let me out.

she has a delivery of meat meant for the diner in her grasp. just a cooler filled with freshly made sausages, ground venison, and some of the less sought-after cuts of rabbit and sheep. the slaughter of sheep and other animals from the livestock barn is a rarity, but winter is taking hold and storage has to be filled. if nic's not busy dressing carcasses or diligently processing primal cuts into ready-to-use pieces, she's delivering finished products to the town's various public kitchens. the diner included.

this is what she's in the process of doing when montana's voice echoes and draws her gaze upward. squinting a little, nic regards the younger woman quietly for a moment before releasing a sigh. great, she's gonna have to go through the diner instead of slinking in the quieter way.

not so long ago, nic would have grunted something cold and dismissive before turning tail. now? she's realised she's stuck here and everyone in town is a neighbour. willingly or not. so why waste time on being a dick? "y'know, pet, you keep yellin' at people from up there an' eventually someone's gonna shit 'emselves." a moment's pause. "in fear, i mean. not just for the fun of it."

she threw herself down on the couch and tried to focus on breathing and not the burning in her chest. "oh i feel fantastic," she manages to get out. "i could go again." clearly she couldn't, but cam was always sarcastic. taking the bottle of water from nic, she downed a good portion before throwing her head back against the couch. "when you said you wanted to go for a run, i didn't realize it was going to be that.

exercise has always been one of nic's greatest joys. it's rhythmic, purposeful, and works towards visible improvements. all that's required is a routine and a goal. when nic's on the move, her mind quietens... and christ, can her thoughts be loud. if she's not thinking about her family, she's thinking about them and the memory of their entwined bodies beneath the bed covers. bed covers that she'd picked out. it's a hell of a feeling, y'know? to go from planning a wedding to barely recognising the woman you thought you were gonna marry.

once cam settles beside her and takes the water, nic is left with empty hands and a rising urge to move. absent-mindedly, she begins bouncing a knee after slouching in her seat and crossing powerful forearms behind her head. a grunt of laughter is her response to her companion's sarcasm. "y'killed it, mate. i thought about cutting the run short, but ye kept up with us." which had been a pleasant surprise. honestly? part of nic wants to gather a group of town folk and put them through their paces. maybe it'd give them an outlet outside of drinking and sulking.

"...if y'wanna make a habit of it, i won't say no." for this statement, nic maintains an even tone and avoids cam's gaze. people can be hard to read, so nic often chooses not to bother and coasts by on her bluntness. "grab some mates, bring 'em with?"

"Ah, but that’d be a damn shame, wouldn’t it?" Sullivan quipped, leaning their elbows on the table now, chin resting casually in one hand. "Though I’m pretty sure you’d at least laugh yourself out of that tough act if I did hit the floor."

Their accent slid out smooth and honeyed, leaning into the playful banter. "Y’know, I might not be servin’ the coffee, but if I was, I reckon I could charm my way to better tips than what your mean muggin' could do."

Sullivan shifted, giving Nic a once-over that was equal parts curious and amused, clearly unbothered by the cutting tone she’d thrown their way. "And as for that accent of yours, darlin', you might be speaking that across-the-sea English, but I got ya just fine. Bet you’re used to folks giving you that ‘what did ya just say?’ look, huh?" Their grin widened, arching a brow almost as if a challenge.

her jawline clenches tight and a muscle flickers within it in response to the chair's thud. nic ain't fond of loud noises when she ain't the one making them, and sullivan's grin just adds fuel to the fire. fuckin' smarmy asshole. hazel meets hazel when van looks over and nic only looks away to accept the coffee that's finally been placed before her, the gulp she takes of it making her stomach churn. christ, it really is shite. "aye, i'd laugh me tits off." cue the eyeroll, before nic sets the coffee mug aside and slouches back in her booth. powerful arms rise and cross behind her head as she stretches long legs out beneath her table. at this point, sullivan has her full attention and vitriol. "charm, eh?" a huff of laughter escapes. "'bout as charmin' as a kick to the arse." still, a corner of her mouth hitches upwards in response to the accusation of mean mugging. this tit-for-tat is at least slightly more entertaining than drinking crap coffee in silence.

"you understand me accent 'cos i've toned it down for yer ears, marra. divvent get us wrang, shootin' an bawlin' wi ye is canny good, like, but hadaway an' shite wi' ye bollocks while am tryna drink me brew." cue the bouncing of dark eyebrows, as though in challenge. understand that ya flag-waving, shit on a shingle eatin' gobshite.

the sun wasn't a fix-all for anything. nic was damn well aware of that fact. sunshine and fresh air was, however, a hell of a lot better than drowning oneself in a bottle of cheap whiskey. and nic wasn't just gonna wander off and let even a near stranger succumb to the oppressiveness of their situation. make no mistake, however, her show of kindness wasn't anything special or selective. mira just happened to be there, and a total pain in the arse with her bullshit.

"aye. a walk. ya know, where you move ya legs and they take ye places?" she's not ignorant to the challenge in her companion's eyes, but she's also fully aware that she could prevent any further drinking if she really wanted to. there's a five-inch height difference between them, and nic's not afraid to get her hands dirty if it means another person doesn't drink themselves into an early grave. "make no mistake, pet, it ain't gonna fix shit. i know that." she shakes the whiskey bottle then stows it in a jacket pocket. "but... if we're gonna drink shite, cheap whiskey, we're gonna do it somewhere that ain't here."

she's speaking more than usual. feels weird and heavy on her tongue, like she's grown unused to the feeling of words. after watching mira grab her jacket, nic saunters to the front door with a confident pep to her step and pulls it open. "do i look like someone who wants to hear you talk?" words are a gravelly grunt as nic gestures to the now revealed outside. "this bar smells like arse and bad decisions. no, i'm just taking ye with us while i escape the stench."

something close to a smile crosses her features, however, as hazel eyes glint with mirth. she even offers a steady arm to help mira fight against her wobbly legs.

"c'mon. humour us. what else is there to do?"

mira sat at the bar, her hands jittery as she wrapped them around the cold, glass tumbler. the amber liquid inside was all too familiar — too comforting — in a way that made her stomach churn. she hadn’t planned on drinking today. hell, she hadn’t planned on drinking ever again if she could help it. six months clean, and now here she was, staring down the ghost of her past in the form of whiskey. she could feel the weight of it before it even touched her lips; the feeling that told her if she took that first sip, she’d fall back into the abyss. but what did it matter anyways? it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go. no one was waiting for her. not anymore. her fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the glass, before she hesitated. god this town, she thought. she despised it here. despised the slow, suffocating quiet that pressed in on her every day, like the walls were closing in and there was no way out. no exit. she wasn’t supposed to be here. this wasn’t her life. she was supposed to be somewhere —anywhere but stuck in a small town surrounded by strangers and questions she couldn’t answer. she threw back the drink in one go, the burn spreading down her throat like an old, familiar fire. it didn’t feel the same. maybe it wasn’t supposed to. but the moment the alcohol hit her bloodstream, she could feel the tension in her shoulders loosen a bit, the anxiety that had gripped her all day beginning to fade. her eyes fluttered shut, and for a second, it almost felt like she was breathing again. almost. but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. “is this how it is now?” her voice was low, almost to herself, but loud enough for the person sitting next to her to hear. “you wake up every day thinking you’ll find your way out, but all you do is circle the drain? get drunk just to forget you’re stuck?” she didn’t wait for an answer, her eyes flicking to the door like maybe there was an escape she hadn’t noticed yet. “or is this it? you just… give up and pretend you’re fine?” her smile is sharp, forced. “cause i can do that, too.” her gaze finally meets theirs with a challenging glint in her eyes. “what about you?”

"fuckin' hell, pet. you're a bleedin' joy to be around, eh?" voice is a low, exasperated husk filled to the brim with sarcasm. she didn't come down to the pub to hear some poor lass whinging, y'know? gets enough of that shit internally when she's trying to sleep. "maybe you should give up while yer ahead and swap out the booze for a couple minutes in the sun?" still, the bleeding heart in her feels a little tug at its strings. christ. if there was something she could do to make things better, she'd do it. but she's as powerless to the whims of the town as everyone else.

but there's no sense in dragging everyone else down with you.

grouchy about their shared predicament, nic reaches for the whiskey bottle and moves it away from her companion. sets herself between it and the empty shot glass like some kind of bodyguard. glowers at mira from beneath dark eyebrows, too. "y'want another drink? come take a walk with us. the more you sit here drinkin' away your sorrows, the more likely i'm gonna have to get yer arse in a bloody headlock tonight t'keep ye from soddin' off into the woods."

the coffee is a bit shite, but it does the job it's been tasked with by soothing her antsiness. if nic had her way she'd never have any downtime. the body is a needy machine, however, and it requires food, rest, and ridiculous things such as sitting down and hydration. which means that she's stuck at this damned diner for a while before she can return to the methodical release of field-dressing birds and separating larger animals into their more succulent cuts.

the yappy one is annoying too. talking bollocks at whoever can hear them like they're some kind of wannabe comedian entertaining a captive audience. and much to her chagrin, nic kinda is held captive until her coffee is ready. what's their name again? sullivan?

"aye. it could always be worse, like. you could be the one servin' it to us." she purposefully slows her speech into an easier-to-understand lilt, well aware that the average yanky-doodle-fuck will probably struggle to understand her. such is the pain of being from anywhere north of london... just her luck, that she'd end up surrounded by americans after driving into the middle of the british countryside.

"if that chair collapses i ain't catchin' ye." she'll have a good chuckle at them, though.