As seconds pass, the time for one-two-three shots right in the pot goes by the wayside, and Molly's left cringing, waiting for a second hit out of nowhere. It never comes, and her expression barely changes, except the eyes. She's processing now that immediate, imminent danger has subsided, and details begin filtering in.
Armed. But compliant. Non-hostile. Tall. (Really tall. Was he always that tall?) Older.
None of any of it makes sense to Molly, who finally uncoils, hands slowly coming up to wipe at her nose, to sniffle.
"Well, maybe I got a little... carried away, but— Well, on account of what happened and all..." She dips her head, mindful to listen as she slowly crouches to start gathering the mess.
This is a dream, right? Someone had said that. She'd awoken here, into a dream so real it might as well be. It's her reality, anyway, at least for the moment, and she's very aware that despite all she knows, Wrench could boot stomp her into the stained tile and not a soul would know why except for him. She's been by the police station. She's heard of the cats prowling the neighborhood. Honestly, she doesn't set the odds much in her favor, but she still has fight enough to take the bet if she needs to. Suicide, for sure. No one's told her yet that she'd be right back.
Gathering the shards first, eyes second, she stops and looks up, gesturing to a dark eyeball that had rolled neatly between Wrench's footwear. A four-inch blade, even something as invasive as a pocket knife, if that's all the worse he's carrying, would cleanly end Molly if plunged in from this angle. It's a lot more trust than he probably deserves, but Molly's always been a little more understanding and kind than most.
<3
Armed. But compliant. Non-hostile. Tall. (Really tall. Was he always that tall?) Older.
None of any of it makes sense to Molly, who finally uncoils, hands slowly coming up to wipe at her nose, to sniffle.
"Well, maybe I got a little... carried away, but— Well, on account of what happened and all..." She dips her head, mindful to listen as she slowly crouches to start gathering the mess.
This is a dream, right? Someone had said that. She'd awoken here, into a dream so real it might as well be. It's her reality, anyway, at least for the moment, and she's very aware that despite all she knows, Wrench could boot stomp her into the stained tile and not a soul would know why except for him. She's been by the police station. She's heard of the cats prowling the neighborhood. Honestly, she doesn't set the odds much in her favor, but she still has fight enough to take the bet if she needs to. Suicide, for sure. No one's told her yet that she'd be right back.
Gathering the shards first, eyes second, she stops and looks up, gesturing to a dark eyeball that had rolled neatly between Wrench's footwear. A four-inch blade, even something as invasive as a pocket knife, if that's all the worse he's carrying, would cleanly end Molly if plunged in from this angle. It's a lot more trust than he probably deserves, but Molly's always been a little more understanding and kind than most.