach, so I’m always looking for ways to understand the brain. It makes my job easier if I can understand what they’re going through. Any insight you could offer on the adolescent mindset, I’ll gladly take.” She removed her bag from her shoulder and leaned the slightest bit forward. “There just seems to be a lot of merit in trying to understand - and master - your own inner workings, don’t you think?”
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
“Oh? Where do you teach?” Marilyn asked, her eyes raking over the woman before her. Eppie, as she now knew the woman as, was very attractive. She had a full figure, a bright smile, and welcoming eyes. The aura she radiated almost put Marilyn at comfort. Almost. She wanted to trust her, but in her job she knew better. Marilyn drained her first pint with the ease of someone who has seen far too much. “The adolescent mind?” She snorted. It was nearly a genuine laugh. After all of her time in Monroeville, talking to kids every day, the one thing she knew with the utmost certainty is that there is not enough insight in the world to understand them. “I’ve done my fair share of research into the brain and I can tell you, nothing will prepare you for teens. Take what you think and assume, and they will do the exact opposite.” She laughed. That one seemed a little hollower than the last. Nothing prepared her for looking into the minds of the people she had seen tortured, time and again. God, where was another drink when she needed it?
“Though if you would like some light reading, I published a paper not too long ago on trauma and the adolescent brain. I must admit, the ability they have to bounce back from distress is rather remarkable… You are going quite above and beyond for a schoolteacher, though.” Marilyn tried her best to keep the accusatory tone from her voice. She didn’t get this far at Monroeville by just talking to everyone. And she certainly didn’t trust anyone who didn’t drink.
That seemed to have been the ticket, and Eppie found herself grinning at the woman as she acquiesced. “Sounds like a deal to me,” she told her. A quiet bar in Baton Rouge was something to see, and she hoped that it would be a place conducive to questioning her new companion. The woman stuck her hand out, and Eppie shook it before she could think better of it. “I’m Eppie Morgan. It’s wonderful to finally get to meet you in person, Dr. D’Arcy,” she replied.
Following Marilyn out of the lecture hall, Eppie was glad to be back in the fresh air. She stuck rather close to the doctor as they walked, observing her and trying to already put the pieces together. Marilyn seemed relatively normal, despite her curtness and her fatigue. Even with her sighing and dark circles, she was not an unpretty woman by any means; she reminded Eppie of any of the young, overworked professors she had had in college. It really did not add up with her working at Monroeville. Maybe she really was barking up the wrong tree, but they were almost already at the bar and she had already come too far.
The bar was a new one for her, which didn’t actually say that much. She may have lived only a few blocks from it when she lived on campus and then elsewhere in Baton Rouge, but she had never been the type to go bar crawling. When she and her friends had “gone out,” it was usually to a restaurant or a more relaxed setting, where they could talk without fear of being bumped into or hit on by some guy named Chad. She was not a stranger to dives, though, which gave her a little pause before she entered. A few tangents pulled at her from the well-trod floorboards, but there was nothing overwhelming. Good. That meant she could carry on a quiet conversation without being inexplicably pulled into a decades old event.
She sat across from Marilyn in one of the old booths and ordered just a Coke to start with. As she settled in, she looked from the older patrons, who all seemed hunched over their various drinks. There was even a little jukebox in the corner that seemed to play blues exclusively; she could already hear the familiar lamenting of Lightnin’ Hopkins. It was an interesting choice of a venue, but Eppie liked the anonymity it seemed to offer.
The question was an easy enough one to field. “I teach, so I’m always looking for ways to understand the brain. It makes my job easier if I can understand what they’re going through. Any insight you could offer on the adolescent mindset, I’ll gladly take.” She removed her bag from her shoulder and leaned the slightest bit forward. “There just seems to be a lot of merit in trying to understand - and master - your own inner workings, don’t you think?”Something in Eppie told her that it was not a good idea to be too forthright, so she simply smiled and danced about the complete truth. “It’s a small charter school. We get a lot of troubled kids with all sorts of problems. I’m new there, so I’m always looking for strategies,” she offered with a small shrug. It was closer to the truth; there had been quite a few things at Phalanx she had not known how to handle. Problems often came quicker than she knew how to solve them, but thinking on her feet kept her head above water.
That was not to say that she did not often plunge into the deep end, and judging by the speed with which Marilyn drained her glass, Eppie was uncomfortably aware that she was just about there. She tried to shift firmly into her calm, unassuming, artless teacher persona, the one that comforted students and tended to balm the anxiety of other adults. It also tended to make people underestimate her; she preferred it that way, to let people think the best of her. She joined at the end of Marilyn’s laugh, nodding in agreement. She could not help but notice that the laugh, genuine, made the woman even more attractive. Had she more light in her life, Marilyn could have already, truly smitten Eppie, if Eppie was honest with herself. “That’s probably the best advice I’ve ever been given when it comes to teenagers.” That was not a lie, by any stretch. She would have to remember that and pass it on to any other struggling adults at Phalanx.
“I’m always looking for light reading, and that seems right up my alley.” She could tell there was a bit of distrust in Marilyn; the other woman seemed to eye her warily at every turn. But she had not been expecting for them to sink into instant friendship, and she was already far ahead of what she had thought she would get to. This was going to take a bit more than her friendly smile and blithe answers. And definitely more than Coke.
She leaned forward a little and let a bit more seriousness sink into her face. “The truth is: I’m not just interested in your work as a teacher. I first started reading your papers when you were writing about genetics and mutations. It seemed a little sci-fi, a little X-Men.” She leaned back and motioned the barkeep back over. “You don’t seem to write about a lot of that anymore.”
The keep took her order of a local specialty brew that she had enjoyed in her time at college, and as she waited for Marilyn to give her order, she realized that she truly did not have much of a plan. Well, there was nothing but to wing it. “What made you want to write in such a wide array of disciplines? You’re quite the jack of all trades.” She pushed her Coke to the side to make room for the next round of drinks the waiter set in front of them. As she raised her glass to her lips, she appraised the other woman rather openly. “You’re a bit of an academic inspiration, if I’m honest.”
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
A small ‘o’ formed on Marilyn’s mouth as she nodded at the new information she was provided with. She could understand a little better as to why Eppie was attending her lectures, at least. Truth be told, though, Marilyn was still figuring out how to deal with kids. Books can only teach you so much. Then again, the type of kids Marilyn dealt with weren’t really ‘typical’ by any means. Grown people inside that hospital were still unpredictable in the ways they acted under the stress of everything.
Mary offered a small smile to Eppie, accompanied with a shrug. “I’ve found if you treat them like adults, more often than not they’ll at least give you enough respect to hear you out. I forget that sometimes, they can handle a lot more than we give kids credit for.” Marilyn sighed, thinking of her time way back when Astor was still a patient under her. Would he have acted any different if she had been there to tell him what was going on when she found out? Or would that have just made things worse, knowing she couldn’t have done anything about it anyway?
Shaking the ghosts of the past from her head, Marilyn pulled out a small notepad and pen from her purse. She wrote down the name of her dissertation and her personal number on a blank page before ripping it out and handing it to the increasingly gorgeous woman in front of her. “Give me a call tomorrow and I can get you a copy of it for you. I’ll have to dig through some stuff, but I’m sure I know where it is.” Like she could forget anything.
Eppie leaned in, wearing a face more serious than before. Marilyn raised an eyebrow, but looked to the other patrons (who weren’t paying attention to them at all) before leaning in too. The woman brought up some of Mary’s early work on genetic mutation and the woman blushed at the word ‘X-Men.’ It wasn’t the first time she’s heard that. It wouldn’t be the last. And she had been laughed out of more than a few rooms because of it. Mary was tired of being the laughingstock of the science community so she dropped it and buried it as soon as she could. She was honestly surprised Eppie had dug up that ancient artifact. Another beer was brought to Mary, and she all but worshipped it before getting into her most embarrassing mark in her tenure as a doctor. “Yeah, a little X-Men is right.” She gave a derisive snort and shook her black hair from her face. Mary took a long gulp from her beer before continuing. “Not a lot of academics like the theory of super powered genetic mishaps. It’s great and all, but it’s only science fiction. And when you want to get a doctorate, science fiction won’t cut it.” Mary lied straight through her teeth. She’d become a lot better at that since she started working for Monroeville. The alcohol helped.
“I wanted to be taken more seriously, so I branched out. Wrote what stuffy scientists wanted to read. I’m a quick study, and honestly school just fills my time. Some people collect stamps, others travel, I learn. Don’t know if that quite calls for me to be an inspiration, I’ve got no social life and can barely hold a conversation with anyone my age.” Mary wasn’t sure what brought on that small spat of self-loathing – it was always lurking beneath the surface, but rarely did it make its way into conversation like that. Maybe she ought to lay off the booze. Mary definitely wasn’t going to lay off the booze. This wasn’t the first time she’d made a dig at her own brain; more often than not she hated herself for it. She’d kill to be ignorant of everything. To just forget. Mary drained her second beer.
“I hope you didn’t come here because you thought of me as some kind of role model. I’m not someone to look up to, Miss Morgan, and I don’t want you to think I’m something that I am very clearly not.”
That was certainly true, that children could handle more than people gave them credit for. Eppie thought back to the kids that had come to them even in just the first part of the year. All different creeds, backgrounds, everything, some more broken than others. Still, they had all risen up, even if it was like tooth and nail to get them there. It really was a hard journey, and so she accepted Mary’s advice with a genuine smile and nod. “I think some people forget that they’ve budding adult brains in their heads. You attract more flies with honey than vinegar, and the same goes with kids. A listening ear is worth so much more than a wagged finger.” She dropped a little of her own pretense and spoke off the cuff. It was nice to talk rather frankly about her life philosophy.
She was a bit concerned when the woman started digging in her bag. If Mary left now, the moment would pass, the window of opportunity would close. Not that she actually knew what it was an opportunity for, she reminded herself. Still, her inner panic did not quell until Marilyn took out a pen and a pad of paper. Panic turned to hope when Mary wrote her number down on the sheet of paper. Eppie took it gladly and slipped it securely into her bag. “I’ll hold you to it,” she warned her. She meant it, even if only from curiosity. Of course, if Mary kept drinking, she might not remember making the promise anyway.
How delightfully ironic, Eppie mused. Had she been bolder, or a little looser, she would have disproved Mary’s statement right then and there. Mary worked at Monroeville, and as smooth as she was a liar, Eppie knew the truth. She herself had no proof that Mary had powers of her own, but she knew of their existence, if Eppie was right. Instead of calling it out, Eppie merely shrugged. “I don’t know. I always read the possibility as a bit hopeful myself. People out there who could do miracles, people who knew what they shouldn’t be able to, people who could do things. I’ve always been drawn to it.” It was true. Even before she had gained her powers, she always suspected there was something more out there.
Her next little rant surprised Eppie, if only because she felt it a little bit more than she thought she would. All work and no play made Jill a dull woman, and she was just as guilty of it. Even though there were certain others trying to bring her out her shell, it was still easier to sit alone and read. She gave Mary an encouraging smile, but she couldn’t keep her own edge of sadness out of it. “For the record - and not that this means much coming from me – you’re doing wonderful. I’m the one kind of flubbing all around. You know, this is the first time I’ve been somewhere with someone I don’t work with in a long time.” The realization hit her a little hard, and her laugh was a bit hollow. She knew that she should not be finding similarities between herself and someone who worked at Monroeville, but there they both were.
Eppie sipped her beer a little, watching as Mary drained hers. Yep, still tasted the same, still a little good, a little nasty. She never had developed a taste for drinking and doubted she would outside of social situations. She eyed the other woman a little boldly. “And why do you think that? You’re smart, absolutely gorgeous, and you write like nobody’s business. You’re allowed to give yourself a bit of credit for those things.” All things were absolutely true, but in any other situation, Eppie would have been loathed to be so forward. “And, to top it off, you must have an iron liver and stomach to put away these drinks,” she added with a laugh and grin.
She did not want the woman to think she worshipped the ground she walked on, but a little bit of flattery was always a good wheel-greaser. She steeled herself and took a few more swigs of her drink. Eppie didn’t even ask before she ordered the next round. “So, besides learning and cheap beer, what do you enjoy?”
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
“Hope doesn’t get you anywhere in life, except broken hearted at the bottom of a bottle.” The words spilled out of Marilyn’s mouth before she could stop them. They were so cold and hollow, for a moment she thought it couldn’t have been her who had said it. She began reflecting on her own words. How hope had left her with a dead mother, left her at job where she was terrified and miserable. Those kids had hope, going in to Monroeville. Those skinwalkers had hope before they disappeared off of the face of the earth. Hope had left her alone in a cold world. “Hope is dangerous, and miracles don’t happen.” Her voice was softer now, but just as melancholic. God, Marilyn felt so tired. And thirsty. Primarily thirsty.
There was no denying Eppie’s good heart. How she had tried to be uplifting – ‘terminally optimistic’ Marilyn would call it. Even though Mary had moved far, far past her own optimism, there was definitely something admirable about it in Ms. Morgan. She appreciated how the woman tried to lift Marilyn up, too. Eppie’s compliments garnered a smile from the morose woman. She tucked a strand of black hair behind her own ear and looked up to the woman. “No shame in keeping busy. I wouldn’t even go out with my coworkers, they’re all nuts.” She let out a small laugh. It felt good. Even if it wasn’t deep, or particularly cheerful, it was something. Honestly, she was beginning to enjoy Euphemia’s company. After two beers, and conversation far deeper than she’s gotten with anyone in years, Marilyn felt herself beginning to relax. She’d be set after another beer, and perhaps a cigarette. She shuffled through her bag again and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. “Don’t mind, do you?” She asked before putting the filter of one up to her mouth. She offered one to Eppie, too, though she would be surprised if the gorgeous woman smoked.
“I appreciate it, Ms. Morgan, but tell me this,” Marilyn took a long drag as she processed how she should formulate her words. Another round of beer for her came by, and she nodded to the bartender that wasn’t gonna let her go dry. “If someone never had to work a day in their life for their accomplishments, should they be praised?” Mary thought about it often. She was born like this, born with the curse ability to never forget. How great could she be if it was just luck of the draw?
“I think the only thing I earned myself was this alcohol tolerance,” She snorted, taking a sip of her new chilled beer. “Would it be terribly pathetic to say I don’t do much outside of this? I drink, I work, and if I’m feeling frisky and have the time off, I might go rock climbing… What about you, Eppie? Obviously drinking isn’t a part of your forte.” Marilyn offered a light barb accompanied by a half smile. It was more than she had given anyone in weeks.
Hope doesn’t get you anywhere. Well, if Eppie had not learned that lesson about a week ago. Hope usually led to undue risk, in her experience, and undue risk usually led to the cutting room floor. Even her usual optimism wilted in the bald face of the words, and she chased the thought with a bit of the cheap beer. The evening had certainly taken a turn, but she was paying for the full ticket either way. Still, she had to offer a certain turn to the words. “Well, I suppose every day that we wake can be a little miracle. If you believe all those inspirational signs, that is.” She chased her own hollow words with another long sip. “But I rarely take advice from those things. No bit of wood decorated with flowers and cotton has ever said something incisive about the human condition.”
She grinned at her own little cynicism, covering her mouth with her glass. It was a part of herself she rarely indulged in, one she coated in layers of bright and cheer. She often wondered if it had been her greatest inheritance from her mother, the little spot of dark that felt way too easy to step into. She returned Mary’s smile with a grimace, her words hitting a little too close to home. “Yeah, coworkers can be quite tricky. It’s probably better to have other late-night buddies. It gets rather muddy rather quickly, you know?” That was a little too close to the real truth, the one she had spent a while avoiding. Loose ends irritated her; their jagged edges tore at her and gnawed deep in her gut. She sagged back a bit in the booth, relaxed by both the presence of the other woman and the beer that was steadily heating in her hand. Mary seemed to be relaxing as well. She was pulling out a packet of cigarettes.
“Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em,” she told her with a shrug, but she shook her head when offered one. Her lungs and throat would surely regret the smoke in the morning, but it was just another thing to add to the ever-growing list.
She sipped slowly, her brow raising as Mary seemed to formulate a question. Even she had to admit that it felt strange to be called Ms. Morgan outside of Phalanx, but the question was a good one. Eppie felt the razor she stood on. No answer would placate whatever callous had formed under Mary’s surface. She watched the smoke that curled from Mary’s lips, focusing a bit too hard before catching herself. “I suppose, then, the burden is to put the accomplishment toward a good cause. Or to any cause at all. There are plenty of geniuses who let themselves rot,” she replied as evenly as she could.
When asked about her own hobbies, Eppie was struck by how similar their lives were, even if it didn’t seem that way on the outside. She ran her hand through her hair, pulling it back out of her face. She returned the half-smile with a fuller one, near-laughter lightening her mood. “Well, you’ve certainly discovered my dark secret. I’m not much of a drinker.” She took in a deep breath and held it for a few heartbeats before letting it go. “Really, I guess I’m not much of an anything. I go to work, I work, then I go home and read the same trashy novels over and over. Sometimes I do yoga if I can find the time. But, uh, yeah. That’s pretty much it.” She took a daring swig before her brows went up. “Oh! I do spend a disproportionate amount of time putting my foot in my mouth, but who doesn’t?” Mary had a certain amount of looseness that let Eppie be frank, even biting. She enjoyed it, even as her brain told her that was a very bad idea.
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
Marilyn snorted at Eppie’s ‘encouraging’ words. She was really beginning to like this woman – she shared a similar soul, or so Mary felt. Some long ache that bonded them. It wasn’t something everyone had, but when you did, you could easily identify it in others. It was like a magnet. Misery loves company, or something like that. “Yeah, there seems to be a lot of those down here.” Mary agreed – she had probably seen eight just on her trip up to Baton Rouge today. It was a predominantly southern thing, Mary had decided, because she had never seen one in her many years in Boston. Then again, she was focused on different things then.
“Oh, don’t I.” The woman agreed. Muddying the waters between coworkers seemed to be Marilyn’s super power. Between everything that has been and is currently going on with Jasper, the feud between herself and Charlie, and God knows the countless other peers she’s iced out. “No idea what it is that’s attractive about the idea. Life would be so much easier if I just didn’t. Right?” Her muscles further uncoiled as the nicotine began pulsing through her body. There was no better feeling than the light-headedness of chasing a beer with a nice cigarette. Even with the countless amounts of data against smoking, Mary still found herself drawn to the cancer-causing drug. It was probably the nihilist in her that just wanted to die a slow death. Thought somehow that it was poetic. In reality it was just sad.
Eppie’s response to her question gave her pause. It wasn’t the answer she was looking for – hell, she didn’t think there was an answer that she was going to like anyway, but it did make her think. Enough to put down her beer and roll the glass between her chilled hands. Were her accomplishments going towards a good cause? She was trying to work with Jasper, to learn about mutant kind. Further their knowledge, and hopefully push acceptance onto the world for them. That was good. Right?
“Well, it sounds like we’re similar, Eppie. Except for that drinking thing, I can’t relate.” Mary smiled. The beer was catching up to her now. Being three deep in the matter of thirty or so minutes would definitely make one’s head start spinning. Her tolerance level could only hold her over for so long. “It’s too bad you live in Baton Rouge – I’d say we ought to do this more often.”
Eppie waved her hand dismissively. “Please, Mary. You can’t throw a stone without hitting either a sign or a grandma who has her own phrase to tell you.” Mama Ana had her own special set of them, ready to dispense whenever Eppie needed a certain truth or sage piece of advice. For instance, at that moment, she might have leaned over and told Eppie to be careful about laying down with dogs, lest she come back with fleas. She dismissed the thought; Mary was entertaining, witty, and more than interesting. Besides, there was something easy about the company between them, a thread she certainly didn’t want to unravel.
She ran a hand through her hair and laughed mirthlessly. “I suppose we can cheers to that, then. To all things complicated and scary.” She gestured lightly toward the other woman with her glass before taking a long sip, hoping it would wash away a bit of the bitter confusion that had set into her. It worked a little bit; perhaps Mary really was onto something with all the drinking. She gave a huff at the woman’s next statement. “Well, if we all listened to our good sense, I’m willing to bet that places like this,” she paused to indicate the dive they currently sat in, “would run out of business fairly quickly.” She took another sip before forcing herself to replace the glass back down. She did have a rather long drive ahead of her.
They were similar. Eppie considered the thought skeptically, but she could not disagree with the woman. They definitely had quite a few points of overlap, a fact that should have irritated her usually superior moral compass. Perhaps Eppie in the morning would view it that way, but Eppie in the night was smiling in return to Mary. “I suppose it does. You’ll just have to teach me the finer points of drinking, and we could really be in it for the long haul.” Just from their little bit of time, where Eppie had drunk barely half of her own drink, she had pegged the woman as quite the heavy drinker. She would have to up her own game if she wanted to keep step with Mary.
“I don’t actually live in Baton Rouge; I’m across the bridge, in New Orleans,” she told her with a shrug. “This was just the first free talk of yours I could get to with my schedule. This part has been a lot of fun, too. I’d have to make room so we could repeat it.” The statement was a little bit question, little bit affirmation. She still had more to dig, but even if she didn’t, Mary was definitely worth a repeat visit anyway. The slip with Mary’s number on it burned a hole through her pocket.
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
“Well I wasn’t going to phrase it exactly like that but you’re not wrong.” Mary laughed. She never knew her grandmother – Anne was very sure to never let the crotchety old lady anywhere near the young Marilyn. After they had abandoned Anne, she never saw the need or want to go back. Mary never felt the urge to figure out who her grandparents were either. She wondered if they were like the old grannies that Eppie described down here. The tangent thought was quickly shaken out of her head – Mary was adamant about enjoying her time with this woman, and she was not going to let any intrusive and depressing thoughts ruin it.
“Hear, hear.” Mary clanked her glass against Eppie’s in a toast, before tapping it to the table and lifting it to her lips. She drained a good bit of her beer before putting the glass down She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sank back into the plush cushion of the booth seat. The room had a slight wobble now. Good fuck, the woman only had one job – to not get so shitty she couldn’t drive home. She couldn’t even do that right. Whatever, that would be a problem for future-Mary. “It’s simple, Eppie, rubbing alcohol is for outside wounds and drinking alcohol is for inside wounds. I’d have to say I’m a professional with the inside wounds.” It was stated as a light-hearted jibe, but Mary knew how deep her statement actually ran. Had she not just promised not to have depressing thoughts ruin the night? Two jobs. Don’t get obliterated. Stop being sad. She was going to have to have a firm talking to herself later about this.
“Oh? I live in New Orleans, too. I actually do most of my work at Monroeville Hospital there.” Mary’s heart swelled at the thought of actually potentially being able to see Euphemia again. It had been so long since she’s enjoyed something as simple as just having a friend. Someone, who was in no way affiliated with her work, to just… Hang out with. Actually, thinking about it, Mary didn’t think she had ever had that in her life. She had her mother. Then she had Ash, which was all kinds of not good for her. Then Jasper, but he was so focused in his work all the time. Maybe Eppie would be the support Mary needed. “This has been… Fun.” A small smile played on Mary’s lips as she avoided Eppie’s eye contact. A stain on their table was proving to be so much more interesting than the woman’s gorgeous eyes. “I’d like to do it again, if you’re up for it.” Waiting for Eppie’s response, Mary was certain she had never felt more nervous in her life.
Eppie laughed, her shoulders peeling up from the bar seat behind her. “Is there something morally objectionable about throwing stones at old women?” she teased as she tossed a stray lock of hair back over her shoulder. Ana would have, despite the woman’s occupation, found Mary interesting at the very least. She always preferred Eppie to hang around with the cream of the crop, the smart ones. Because no valedictorian ever did anything unfavorable, not according to her grandmother. Oh well, what Ana would never know wouldn’t kill her.
Eppie grinned at the toast and took another languid sip. She really did have to stop drinking soon, if she were to be any good for the drive back. But Mary was fun, easy to talk to in a way that others weren’t, not even Jae. She could face her darker qualities with Mary, had already done so in their short time talking at the bar. If she continued to fall down that rabbit hole, who knew where she would end up? “If you have to constantly patch your insides up, it could be time for something new.” Her grin turned a little rueful. “But I suppose it’s like the mechanic’s car or the maid’s house; you spend a lot of time helping other people through their shit that you let your own rot inside. I’m not exempt from that either.” One of the many hats she wore as a teacher was confidant or counselor, and though the bulk of her job did not revolve around it like Mary’s, it could still be hard to turn that perception onto her own insides.
“Monroeville? I’ve heard of that place. You must be a saint to work there and continue everything else you do,” she told her, her tone a bit more musing than she felt. She had heard plenty about Monroeville; she wanted to know more. As pleasant as the evening had been, she felt a small tinge for her real reason for seeking Mary out. She tried to bury that notion with a pleasant smile. “It really has been fun. I’m glad I caught you decided to not bolt for your car after the lecture.” It was the truth, and she was definitely willing to repeat the experience. She watched the other woman smile down at the stain on the table, and even if it wasn’t directed at her, she knew she liked the smile. “Are you kidding me? I’d love too!” She sounded perhaps a bit too eager, but it wasn’t exaggerated in the slightest.
laugh at my tragedy than choke on these tears while I'm curtsying
Mary’s eyes raised and her brows furrowed as Eppie called her a ‘saint.’ Her attention was still avidly affixed to the sticky tabletop. “Saint isn’t quite the word I’d use.” She admitted, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. She didn’t elaborate on that thought, instead she polished off the last of her drink and pondered whether or not she should get another one. “I’m glad you talked me out of leaving. It’s been nice.” Her nervous smile turned back up to the woman across the table. Mary had come dangerously close to leaving that night – nothing was better than getting drunk at your own bar of course. She wasn’t 100% sure what it was that kept Mary in Baton Rouge that night – there was no way she was going to make Eppie pay for what would likely be an extensive tab, so free drinks weren’t it. Maybe she was just that starved for attention that she’d walk off with the first stranger that asked to talk with her? “Really?” The depressing woman’s eyes lit up, her voice sounded far more enthusiastic than any normal person’s should’ve. Someone, outside of work, wanted to hang out with her – Marilyn D’Arcy. This was almost unheard of. Something swelled inside Mary’s chest, a feeling completely unfamiliar to her. Smiling, Mary reached out and placed her hand on top of Euphemia’s. “I… Thanks, Eppie. I needed this.”
Instead of ordering another drink, Marilyn saw the time on the watch that was peeking out from her long sleeved jacket. It was late – far later than Marilyn had anticipated on staying. She still had an hour and a half drive home – that was if traffic going into New Orleans wasn’t going to put up a fight. Mary groaned, swaying as she scrambled to shove things in to her purse and fish out her wallet. “I’ve really got to head back, I need to be up early tomorrow – I shouldn’t have stayed so late."
