Best In Town


huruma2_icon.gif megan2_icon.gif

Scene Title Best In Town
Synopsis From work to home to ridiculous.
Date June 01, 2019

Elmhurst Hospital

As per usual, Huruma's presence at Elmhurst comes with a few pings to Nurse Young; primarily to see if she was expected. They're less afraid of her now, to a degree. After a few weeks of Hounds in and out of the hospital here, the dulling edge they already have around her seems to soften up a bit more. Like they've been told- - Huruma won't bite, probably.

But she's not here to fuss with nurses or menace orderlies, she is only here for Megan, waiting for her shift to end. A ride home in the storm and rain is a fine gesture.

The tall woman is standing by a window in the lobby, fingers widening a peephole in the plastic blinds. It's hard to tell if she is actually looking for something, or just- - being Huruma. The hood and shoulders of her jacket are damp from the drizzling outside, despite having hold of an umbrella, dangling from her off-hand.

The days of Devon Clendaniel and Avi Epstein being in the hospital and Hounds literally camping around the place went a long way toward making the staff a little less hyper about the presence of one of Wolfhound's members. But then again, Huruma is not exactly the type to blend in. Nowadays, Nurse Young just gets knowing looks — like people think hey know things even though she never confirms or denies a damn thing. As the redhead makes her way through the hall toward the waiting area, her shift finally over, her shoes squeak a bit on the tile.

"Hey there," she greets as she hits the end of the row of uncomfortable plastic chairs. One arm has a tote bag slung over her shoulder and is holding her raincoat, the other hand is on her hip as she grins at her friend. "And here I was dreading the whole traipsing home in the rain thing. You are a lifesaver," Megan tells her. "And if you called ahead for a dinner pick-up, you just became hero of the day." She's in a good mood — it's been a busy day but nothing too unusual to stress her today.

"You know it… Mm. I did not, but I can." Huruma lets go of the blinds with a snap of plastic, raising a brow over her shoulder before turning fully and hooking her arm around Megan's shoulders. Companionably, of course. It's always good to see her. "We'll see who is around to rough up for something decent, hm?" It's less about how long something will take, but the fact that neither of them seem in the mood to make anything at all. First-ish world problems.

"I got to fly the Tlanuwa down. For practice…" Huruma flashes a smile now, looking like a cat around cream. "Francis probably regrets teaching me. He flew it back looking white as a ghost."

Megan briefly stops cold. "Scott actually let you out in his baby? Really?" She resumes walking, leaning on Huruma as she does, laughing as they make their way out. "Well… I can't decide if that means he likes you or if he doesn't like the Tlanuwa as much as he loved his Challenger."

Classic cars and Harkness men, you know. "Poor Francis. I can only imagine how drunk that poor kid's gonna get when he gets back," she chuckles. She does, after all, ride with Hooms — if she flies like she rides her motorcycle, poor Francis!

And Meg loves every minute of it, so ya know, there's that. "Heh… maybe I'll get to fly with you sometime. I haven't done that since Auggie." It's a good memory, the Brit.

"Of course Scott likes me." Huruma scoffs, "That, and I wanted to learn. Good thing, too… given we need another spare pilot." She hasn't talked much about the Wolfhound's roster shuffle, other than Hana. The rest of them know what they want, and that's okay.

"If he does not have at least one, I will have to try harder next time." The doors ahead slide open, and Huruma is already producing the umbrella, practically a flourish. It snaps open and angles just so, allowing Megan the lion's share of shade. "I've flown something like it before… but naturally, it has its own details. The one I used back in Madagascar was, ah, more intuitive."

Another word for 'easier'.

Huruma's car, however, remains the same chonky-looking thing, neither the Tlanuwa nor a fancy foreign jet. She pops the passenger door. "I've got to look good for the peeping Tomettes in there."

Megan's brows rise and she snickers. "Damn, Hooms… you're the best date in town," she teases. And then she happens to glance over her shoulder to realize that three of her youngest nurses are absolutely gawking like schoolchildren out the waiting room windows. "For fuck's sake," she mutters with a roll of her eyes as she climbs into the vehicle. Her stuff is tossed over the back of the seat and she waits til the taller woman comes around and gets in.

"You would think they'd have far better things to watch." There is actually embarrassment coming off her. "I swear to god. You'd think they never had a friends before." That they are both more than friends and perhaps the subject of much speculation, well… Megan regularly simply ignores it.

Before Huruma gets in the car, she looks over to the windows, fingers raised to her eyes, then pointing back towards them. She's got her eye on you all. It's only slightly intimidating, knowing that she knows what they're doing. The door thumps shut behind her as she slides into the driver's seat, flashing another grin and laughing from her chest.

"I think it is me, more than it is you." Lips pursing, Huruma pulls off and leaves embarrassing nurses in their wake. "Clearly you need more standard friends. Boring ones, that do not make your coworkers fascinated. I am sorry for being just too cool for them to handle."

Her intent is to get Megan entertained over it again, and that is clear. Don't worry about them.

"If you want to call a place, my treat. We can pick it up. Or I could sway a delivery for a dumbfounding tip."

"Hmmmm. There's the Chinese place," Megan replies. "Since we can't have people gawking at you all night or I'll never get dinner, they can deliver," she adds, thoroughly amused. Thank god for being able to text orders to places these days!

"What's been going this week?" she asks as she types an order through to the place for them. "And how's Avi doing? Healing up well?" She only sort of keeps up, not exactly the best socializer — and Epstein's crotchety. Even when she goes to Rochester to see Hooms or Scott, Avi's not usually in sight.

"I will be sure to be generous to the delivery person, then." Huruma's mood seems to fluff at Megan playing along, a settling of warmth in the front seat. "My children are visiting soon." Her eyes are on the road, closed smile pulled to one side. Exciting stuff, Megs. "You've never met Riya's wife… perhaps you will have the chance."

"Avi's…" Pale eyes move from mirror to mirror, visually distracted by a passing car, and errant thoughts on the question and the answer.. "Avi is, ah," Huruma isn't sure how to put it, without making Megan boggle too much. They've seen a lot, though, so- - "He is well. Someone healed him." A pause, then an addition. "All of him. Two eyes, two legs, still just the one foul mouth…"

Oooh! Her kids are coming?! That news brings Megan's eyes right over. "That's great news," she offers with a grin. "I would love to meet Riya's wife. How long will they be here?" It's not like Huruma gets to see them that much.

And then she pauses. "Someo— " Pursing her lips, Megan's mind flips through her mental Rolodex of healers and their abilities. There have never been many who could heal on that level, and the last one she knew of — Deckard — she has zero clue if the man is even alive still. Nonplussed, she doesn't know what to say.

"Wow," is what she settles on. "That's…" Yeah. the redhead's at a total loss here.

"It is not entirely social, from what I understand. I do not know how long they will be here." Huruma does sound disappointed. She also knows her offspring are important people. "Regardless…" They will be around, eventually, this she knows. Sometimes it is still strange to even have them. Her life is always better for it.

"Yes, wow. Imagine my shock when he stomped into the commons like that. I almost attacked him." The dark woman stifles a laugh. "You know how it is." Shapeshifters, face-stealers, et al. Huruma allows a few quiet moments of driving between words, continuing after a sigh more akin to tired animal.

"We'd talked, before the Sunstone op. He'd always been bitter, about the benching. Getting injured one time too many… I hated when he called himself a cockroach."

"Epstein has always been," Huruma sucks some air through her teeth, "particularly difficult to listen to. There are mountains to unpack. Levies to shore. Fires to douse. I was already intimately familiar with his thoughts, having had them myself. The rest…"

Meanwhile, Huruma lifts a hand from the wheel to tap at her temple to indicate she means her ability, not her ears. "Now, though? I think he sees this second chance for what it is."

Megan understands old soldiers better than most, and Epstein's bitterness was something she could relate to — getting older is hard enough. Feeling physically so much older than you are mentally because you've beaten the crap out of your body is even harder, and Epstein suffered a great many injuries.

"Some of us don't ever walk away from the battlefields," she acknowledges quietly. "We don't know who we are without it."

Is she among that number? In a way, she supposes. Though her battlefield is usually a medical bay. Megan turns her attention from those thoughts. "I think he'd have been annoyed of you tried to rip his face off to prove he was a face-stealer," she teases.

Huruma too, directs her attentions away from talk of battlefields and bitterness.

"He would have been, yes." A laugh comes with it, and a brow that raises briefly in Megan's direction. "Besides, I'd hate to have to ruin it." Speaking of, "He didn't sound terribly thrilled about the visit from Madagascar. It's not like Dajan is going to rip out his eye." She gets that troublemaking look.

"Clearly I should show them around the new headquarters. They usually take one or two from the Avo wherever they go, I'm sure they'd be interested in the bunker." The Hound toys aren't as sleek or efficient as theirs, but she can still be proud of them.

The redhead looks puzzled by the idea that Epstein would be upset by a visit from Dajan. But well… the wicked imp grins at Huruma. "You definitely should take them on a tour," Megan agrees. If only because she enjoys tweaking the tail of tigers too!

"I'll be entertained to hear about his reaction," she chuckles. "You might have to take a picture of the sour look on his face." Just the mental image is making her laugh more. Cuz, you know, it's AVI. He always looks sour!

"Madagascar is triggering for him." Megan's puzzling does get an answer, because of course the empath is paying attention. It's short but precise. "They just remind him."

"I know he would appreciate them given the chance," Especially the Avi of the recent year and change. Huruma just laughs quietly, though, eyes ahead as she makes a turn. A construction site moves past the window, ambling robots assisting in moving chunks of concrete. "Anyhow… other than wrangling trouble at the World's fair, the kids, Avi going from choleric to red-blooded- - there's not been much else going on." She has her way of putting things. "I suppose there's Avi asking me to help him hunt Adam, but- -" MOVING ON.

"What about you? Same old?"

Megan just shakes her head slightly — wrangling trouble at the world's fair and the 'kids', that's all expected. "Yeah, pretty mu—"

Wait, what?

Megan's head whips around and she peers at Huruma. "He wants you to do what?" About twelve different reactions race through Meg's head but the one that comes from her mouth is a simple, "Are you going to do it?" Because Adam is one of those weird topics. Hooms has stayed mostly neutral in the years the redhead has known her and her knowledge of what came before is not exactly positive. But it's the fact that he was Huruma's friend that weighs in her gut. She's worried for the tall woman — worries for her feelings, for what hurt this might cause her friend.

Huruma's mouth flattens into a relative line. She wanted to talk about it, of course, but only if Megan took the bite. Of course she did.

"Yes, I am." Her tongue runs over the edge of her teeth. "Avi wanted to know if I was leaking information to him. I'm not. But he was just being sure. He knows me well enough to believe me. I do not have a habit of lying to people I care about."

"You should have seen him trying to ask me to help, though," Huruma does inject a moment of humor here, for ease. "He used to be more scared of me, I suppose that is why he was nervous."

"Adam was… is… still important to me, but the things he has been orchestrating," She hesitates, shifts tone. Megan is someone she trusts, obviously. "I was a part of his evo-supremacy group, for a time. I know how he thinks. Which means he probably has a new network in one form or another. Praxis is just a front… Money and means. So you can see, my services are necessary."

There's an instant scowl at even the idea that Huruma would betray the organization she works for. Megan's immediate reaction might or might not be gratifying to the other woman — she's rather incensed on Huruma's behalf. "Of course you're not," she replies in a stiff tone. How dare he even consider it?

It could be argued that one of the redhead's flaws might be that she's too loyal. If such a thing is possible.

There's a low sigh and she admits quietly, "I've been expecting either you or Ben or both to get tangled up into that mess at some point." Adam Monroe is on the move… and the more things change, the more they don't. Two riders were approaching and the wind began to howl… Blue eyes watch her friend and she asks simply, "What can I do?"

"I do not blame him for thinking it possible." Huruma blinks slowly, her answer to the bubbly rage a calm one. Another turn at the next intersection, and they slide onto Megan's block.

"Ben is too, make no mistake. He is doing his part, just like Wolfhound will." Mouth flattening again, Huruma angles an appraising look to the redhead. "I'm… not certain. I will tell you if I think of something."

"We've been meeting on it periodically, giving him what I have, if I remember a detail I didn't before… tracking his movements, money, people we know to work or have worked with him. Old contact information. Disbanded projects. Plans that never came to fruition. I know a lot more than he expected me to, I think. Down to shoe size."

"We have a room that looks like we let Richard decorate. The visual helps, I guess." Huruma wasn't a huge fan of keeping things digital. Not without Hana around anymore. The brownstones coast past before Huruma slides up to park outside of Megan's own. "A note for the future, do not spill coffee on Avi's intel. As entertaining as it was, well." Her shoulders shrug comically, smile halfway to a grimace..

Megan mumbles a little under her breath. It might be a curse word, what with Avi daring to besmirch Huruma. But she doesn't say more on that matter, simply nodding along with the list of information that her friend has. "I don't know why people always underestimate what you know … I guess it's just that you're not prone to being talkative about it," she observes thoughtfully. "I just always assume you know damn near everything."

She pauses and then grins. "Of course, that could be because I spent a lotta years around people like Scott and Ben," she acknowledges drily — the poster children for Never Saying Stuff.

Her friend's explanation of her information sharing skills makes enough sense that she pauses and squints while turning the car off. She's right, of course; Huruma isn't talkative about a lot of things, much less the shady or secretive.

Young Residence, Elmhurst

"That isn't far from the truth. At least I know Epstein is grateful for my depth." Huruma gives Megan a side-eye. "I try to remember you're not everyone else. Sorry." She does her best not to shut her friends out, and it works to a degree. It's hard to break habits like that. Old ones. "But yes, keep assuming I know most everything." That isn't far from the truth either. A smile grows wider for the redhead. "I have an image to maintain."

You know, like the one at the hospit- -

Yip! Yip! Yip!

"…I am going to strangle that dog." And as if prepping to keep her word, Huruma slides out of the driver's seat- - and moves to lean on the hood instead, crossing arms and scowling at a tiny canine behind the neighboring fence. She's not going to strangle it. Probably. It's barking quiets some as she looks back at beady little eyes.

It is ridiculous how much that ankle-biter dotes on Huruma, and it cracks the redhead up every damn time.

Laughing as she gets out of the car and reaches over the seat to retrieve her jacket and tote bag, Megan emerges to see the stand-off. "That dog adores you. It's your own fault for making me stock dog treats," she points out. "You're so sweet to him, he wants you to take him away from his woeful existence." Even Megan can't keep a straight face when she's teasing that hard. "He's in puppy luuuurrrrve."

"I wonder what all your badasses up in Rochester would think to see this," she giggles, a sound that gets even worse when the poor little mutt whines and rolls over on his back begging for a belly rub. From his super-duper crush!

"Good god, next thing you know, she'll have the police here again because you've bewitched him."

When Huruma loves something, she sometimes wants to throttle it. Friendships are frustrating. Animals, she can't exactly fend off the same as she might people. Her ability has a minor effect, though she thinks that may be because animals are simply more intuitive than humans.

Megan's words bring her back a bit, though the teasing earns her a soft elbowing.

"Yes, I suppose it is my fault. But you accepted the existence of dog treats in your home, so," Huruma wags a finger at her. "They would probably be amused, or not say a word, as it is me." One way to keep people from mocking you is to be more terrifying than the mockery is tempting.

"Ssh, you know she'll do it." Don't jinx it, Meg. "And they told her last time to stop calling the MPs over. I am probably only threatening because I am tall, dark, and handsome." She stuffs the car keys away and slinks up to the fence. She knows the blind side. Also, her hand can fit through these slats best. Bellyrubsforpoochtime.

"Pfffft," is Megan's reply. "Yes, I'm sure it's that you're tall, dark, and handsome," she agrees, laughing as she heads for the front door of her own place, "and has nothing to do with the fact that the last time she saw you leaving, you bared your teeth at her." That was not a smile, Huruma, and you know it!

It's one of the random things in Megan's life that's she's begun to truly look forward to seeing, this drama playing out between her neighbor (and the dog!) and her best friend. It's even funnier than some of the River Styx episodes! Though admittedly she does feel for the poor put-upon MPs.

Rummaging for her door key, Megan finally located it in her bag and heads up the front steps to open the door. She sets down her bag, hangs her jacket, and then swipes up the bag of doggie treats from the small front table by the door to bring them back outside so that the little terror can have his treats. "Heads up," she calls quietly from the top of her stoop before tossing the bag toward Huruma's head.

"Better hurry," the redhead adds as thunder rolls across the sky above them and drops begin falling again. Looks like their reprieve isn't going to last.

"I was smiling." She knows she wasn't. Huruma's hand gets a lick as she turns to catch the baggie. The dog whines and rolls over for a scratch on the tum, while Huruma rustles for a treat. The NYPD will certainly have more of a laugh at this than the present law.

" Who's my little scoundrel?" Huruma whispers to the rolling pup, serving up a bite for his tricks. "Remember to leave your mother a present when you go inside." As if he understands. A few drops hit her shoulders and the sound of screen door has her slinking back to duck into the house. "Hurry up, she'll see us -" A laugh takes over when she pulls Megan inside, arm around waist.

Megan just snorts. They both know that was not a smile, Huruma! And the redhead is laughing as the taller woman sprints up the stairs to tug her inside the door, just as Helen Kravitz calls out her door in that ridiculous shrilly babytalk, "Peeeercy! Percy, baby, come inside, we don't want your cute little paws all wet, baby!"

Leaning back against her door, Megan doubles over laughing, imitating Helen. "Peeeeercy!" That poor dog.

Huruma attempts to not laugh too hard. She does anyway, still holding onto Megan. It's one of those happy laughs of hers that sounds more like she wants to cackle a princess into submission. Helen can probably hear it, if she bends her ear enough.

"I hope he gets a roll in the mud before he goes in." She should have thrown the treat that way, damn. Hindsight. Next time, maybe. "That voice. No wonder he likes everyone else so much…"

"All she needs, literally, is a husband named Abner," Megan wheezes through tears of laughter. "Swear to God, she even has the last name right." It is beyond hysterical to Meg. Pushing upright, she's trying to wipe away tears as she laughs. "Let me get out of my scrubs," she gasps between chuckles. They are so bad. But it feels good to have something so silly to laugh about.

As she heads up toward her room, she grins. "Don't forget to tip the drivah!" It's a long-standing giggle that the first time they ordered from the place that's dropping off their food, the elderly woman who took the phone order was all about tipping the drivah! And it turned out that she was the was drivah!

Abner? She'll have to ask later. Whatever reference it was flies over her head. Huruma slings up her jacket and umbrella, sure to shake the latter out on the mat inside the door.

"Yes, yes, I know. Tipping large is my practice. People appreciate it. More likely to treat you better than the rest." See? Huruma has a reason. While Megan is upstairs shedding her work layers, Huruma busies herself elsewhere until the knock at the door comes; it's the older woman again, and this time Huruma's tip has her eyes gigantic, and it's possible Megan sees Huruma give the lady a 'ssh' gesture as they trade.

"Have an excellent night, love." is what the driver gets as she steps back to her car, a hop in her stride.

With her silver-streaked copper hair finally released from its confines and damp from a really fast shower to remove the smell of hospital and dressed comfortably in a pair of sweatpants, a loose T-shirt, and thick socks, Megan returns to the main floor of the house just in time to catch the deliverer leaving. A brow quirks upward. "Beer, wine, or water?" she asks easily. Because there's always someone brewing beer somewhere, right?

Oooh! And look at that, there's even a fire. She pauses at the fridge to grab the drinks once she knows what her friend's having, and also grabs silverware just in case one or both decide chopsticks aren't going to be a Thing tonight. Dinner's gonna be a floor thing in front of that fire, cuz it's comfortable.

"Do I even want to know how much you overpaid the driver?" she teases.
"Wine, please. A lot." Answered in a timely manner, while Huruma kicks her boots off and slides down to lean against the couch. "That depends on if you want to also know just how much Wolfhound came away with for the last Op." Huruma is matter of fact about it, brows up and a smirk on her lips.

"Other people need it more than I do." Her addendum is unbidden, no need to explain herself in this. "So if you need some cash, ever- - you know you can ask." Megan knows that Huruma has had a seemingly steady stream of Means, ever since they met. Now with all she does, it's more evident where it all comes from- - yet some things remain a mysterious resource.

Once the redhead settles down here with her, it's time to divvy up dinner; Huruma sticks with the chopsticks, as practiced as with a fork. The wine, well, it disappears in less time than it ought to.

She never asks. Huruma's income is something that comes under the heading of Not My Business, so far as Megan is concerned. Not to mention that except for when they were all literally living hand-to-mouth and sharing everything during the war years, she is independent to a fault when it comes to such things. She could be dead broke and no one would ever know — well, Huruma might know, but it wouldn't be because Megan said so.

Dinner spread out between them, chopsticks easy and glasses of wine full perhaps a couple of times, Megan leans back against the couch with her toes wiggling at the fire. She's been content and absorbed in the comfort of their camaraderie. But finally around a bite of noodles, she asks, "Are you… worried about what could happen if you have to face off with him?"

The pair of them make quite, well, a pair. Huruma seems far down the tunnel of wine when Megan asks her curious question, different from the idle chatter they'd been having over dinner. Pale eyes, scleras blurred, swivel the redhead's way. She knows just what to say- - Huruma does not often get this far just to get this far. She tends to be composed, though less around friends. Not quite here, though.

Worries wrack her, thoughts on everything bouncing around her skull. Megan allows her to concentrate on one of them.

"Of course I am." Huruma's eyes lazily drift away again. No venom in it, so she must be fine with the topic. Wine does help. "How would you feel?" Not that Megan could really compare. "Someone that was important to me- -" She pauses, gets a bit more explicit, "Someone who used to be a lover has a multinational company hellbent on influencing world politics, and only we seem to know he is doing it. I know he's probably got a new network, I know he has money out the ears, I know that when he wants something, he goes for it. I am a little," Huruma leans over, making a small-thing gesture, "Worried. And I know- - I know I might have to deal with him myself- - but I cannot decide if I will want to, when the time comes…"

There's a reason she waited until they were 3/4ths done with the bottle before she asked. It's a hard topic. And Megan's heart aches for Huruma. "I don't know how I'd feel," she says softly. "I've known men in my life powerful enough in their own ways. Not all lovers, but … loved. They've been men of convictions, who believed they were doing the right thing. I've never had to face one of them down knowing that it could be life or death in that moment. I've fought with Ben a couple of times over calls," Huruma was there for those. They weren't really fights. "I've gone toe-to-toe with Scott … " She pauses. A memory of a day years ago makes her grimace. "Well, I've never been handed that choice. Harkness just booted my ass out and I mostly ignored him. I… don't think he could have killed me." Maybe? Nah. He was debating killing a kid, though… maybe she should have worried about that back then. Little late to even wonder now.

She sets her container aside with its chopsticks in it and sighs heavily. "It kills me that you're basically being asked to choose like that, if push comes to shove. No one should have to make a decision like that."

As much as her own chest twists around, Huruma's ability is a miasma of everything, including the fine details of Megan's sympathy, and the feelings behind her words on Ben, Scott, nameless others, maybe. She only fights when it's necessary. Still leaning in, Huruma slumps back against the side of the couch, head lolling as she sits back up, eyes further away.

"You're right. No one should, yet here I am. I know it wasn't mine, but I just keep remembering the clone- -" Huruma's brows meet, furrowing with thought. "His face. Faces. The way that man was keeping him alive, in a box. I wanted so much to take him out of there- -" A swallow pulses along her throat, gaze downcast, hands on her lap, hanging down to brush at the rug. "Instead, he saved me, got hurt. I had to do what he asked." Which, as Megan knows- - was to kill him.

"I hated feeling like that. This? I don't know what will happen except that I will feel like that again. Probably worse than. Whatever happens."

The solemn truth to those words lingers in the air between the women, and Megan scoots to put her arm around Huruma. She can't make her friend feel better. But she can be here. "If push comes to shove," she whispers, drawing Huruma's head to her shoulder so she can lay hers on top of it gently. "Then you damn well come home." Fiercely protective of this woman who has given her a friendship she couldn't have really ever imagined, she can only do what she can do here. "And if you need me, you call me. I will be there with medical kit, the cavalry, and serious firepower." Cuz she will!

Huruma is still taller on the floor, and it shows as Megan pulls her all the way down to her shoulder. The rest of her seems to follow along, at least, though only just-so. There's still a tension in her, wavering.

"Serious firepower, huh?" Dark fingers play at the ends of Megan's hair, an idle thing. "Have you been hanging around Lucille?" Huruma knows what she means. Now she's teasing. "I don't want to have to go it alone, so if you're serious about that- -" Still teasing, a distraction from her depressed state. And of course, her words drag just a touch, more velvety than usual. Not slurring, she's classier than that. "Can we talk about something else?" A blunt question, tact dulled by drink.

"Serious fucking firepower," Megan retorts, the smile evident in her tone. And then she quite readily changes the subject. She hadn't meant for the night to get so serious, and in her concern she's made it worse. "And yes, of course we can talk about something else. Although I have no idea what wonderfully awkward thing to throw on the table right now because my brain is suddenly and inexplicably thinking about triple chocolate trifle. That thing that they used to make in that little bakery that… was it Abby who was running it? It was ridiculous and now I have a stupid craving for it. And obviously no one makes it anymore — that bakery's been gone for years." Because when one has nothing else to throw out there and no love life to speak of? CHOCOLATE.

"Ah, wonderfully awkward?" Huruma snickers quietly, brows lifting at the mention of trifle. Oh, she doesn't have it. Megan gets the amusing sight of watching Huruma flop down on the floor, takeout boxes empty on the endtable. "Stop getting my hopes up, woman."

Her Ben impression is spot on.

"Okay, awkward." A noise like hard thinking out loud. Hmnnn. And because her very bestest friend is a drunken empath, that fact clings onto one errant emotion and runs off with it. "Gone on any dates lately? Any handsome people at Elmhurst?"

That makes Megan laugh. "You know the last time he called me woman in that tone, I hid the coffee on him." That was a long while ago. And wow, talk about AWKward! "No," the redhead replies quickly. "I have not gone on any dates lately." They're not dates. She's just spending time with an old friend. In Rochester. A lot. Is it a lot? No… it's just… sometimes. Long way to go for dinner, but hey! She shoots a grin at the empath. "What about you? Anyone caught your eye lately?"

"Oh come now, Megan, I'm psychic." She knows it's not serious. Right now. Huruma says this still on the floor, one hand on her belly, eyes studying the ceiling, then angling to Megan, then the fire, just- - roaming, until her friend turns it on her. "Hey, you can't do that- -" She can, and did, which gets a snort from the dark face flushed with the tint of wine. There is suddenly an even bigger sound, snorting laughter, just a little bit.

"Ha. I see what you did there." Maybe the bottle of wine wasn't a great idea. "Caught my eye," Huruma lets out a 'pffft' noise. "There was an old associate I saw recently too, you know," She doesn't even seem aware of what she's said by now. "Plays piano like an angel. Devil, maybe. I don't know."

Oh…. oh God! She hadn't meant that at all!!! Megan was mid-taking a drink and snorts the last of her wine right out her nose. Choking on her laughter, coughing wine from her sinus cavities, the redhead is all but in tears. She sets the glass down on the floor and shakes off her hand, the one that flew up to attempt to stop that horrible abuse of decent alcohol. "That is so fucking wrong," she laughs. "Do I dare ask this divine piano player's name?" Cuz she's pretty sure it's not Avi of the missing eye that's been returned to him! And she needs something to make her stop laughing at that. It's wrong!

" Aza maneso, why are you laughing at me?" Huruma sits up on an elbow, wobbling. "Don't be like that. Give me a break!" It's not irritated- - she is still laughing, only now letting it sink in and suddenly understanding why Megan became wine-sneeze champion. "Oh, shit- -" Huruma swearing at all is a rarity.

"Godfrey!" A quick change goes to NAMES and NOT slips of tongue. "Godfrey. He's quite the eye candy." Huruma grimaces at her choice of words. "He works for Yamagato now…"

The wine really went to both of their heads … or at least, it broke some tension. Because eye candy makes Megan cover her mouth so as not to laugh outright again. So now, in the faux-serious fashion of those with just nice little buzz happening, she says to her friend — with eyes still twinkling because … damn, that was just too wrong not to laugh! — "Godfrey, hmm? Does he know?" Because, hey! If she can keep the attention off her own escapades, all the better!

"Of course he knows, he's stupidly good-looking. I'd be remiss not to be attracted, so." Huruma sits up now, pushing off the floor and resuming a lean against the couch, still sprawled. This is relaxing, despite incidents.

"Way younger than me, though. Not that I am concerned." A hand waves dismissively. "Is that enough awkward for you?" Heh.

"Giiiiirrrrrlllll," Megan snickers, "how much younger is way younger? Cuz if we discount the men too much younger than you, you could be sort of screwed." She gives a sagenod, and then breaks down laughing again, expecting to get elbowed for that.

"Hmn. Ten… Ish years?" It's only a slightly smaller gap in the other direction. "Tad older than my children. But that smile, it's lovely." Huruma seems content enough to say as much. Megan is used to being able to get her this far, though it is always surprising to Huruma later. That 'image' doesn't matter to Meg.

"I am thinking screwed is exactly where I want to be, though…?" Huruma voices this, breath catching in a chuckle. Making this too easy. Elbowed still happens, but in more of a nudge. She can think dirty, even if 90% of the time it never leaves her tongue.

"Well, more power to you," Megan snickers, adding in a dry tone, "At least one of us will be getting laid." There's no bitterness — she's not one for casual intimacy, so while she might crack wise with the best of them, Huruma knows there've only been two relationships in the past decade-plus. Instead, she'll just cheerfully live vicariously if the empath shares. "You should totally go drag the man into a corner and rock his world," she opines.

"Oh, you. Anyone would be so lucky." Huruma raises a curve of lip towards Megan, amused but still meaning it. "Drag him into a corner? What kind of person do you think I am? Because you are absolutely right."

"Pff. There aren't exactly a lot of singles lining up anyway. I'm too used to being the pursuant. How do normal people do it?" Get hit on? Huruma squints as she lifts her hand to inspect her nails. "And even if I do get feelings it doesn't really go in my favor. So I guess I'm out of luck." Now she is absolutely rambling.

The redhead chuckles. "I think you're a forward, intimidating woman when you wanna be… and the best friend a girl could ever ask for," Megan replies staunchly. "How the hell would I know how normal people do it? I mean… Aug asked me to have lunch with him while I was stitching up a gash that he got at the airfield. Ben was… I don't even know. It just … evolved. Other than that, I mean… when the hell have I had time to be 'normal'?"

She pushes upward and flumps onto the couch cushions above where Huruma is perched, laying her head on the arm and curling up there to enjoy the warm buzz of wine and the fire. "I guess you just tell him you find him attractive and ask if he wants to have a drink? Or … get dinner? Or… if all you want is to scratch the itch, well… you're on your own, I have no clue how to do that."

Huruma is quite satisfied with herself when called the best friend one could ask for; don't fill her head any more than it needs to be!

"I don't know, when you were a twenty something?" When Megan curls up nearby, Huruma sits up straighter and lays a gentle hand on her head. But, it's kind of the wrong hand, so upside down. "He does drink." And eat. Buuuttt. There's a mumble of something indistinguishable from English, including one or two clucks of tongue against the inside of her mouth. The tone is exasperated.

"God, I do not have the energy to be thinking about this so intensely."

"It's way too much work," Megan agrees. She's quiet and then she starts laughing again. "Caught your eye—" That one's not going away anytime soon.

"Megan," Huruma hisses, not very angrily. Her hand drags down to cover up her friend's face and mouth, a humorous attempt to stifle. "Do not make me shut you up."

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