[Kemp Oates] This was a place he seldom ever went to, so when he did, it was for a reason, no on a whim. Tonight he appeared in the doorway as little more than a shadow before he announced himself with a grunt.
“I see ya still breathing. Miracle that.”
[Izzy Montoya] The corner booth as been commandeered once more. She’s there, laptop open, plugging away at the reports that never seem to end. There’s a pile of file folders on the table near her, as well as a glass of whiskey. There’s also an ashtray, and she’s smoking. Yeah – it’s illegal as fuck, but Danny behind the bar pretty much turns a blind eye, as long as she takes a drag and puts it out right away. Shitty slow way to smoke, but it keeps her sane.
Kemp appears and speaks, and there’s a flick of an eyebrow. every expression hurts, but some things are automatic. She finishes the line she’s typing, then shuts the laptop and closes the file. She grabs the bottle of advil, spills out 5 or so, and swallows them with a swig of whiskey.
She’s a feeling her headaches about to get a lot worse.
Still breathing. A Miracle. “Apparently.”
[Kemp Oates] He remained across the way, not going near the aroma of slow death in the air that surrounded the female. He hated cigarette smoke with a passion for a few reasons. One, it muddied his sense of smell and stuck to him like stink on a skunk. Another being he always associated smoking with weaknesses like alcoholism and drug addiction. The smell caused ghosts of childhood to rise up like specters waiting to grab him with scabby fingers. So he remained across the way, not really caring who listened.
“Interesting.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Is it.”
She stamps the cigarette out after a quick drag, and exhales. She slides the file folders under the laptop, and leans back into the booth, crossing her arms over her chest, and watching him.
Silently.
[Kemp Oates] He simply stared back, just as silent until he pushed off from the doorway with a grunted.
“Huh. Ok.”
And turned to leave.
[Izzy Montoya] “What do you want from me, Kemp?”
He couldn’t have expected joyous adoration that he’d come to check in. Her voice is very. carefully. neutral.
[Kemp Oates] “Personally? Nothing.”
He looked back at her and took up the relaxed position against the door frame again. Maybe he’d stay a moment longer.
“I would of gladly ignored ya the rest of my short life if ya hadn’t been dumped on my floor, disturbing my rest. Because honestly, sometimes it’s best to ignore a splinter, just wait for it to fester out rather than digging at it with a knife in an attempt to heal a hurt. And that’s how I see ya. One big ole hurt.”
[Izzy Montoya] She huffs a breath. Amusement, maybe. Tangled with something darker, most certainly. There are a thousand things she wants to say. There are some that she should say. There are things he should probably hear, or know.
Too bad no one gives two shits. She learned that last night trying to speak to Daniel. Open up – just a little, just a test, and be slammed down. That’s a mistake she won’t make twice. There are reasons… so many. Never ignore the instincts, Izzy. Not the ones they think you should have – but the ones in the gut. The ones that have kept her alive and kicking this long.
“You know I can’t say a fucking word. You won’t listen anyway. No more than he did when I tried to explain. Instead.. I get this. Lockdown in a place even YOU tell everyone to stay away from.” She shakes her head. “Guess you pick the topic if you want to chat – because I’m certainly not allowed too.”
[Kemp Oates] “Ok, that the way ya want it. Ain’t no sense in wasting my time and your’s. As ya just put it. Ya won’t listen anyway. It goes two ways.”
He turned again, calling over his shoulder.
“Later.”
[Izzy Montoya] That’s not at all what she said. Not. at all.
“That’s not what I even fucking said.”
Her fingers grip the whiskey glass so hard they ache. She wants to throw it. She wants to smash it against his head. She wants to….
She empties it. And waves for another.
She tried last night.
She tried tonight.
She’s done trying.
[Kemp Oates] He looked back, one brow rising.
“Then let me repeat exactly what you said.”
And he did, in his best imitation of her garbled speech.
“You know I can’t say a fucking word. You won’t listen anyway. No more than he did when I tried to explain.”
His voice went to it’s normal deeper tones.
“Now, perhaps I condensed it, but what I got from it was, why waste time? Ya done filed me away with He, whoever He is. Ya done decided it was a waste of time. It was all there in the first two sentences. I’m a simple man, Izzy. I got other shit to do. Ain’t gonna waste my time nor your’s. So…we done here?”
[Izzy Montoya] “I also said unless YOU pick the topic of conversation, if you want to chat. Jesus, Kemp.” exasperated.
“And who do you think he is? The one who’s insisting I can’t even sleep in my own fucking bed for 4 hours a night. Or at all now.” She touches the bridge of her nose – and regrets it. A hiss of pain, and then she look up at him agian.
“If you got something you want to talk about – then for fucks sake, sid’down and ask whatever it is.”
A beat. “And thank you, for using my name.”
[Kemp Oates] “Ya still don’t get it to do ya?”
He shook his head slightly.
“First off, what he called ya was an honor. Not everyone would be given the honor. It’s accepting, it’s acknowledgment, it’s including your ass in a small inner circle. It’s not calling ya Ho.”
He crossed towards her, still not so sure he was going to stick around for more than a few moments. Yet when he reached the table, he invaded her space by leaning down and planting his hands on the table as he leaned in towards her, speaking in a low vibration.
“I heard his words to ya before ya left my place. Have ya followed them? Or have ya been like a spoiled child and only done what ya picked out of the list?”
He held up a finger.
“And before ya answer that, answer me this. Did ya grow up lost? Alone? Unknowing? Or did ya grow up with the knowledge of your ancestry?”
[Izzy Montoya] “It’s not an honor to me.” It’s said softly – there’s clearly something deeper there, some reasoning that makes it such for her. Yet no one seems to want to know. No one seems to wonder why.
He invades her space, and she doesn’t flinch. “I have always known. And all but one – though my reasoning was sound, it’s something we cannot agree on – he would not listen to me or accept that things are not always as he thinks. So he upped the ante.”