EX: ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ #11

❝   wait. you don't ..   ❞ whether it's a scoff or a poor excuse for a laugh that escapes van's lips she doesn't know but it lingers in the space between her words all the same. ❝   .. actually believe that, do you?   ❞ maybe it's shock or maybe it's hurt or maybe it's even some twisted version of both. if anything at all, she isn't hurt that audrey could think something like that. it's the idea that they shouldn't have allowed her mind to ever go there to begin with. (how the hell was i supposed to work that into a midnight phone call?) van pulls one leg up beneath their body on the couch, crossing the other one over it until their heel is pressing so deeply into the bend beneath cushions that they feel grounded again.

" i don't know,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i guess i did. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎when her brown eyes flick up once more,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she's met with that moment once again,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the very moment that comes every second,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎as if her memory goes and slips only to be reinvigorated by each relooking at van.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎their scar is lighter,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and for a moment she realizes that her gaze is caught too closely.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎those memories seem to be a bit more clearer than the one she's gathering in this moment.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎again,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it's too good to be true‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(and only soon will she know that it's not,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎that a moment like this can only come with some sort of loss,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎some sort of pain‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎/‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎since the age of eighteen,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎there was only ever good when there was bad ready to come,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎only ever good associated with the truly most awful moments of her existence).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" you're going to laugh at me. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she leans into the back of the couch,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎elbow pressing deep and her hand supporting her chin.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" honestly i was a little jealous that you were hanging out with tai without me. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she fakes a flinch,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎before allowing a sliver of an embarrassed laugh slip through parted lips.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" it was the final push... "

Most of the team preferred not to remain in contact with one another. That was fair -- it wasn't as if Misty had many close friends out there herself.

But she had a lingering sense of responsibility to be the one to fix things, to clean up the messes and little nicks and scrapes that could arise whenever someone came picking at the metaphorical scabs around their shared secret. And there were a few Yellowjackets that the blonde would go above and beyond for, but their numbers were few and far between (duty and guilt could compel the hell out of someone).

Audrey's discomfort wasn't unexpected or unfair. But she was in safe hands with Misty -- when wasn't she? But the entire situation, with the reporter and the blackmail, was enough to put anyone on edge if they weren't prepared. The nurse, however, took it as a challenge.

"Yes, of course. Please, put your bag anywhere you'd like -- maybe the kitchen table? Caligula won't touch it, he's going back in his cage anyhow," she said, waving the woman in. Misty found her African Grey clutching the back of a wooden chair, and she scooped him up gently. "It's bedtime for birdie. But first, say good night to our guest."

The bird clicked its beak and turned his attention to the blonde. "Mommy, bed time," he cawed before fixing a beady eye on Audrey. "Good night. Bed time."

Misty smiled proudly before carrying the bird to his cage, talking over her shoulder to the other woman. "Well, that's as promising as it is frustrating. She had no bylines that I could find online either. So I think it's safe to say she's not exactly in the publishing industry." Once she'd covered up Caligula's cage for the night, she brushed her hands off on her pants and returned to the table, a pleasant smile creasing her features.

she drops her bag gently,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and lips pull into a thin line...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎waiting with adverted gaze‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(avoiding the bird himself)‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and only giving a smile as he says goodbye.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the child in her wants to laugh:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎because if she were asked years ago where she pictured misty quigley,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she could paint this picture with a million words and get nearly every detail right.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎although maybe she'd pick a cat over a bird...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so close.

" i don't get it,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i don't get why she cares so much. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her voice is just a train of thought,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎lost as her gaze seems to drift off.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the topic pulls her in,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎put her in a place where every joke or smile that threatens to pull on her features at the state of her grown self.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" maybe she's just obsessive.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎maybe she's just a crazy fan...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i don't know though. "