#sawyerdecker

Kathryn couldn't run forever.

The words echoed through her mind, a reminder of that last night in New York. The worst, and potentially, best night of her entire life. Carlos, on the job too, had screamed that as she'd ran. Money and her fearing for her life, she fled. It was keeping her up at night, the nightmares slowly following her into waking day until the bags under her eyes, smudges of purple, were poignant on her porcelain features. With a sigh, she pushed the blonde sweeping pony over her shoulder and pushed through the doors of the Black Rabbit.

Her arrival in Tonopah had been a whirlwind, something she'd never comprehended could become home until it just did. It was a combination of the people and the freedom she'd allowed herself to feel. And Kathryn Haringer hadn't felt such unbridled freedom since she was eighteen years old, working in a diner and praying she made it to the next day.

But everything was well on its way to becoming a fucking shitshow.

One letter. Unsigned. A warning.

The inside wasn't quiet. In fact, it was the busiest she'd seen it in a while. The soft drone of a jukebox shuddered in the corner while the corner of her lips tugged into something of comfort. She liked this place. It took her to a time long since dead, the 1920's something she held close to her heart. Checking her watch, she hummed a sigh before her eyes scanned the room.

And landed on the person she was looking for. Sawyer Decker, in the flesh.

Was it legal for someone to be that pretty? What the fuck.

"Um, Sawyer? Hey." she closed the distance, standing before a table situated close to the bar. "I'm sorry, my lyft didn't arrive and my cars in the garage. Wait, I have the right person...right?"

Fallon double checked the address even though the massive house before her could only belong to a handful of people. Well, a handful of people that weren’t deeply entrenched in the gangs. Which to Fallon’s knowledge, Sawyer was not. Once she knew this was Sawyer’s place she got out of her beat up truck, holding a nice bottle of chardonnay. She knocked at the door before holding the bottle of wine in such a way she was a presenting it like it was a reward on a game show. Sawyer opened the door and Fallon practically started singing. “I’ve brought you one of my favorites,” she smiled. “Sadly it’s not local but I sold probably a hundred or so of these when I was in Vegas.”

By now, Lorianne was two beers and a strawberry margarita down and finally she’s beginning to loosen up a tad. With the help of booze, she’s able to see this time as something to be cherished rather than a battle of “who’s best”. Truly, being with Sawyer often helped her get back into the swing of what was fun in the world. And for that, she was grateful for her, even if she’s reluctant to admit it. Sincerity that stems from vulnerability wasn’t quite Lori’s forte.