abby_icon.gif deckard_icon.gif simon_icon.gif teo_icon.gif

Scene Title Clusterfuck
Synopsis Deckard is innocently minding his own business robbing graves when he's stumbled upon by Simon, who he tentatively holds not-quite-at-gunpoint until the dynamic duo of Abby and Teo shows up to save the day by yelling a lot and jumping on top of him. It's hard out here for a pimp.
Date November 11, 2008

Calvary Cemetery

Visually, Calvary Cemetery is a busy place. Crosses, angels, slabs, and markers jut jaggedly up at the night sky, black, white, and every shade of grey in between. There are a lot of dead people, here. But at the moment, only one that's living and conscious. The metallic bite of a shovel into soft earth drifts on the wind. Earlier in the day, it might be an innocent sound, but at this hour and in this cold, with no security guards in sight, well.

Bound as warmly as possible in the woolen black of an overcoat, scarf, knit cap, and leather gloves, a scruffy man in sunglasses is waist-deep in an occupied grave, and still digging.

Simon knows he should be here. Not after dark. Not alone. Still, he's done a bunch of probably stupid stuff since he's moved back to the city. Why not add one more mark to his tally? After jumping the north side fence, Simon starts to wander through the mausoleums, statues, and gravestones. He's looking for something in particular.

Every now and then, a light thud reverberates through the mostly empty walkways. It comes from the tennis ball Simon smuggled in with him. It can be heard from far away, and the other living thing in the cemetery, the one playing grave-digger, might even be able to tell that the sound is getting closer to him.

Flowers for Sarah Logan. Teo had never asked her what her favorite sort was, but she was the kind of girl who liked things to be just so — so he'd picked what the book of meanings said. Dark crimson roses. They look black in the darkness of the cemetery, seven of them for luck, thorns still intact and layered away from the possibility of injury by a wrapping of crinkling tissue and plastic. He's dressed casual, though; this isn't the event that the cathedral had made out of grief only a few days ago. Hoodie — sweater underneath, jeans, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and short hair sticking up in odd angles that indicate it ought to be shorter.

"Good to see you're recovered, bella," he remarks to the woman beside him. His shoes click stone without the uncertainty that precedes young men who're wise enough to be wary of the dark, and he breaths deep, expelling curlicued smoke, glances up to see the sparkling Manhattan skyline giving him the finger from a hundred headstones away.

"Recovered from one thing, only to need to recover from another." Abby journeys beside the italian stallion, flowers in her own hands. Not for the intended of Teo's late night visit, but for whomever might be adjacent and be lacking flowers to mark their rest. Sometimes… people just can't make it. "Sergei dropped by to bring me chicken soup and oranges and large bottles of vitamins. Felt like… I was home and someone was taking care of me. Why again are we doing this at this time of the night?" The blonde woman looks around, one hand in pocket, gaze alighting upon stone after stone, little mental prayers spoken for each.

Stooped over in his digging and so nearly invisible from afar, Flint plays the part of the six foot groundhog and stiffens upright at the tennis ball's latest thud. The pop of his back is mercifully muffled by the wrap of his coat, and for a moment he just stands there and listens, shovel in hand. Then, there it is again. Thud. "Damn it." There is a 'clank' when he drops the shovel, and then a more rapid series of clicks while he checks automatically over the gun he's replaced it with. To make things even more awesome, the sound of Teo and Abby's conversation is getting closer too. The wind just makes it hard to tell exactly what direction they're in.

Simon is so busy thinking about what he's going to say tonight when he finds the graves he's looking for that everything else in the cemetery is paid no attention. This includes the clank of the dropped shovel and the whispers of the two terrorists. Still, when Simon rounds a corner and comes up Flint and his hole in the ground, it's hard for Simon's eyes not to take it in.

The boy stops in his tracks and grips his tennis ball extra tightly. He stares at the man in black, then to the hole, and finally back to the man. "Um, hi," is all Simon can manage in his surprise.

"Mostly 'cause I keep an insane schedule," Teo admits. "Not enough hours in the day to get in all the syllabus-writing and ham network reading and other shi— things," things! He does things. He is capable of things other than 'shit,' "that I need to do. Sorry if I'm keeping you from job-hunting or something else, ragazza," he adds, squinting over at her. He remembers: she recently quit her job. Gone to ground. Had to, compelled by the threat of exposure from a one-eyed whelp. "Mostly, I felt like I couldn't leave it too long, after the cathedral proceedings were interrup—" Interrupted.

A more immediate demonstration: the bit of graveyard over there (or there, or possibly over there), just went 'clink,' distorted by the vespertine breeze.

Teo finds himself beset with contradictory impulses, the louder of the two insisting that one ought to run toward the sound of falling metal in a deserted graveyard, the more intelligent recommending fast tracks away. He exchanges a look with the Southerner and reaches behind him. A gleam of gunmetal, faint in the dwindled light; the Para-Ordnance hooked by his hand, not drawn, just in case, roses still in the other. "Or we could come back later," he whispers. Paranoid. They would be, after the week they've had.

"I did that today, then I scrubbed down the place, made it habitable and clean. So far, we'll see. Have to look into getting my name changed maybe. I'll wait and see if my parents get conta…" Abby's gaze mirrors Teo's going over towards the clink. She's not carrying a shotgun today, much less even loaded if she were. So instead, the lithe woman takes the flowers from Teo so he has both hands for his weapon and sinks down behind a stone, all manner of thoughts about who it could be running through her mind.

It's really, really hard to look innocent when you're standing in a half-dug grave with a shovel at your feet, a gun in your hand, and an open bottle of whiskey balanced on the overturned gravestone. Sunglasses and all, Flint snaps to attention when Simon and his tennis ball are suddenly very much right there. Leather glove creaking taut about the grip of his gun, he doesn't actually point it at the kid. Younger than he assumed, maybe. Or with less deadly ammo than he assumed. "Hi…there, Scooter."

"Who the hell is scooter?" Simon's brow wrinkles as he faces off with the strange man who feels compelled to wear his sunglasses at night. That's when spots the gun, which makes his eyes go wide. They flick to the booze bottle, then back at the gun. As he realizes the potential danger of the situation he has found himself in, he lets go of his tennis ball and throws his hands in the air in surrender.

"Fine! Scooter, yeah. I'll be whoever you want me to be, man. Just don't shoot me, alright, because I'm way too young to die."

Abby is hiding. Thus, Teo might reasonably go hiding also. However, the fact that the woman relieved him of his flowers indicates that that was not specifically the plan. He stands like a dope in the proximity of a large, column-shaped marker for a moment, before mumbling something Sicilian under his breath and dropping into a crouch. He glances over his shoulder at Abigail, motioning toward the approximate origin of the sound. And then, his center of gravity low and shoes placed inexactly one in front of the other, he begins to move toward it. Simon's exclamation is diluted by the movement of wind, which steals away all the recognizable parts of his voice and leaves only the note of surprise and fear.

Abby nods to Teo when he motions. Carefully the flowers are placed down on the gravestone that she's hiding behind and in the opposite direction, she starts to crawl, work her way around with the intention of going behind. What they've walked into, she has no clue, but if something happens, she'll want to be close, that's for sure. So, the blonde begins to stealth. Save… Abby's not that stealthy.

"What?" The question hangs humid on Flint's breath before it's brushed away by the wind, and he snorts. "I'm not going to fucking shoot you. You're like, what. Fifteen? Isn't it past curfew or something?" Despite that overwhelming reassurance, he keeps the gun hefted up and at an angle, near his shoulder. Clearly visible from behind, unfortunately. A glance to the left proves to not be the direction Teo and Abby are coming from, and he takes a deep breath before sizing self-declared Scooter up again. "Are you alone?"

Sure, Flint may claim he won't shoot Simon, but the kid has been at the wrong end of a gun too many times lately to believe it. "Seventeen," he corrects the older man. "And not that it's any of your business, but I don't have a curfew." He's probably given too much information already, but the kid isn't exactly thinking as straight as he normally does.

With a quick glance around, he shakes his head. "Nope, are you?" Simon raises a brow and look at Flint curiously. "Because whatever you're doing over there sure looks like you *should* be alone to do it."

The note of dismay seems to have faded from the wind, is replaced by syllables and, eventually, a distinctive strain of voice that Teo's far more used to receiving with the area around him illuminated by a sullen glare almost powerful enough to peel off his face like a lazer. Simon Allistair. He doesn't know any hand gestures that could possibly convey that information to Abby, so he merely sends her an urgent look over his shoulder, even as she creeps up under the full skirts of a dormant angel and he winds up around the corner of a crypt engraved with a family name too thoroughly effaced by the elements to make out in darkness.

Headstones slide past, grass dying of the cold and one dessicated bouquet of violets gone brown, and then— is that a gun? That's a gun. The lanky figure filling in the gap between those two crosses, he's holding a gun, there's— Teo cranes his head. A pit, a shovel, and his erstwhile student making interrogative sounds on the other hand. Teo's mouth pulls around a horrified grimace; he looks at Abby.

Can Teo see a shrug… in the dark. it's not like a) she's used to creeping around in cemetery's at night, b)she's used to dealing with people bearing guns. But Teo's seeming to know who the person is. The blonde bites down on her lower lip, blonde brows pulled downward as she thinks, crouched behind the angelm hands on the feet. Up up up she looks, licks her lips to wet them before the woman darts upward then strides forward with either stupid bravery or… well, stupidity, aiming to be the distraction. "GRAVE ROBBER!" Bellowed at the top of her lungs and pointing at Deckard. "YOU! YOU, SIR, ARE A GRAVE ROBBER!"

"It is my business, because you just caught me misbehaving, and I have a gun. And you don't." The elegance of that illustration of positions of power is lost somewhat in that last reminder. Perfectly capable of having polite conversation under these circumstances, Deckard tips his wrist so that dull moonlight slicks along the barrel of his — "Fuck." Abby's zerg rush is more than enough to draw his attention and his gun around from the (momentarily) lesser threat of Simon. "Hey! Shut up!" Or…what. He keeps the gun up, but looks a little uncertain. She looks kind of familiar.

Simon is about to say something smart-assed. Something that may have very well got himself shot up. He doesn't, though, because Abby stumbles into view shouting accusations at the strange man. He thinks he notices her from someplace before, but being that he live in New York City, that happens often.

"I'm just *wishing* he's a grave robber," Simon says, because the other things running through his mind are scarier than that. For now he remains standing with his hands raised, though he eyes the tennis ball at his feet and inches towards it.

The mouthed no and throat-slitting gesture came an eyeblink too late or were uninterpretable, hard to tell which. Teo knows just enough about firearms to know that putting your gun up is something you do after you've decided not to put holes in a body, which was a good sign: grave desecration, done discreetly in the dark, isn't becoming of a criminal who's especially eager to have to murder civilians. He's met a few criminals who are especially eager to have to murder civilians, so he notices that small distinction, at least until he's not noticing anything except Abby's thunderous entrance onto the scene and Deckard very much pointing his gun at her.

In what might be construed by some as an incredibly dense move, the P-104 goes behind his back, into his waistband, and the young Sicilian takes flight. Runs, hurls himself bodily, at Deckard's outstretched gun arm, his own moving to seize elbow and wrist with about as much finesse as a bull terrier, point that thing at something that isn't capable of bleeding. This category of things includes himself, but he doesn't exactly have the aim of a kung-fu master; his fingers are ridged funny from enough broken bones to remind him of that.

"I'll not shut up! How dare you desecrate a grave! His soul has left and his… or her body is in repose and you are digging the…" Enter Teo. Abby throws her hands up and shrieks. Purposeful. Hopefully to throw Deckard off a little more and then dives for the ground to hopefully avoid being shot as well. Wow. this is turning out to be a great night!

"Jesus, lady—" Suddenly: Teo. The gun goes off. It's kind of inevitable. There's no aim behind the bullet that hisses off after the discharge, and Flint goes down into the pit of the grave, possibly followed by his assailant (because he's so the victim here), depending upon direction and momentum. The gun is dropped, and all manner of creative grunting and cursing accompanies his efforts to wrench away and get a grip on one of his many other friendly weapons. The fact that he's at the bottom of a grave and possibly under a guy makes this difficult.

It all happens so quickly that Simon finds it difficult to take in, at first. There's that girl being all righteous, which is weird in the first place especially in a cemetery at night. Then there's Teo, flying into the scene and, once again, to his rescue. BANG! The gun goes off and Deckard goes down. This sends Simon into a rush of gathering up his tennis ball and running over to the edge of the grave to see what's happening.

"What the Hell, Teo! Are you bringing dates on your nightly stalks now?" The kid glances briefly over at Abby, still looking flustered and afraid despite his words. He looks down at the grave robber/criminal/murderer(?) and sneers.

Cue the swell of orchestral accompaniment, befitting of a hero's decisive action. More of a dry and wooden thump as Teo goes end-over-end into a corpse-sized hole in the ground with the man he's hanging onto. The sweet adrenal thrill of the accomplishment of one minor objective — getting the weapon away — ends pretty abruptly when the fall punches the air out of his lungs. Fear is an appropriate reaction.

Desperation, also: Deckard's going for something, he can feel it, this isn't the frantic scramble of surrender. Unhelpfully, the next emotion that knots through Teo's lobes is annoyance. "I'm not fucking st—!" Fuck it, fuck it, fuckety fuck fuck. Blinded by darkness and deaf in one ear from the discharge of the handgun so close to his face, he gives up on figuring Deckard out, doesn't even try pinning him down. Instead, his fingers grip the edges of the coffin, push him up, back, and then he's bringing his head down atop Deckard's tousled coconut.

A headbutt, graceless and probably self-destructive, but Hell. It's the hardest thing he has on him: his skull, and the metal plate he had surgically nailed into it, once upon a time.

“Teo!" Okay, the other guy knows his name. Abby's scrambling to the grave quickly. "Teo!" Sweet blessed Jesus the blonde's hair is poking comically over the side of the grave, leaning over as far as she dares. Which is far enough that her balance is off and the blonde topples head first into the grave on top of the pair with another shriek.

Deckard has the noble privilege of literally seeing that metal plate floating around with Teo's skull before it rocks hard against his own. Super cool sunglasses knocked away and hat lost somewhere in the fray, the cold light of his eyes burns all the more wickedly exposed in the darkness pooling at the grave bottom. For a split second, he stiffens, back curling automatically against the pain, but the reflex is short-lived. Snip go the puppet strings, and all the the tension goes out of him and the grip he was gaining on his taser, but his eyes keep on glowing. Dazed or unconscious, he is not in a state to appreciate the pain involved in having Abby fall on top of the guy who is…on top of him. The lights are literally on, but no one's home. It's kind of creepy.

Simon looks over at Abby just long enough to see her, too, tumble into the grave. Simon doesn't scared anymore, just truly bewildered by the fight that just occurred. "Crazy. They're all crazy," he mumbles under his breath as he shakes his head and looks down at the pile of people. Since everything seems to be slowing down, what with the headbutt and all, Simon relaxes. "You guys, uh, need some help?" Not that he cares, really. If anything it's more for Abby, who hasn't gotten on Simon's bad side tonight.

Teo's vision has gone a bit fuzzy. By a bit fuzzy, he means it's hard to distinguish the long yellow hair that swats his cheek from the curls scratching his chin by virtue of anything other than the smell of shampoo and the texture of strands. Disoriented, he sort of paddles in place for a moment, gritting his teeth against the ache that starts up inside his head, a ferocious pulsating that rivals Abby's heart hammering on his shoulder. Ow. Oww. He wants his Madre. Simon's saying something, a touch querulous, unmistakably dry. "I don'… I'm… holy motherfucking — che il cazzo fai?" They're glowing. Deckard's eyes— irises. Under the sunglasses— holy— he bucks upright, blinking rapidly, reaching up with one arm to press Abby upright and the other to find a handhold on the edge of the pit. He finds none. Winds up pointing at Deckard's head — and its two or three gently-rotating copies — instead, a query in motion.

"No! No, no I'm good… oh Heavens." Abby's a little shocked. This has not been on the plan and she's pretty sure that it wasn't for any of the other three present. That's a hand pressing her against the side, the two of them orienting. At least, that's what she thinks and for once doesn't give the "ladies" lecture. Instead she too is looking at the unconscious? Flint sprawled beneath them, even as Abby's hand threads to the back of Teo's neck. "He's an insurance salesman. I know him." Even as she drops her voice to murmur quietly a prayer, that rush of tingle and warmth from her to Teo.

The light dims and dulls out entirely to leave dull yellow orange floaters behind in the vision of Flint's attackers turned oglers. Ok, now he's unconscious. He could be having trouble breathing. Because there are two people on top of him. Halp.

Simon frowns at the apparent lack of need for help. He only does this for a moment, because Teo's little freak out draws the kid's attention to Deckard's glowing eyes. His own narrow slightly, but they don't linger long on the scene. "Fine," he says softly under his breath. He gently tosses his tennis ball into the pit, aiming for Teo's head. Returning it might give the Italian a reason to follow him around next time. "See you guys," Simon says as he tosses his hand into the air, before walking off and away from the guns and the graves. He'll have to come back another night to have a chat with his parents.

Simon has disconnected.

Teo is hit on the head. Entirely by someone else, this time, which is a pleasant sort of change if such a thing exists after getting hit on the head. By then, he's managed to pull himself off the coffin and the man lying atop it, his friend as well, unsettled by Deckard's eyes— but moreso as the light from them fade. "What! I—" bonk. His hands jump up to the top of his head; he casts about wildly, upward, sideways, even as his brows draw down in consternation. "Figlio di un cane— Simon, where are you g— what the cunting fu—" Probably more due to Abby's presence than anything else, he stops before carrying his stream of foul verbiage, pauses to mumble a dispirited word of gratitude when he notices the sensation of healing drawing away from his skin, replacing his headache with clarity. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. "That's not an insurance salesman. At best, he's a fucking liar." A beat. "Is he okay?" Teo cranes his head.

"No Teo, he's not an insurance salesman. I know that, he knows that." Teo's going to be relatively fine. "Get out of here. Go … get your friend. I'll deal with the insurance salesman. He'll be fine" Of course he'll be fine. It's Abby. She'd heal… Sylar even. Maybe. Abby's shifting best she can around the confines of the grave to do the same movement that she did for Teo. Palm to the back of Flint's neck and heal. "He's Flint. He's a customer at the diner."

Blue eyes cut sharply toward Abby, before dropping back to Deckard's conspicuously unlit face. "Alla larga, Abby. No way. You remember what happened the last time somebody left you alone to heal some dillweed who wasn't who he said he was?" Teo bites off the end of that sentence, realizing that might have come out harsher than he had intended. Hadn't meant to, though. He cranes his head; can't hear footsteps anymore, not a one. Curses under his breath even as he turns back toward Abby and her patient, pulls his .45 out of his trousers, finally, clicking it off safety. Dust falls from his sleeve as he sidles up to the healer, and peers down at the prone man, though he's still speaking of the child: "He's a student at the school where I work. I'll call his home after this."

"Flint's not a stranger," Abby murmurs, breaking up her quiet prayers, watching his face as she heals him. "Customer that comes to my.. the diner. He was there too, that day in the street, that's caused all my problems of late. I can't leave him like this. Just… you can watch over him and from atop can't you?" Back to prayers. Teo could be swearing in Italian. How the heck would she know.

Deckard blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut, hard. "Fuck." His voice is a rasp, followed by a cough when he tries to drag an arm under himself to push up. He is still kind of squashed. His ribs hurt, his head hurts, he has the warm tinglies, and he is lying on a casket. Weird night.

Though arguably inexperienced, Abby's never been specifically naive. Knowing the distinction is what allows Teo to assent to her recommendation, knowing full well that the risk to her might well be greater if he's down here and in the older man's face. "Eh, si, si." He grunts his assent, breath clouding opaque from his mouth; reaches up to haul himself out with a one-and-a-half handed grip on the ragged edge of grass and cold-stiffened dirt. He rolls out in a mess of soil and dishevellment and scrabbles clumsily to kneel, gun in one bedraggled hand though it isn't likely to hit much should elite kung-fu suddenly take up residence in Deckard's limbs.

"Now I can breath and he won't try to snap my neck when he…" Then Deckard is moving. "Flint. Keep your but down till I'm done. Cannot believe I'm doing this…" It's that waitress, yeah, that one, that patched him up. "Let me guess. 13 mm armor plating on the coffin you had to get for another customer?" Abby's blue eyes are peering into Deckards previously strange ones.

Decent reflexes for an old guy, maybe, but no kung fu. The sound of Abby's too-close voice sinks in simultaneously with the sensation of contact, and he twists to snatch at her wrist, only to not make it all the way around before he's caught by a hitch in his side. His stun gun falls out of his coat to tumble ineffectually into the dirt, and he seems to make the decision to stay very still. Whether or not he caught a glimpse of Teo's gun and whether or not that's a factor is hard to tell. Still raised up on the one arm, he just mutters a surly, "Fuck you," and frowns at the grave wall.

All right. Teo's up. Sort of upright, also, sitting, feet underneath him, some grass poking out of his head and his gun finally settled into an approximately useful position in his hand. The stun-gun, when it falls, warrants an eyebrow high on his forehead and a moment's study. Bulk and shape are wrong for anything that spits bullets, he notices, grudgingly relaxing from the momentary tension that Deckard's grasping twitch had triggered in him. "She doesn't deserve that," he points out, sitting on his heels.

Scowl. See, she can scowl. "Not till I'm married, and it won't be you, Flint. You can talk decent or I can leave you with a headache." She doesn't pull her hand back. Her blue eyes flickering to the stun gun and then back to Deckard. "Thank you Teo." The warm tingle is steady, suffusing throughout Deckard. the same as from the diner. "Seriously. Everyone swears. Surely there's better ways to swear. We are in a grave, there's a coffin beneath us, which I might add, I will really need to pray that He doesn't think i'm disrespecting the poor soul beneath us. It's night, and your eyes were glowing like your gifted as well and Teo's got a gun trained on you. From what I've heard, he's a pretty good shot, and you're… well you're underneath me. In a hole. So. Without using the traditional swear words, think of something more creative and gentle on a lady's ear hmmm?" a lecture, in a grave by a blonde. "I'm having a real bad week. I deserve at least that."

Flint's nose rankles. Feeling foolish now, and more than a little irritated, he shifts enough to reach for his sunglasses under the pin of his supporting arm. The frame is bent. He drops them again. His eyes do not glow. Maybe even pointedly so, though the absence of that advantage leaves him nearly blind, and twitching against every scuffing movement of Abby behind him and Teo above. He says nothing.

And now quiet. Awwwkward. Teo's cheeks puff out like dandelion clocks as he exhales into the black cold of the night. Questions assail his mind, as they're wont to do when it's terribly quiet; conversations are best started with those, Madre always told him. Taking a well-meaning interest in the life and times involved in what might be a beautiful new acquaintance. Why do your eyes glow? Why are you digging up a dead guy? Do you always walk around armed to the teeth? Me too. His eyebrows move slightly. He takes another breath, exhales again, divides his attention between Abby's prayers and Flint's sullen silence.

"Oh, so, now you can't think of anything to say, so your going to sulk while I heal you? Few more moments, then you should be good as gold and T and I can leave you alone to… this." The young woman shakes her head side to side, dropping back to breathy prayers, giving it a little boost to get out of there quicker.

"Where's my gun?" Evidently having placed the conversation about his cursing firmly on ignore, Flint is content to stare at the grave wall for about five seconds more before he starts moving again, this time more deliberately to shake off Abby. "I'll be fine. I black out in the bottom of graves all the time."

Evidently taking Deckard's insistence that he's quite all right for fact, Teo shifts marginally closer and drops an arm down into the pit, offering Abby a hand up. The .45 remains trained on the recovering man, coincidentally. "I think it's up here somewhere," he says. Isn't sure. Hopes so. "Feel free to look for it once we're out." Dangling into empty air, his fingers open and close three or four times, grasping. It means: come on Abigail, we got to go. "Oh— grab that tennis ball?"

“Grabbing." She doesn’t bother to answer Deckard, just "ungrateful" muttered under her breath as she snatchs the yellow ball tucking it into a pocket and maneuvering herself into a spot where she can grab Teo's hand and scrabble herself out. "We're coming during the day next time T. Seriously."

Able to get up onto his feet without more trouble than what residual stiffness has to offer, Flint has definitely noticed Teo's gun by the time his head is above ground level. He eyes it, then he eyes Teo, and keeps eyeing him while he sets to brushing cascades of dirt and dust off of his coat. Still cranky.

"All right," Teo agrees without a whole lot of reluctance. The gun is clicked back onto safety and stowed before he digs his heels in and leans back, hauls Abby's slender frame up to ground level with an easy pull of muscle on bone and traction on dirt. In a moment, he's steadying her with a gentle grip on her elbow, before he releases her and recedes slightly from the edge, studying the disgruntled grave-robber and his project. It's a filthy thing, what's happening here. Though Abby would let him do it, and it is neither his duty nor his inclination to inconvenience all of them by making a fuss. His shoes shift uncomfortably across clumps of dirt and overturned slabs of lawn. Then, the paragon of awkwardness: "Sorry that I hit you, Deckard." He steps back.

Abby dusts herself off, getting dirt from crevises, adjusting scarf and doesn't bother to even make sure Deckards fine. Just starts heading to where the flowers were deposited. "He'll be fine. leave him alone to what he's doing. Lets just go do what you got to do and then get some coffee?" She calls over her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it." Once the worst of the dirt is off, leaving plenty behind, Flint just stands there. No move is made to get back out of the grave while they're both still here and have a gun. "Sorry I pointed a gun at you," is called after them as an afterthought. He doesn't actually sound all that sorry, but maybe it's the thought that counts.

It might be. After all, Teo apologized and he's still armed, and looking down from up here, and… "Ciao." A last glance, and then he isn't anymore, gone in a jogging thump of footsteps and a distant rustle of roses.

The cops were called once Abby and Teo cleared the area. They would've found the open grave but Deckard checked out pretty quick post confrontation.

November 11th: Roses and Pizza
November 12th: Nine Lives
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