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Natalie tightens her grip on the rifle in her hands when the sound of a stopping car reawakens her focus.
She shifts for a moment. She’s been sitting on the damned edge of the cream-colored table for too long. It is ugly, fussy and fits perfectly with the rest of Misty Quigley’s interior which, by the way, is absolutely as she expected.
The outside is similarly doll-like and innocent, just like Misty always seemed; and therefore Natalie definitely expects a collection of knives and poison in the drawers.
She hasn't checked, by the way, because she doesn't care. She is here purely for one answer.
The front door opens with a screech and a male voice rings out, "So, is it just, uh, the one bird, or..."
Oh right - that fucking bird. When Natalie had broken into the house she was, frankly, scared to death. The thing is not just ugly, but has spent the past hour just making all sorts of strange noises and staring at her.
Yes, Natalie may have seen a lot of scary shit, but that bird is definitely in the fucking top five.
"Stan," it sounds. "You're so funny." Yes, there it is. That practiced, pedantic voice; which automatically makes the usual irritation flare up.
She is surprised, or maybe not even that surprised, that the effect is still so strong after all these years.
The fact that Misty brought a man home with her, she registers for later.
"...But do shield your eyes if he comes at your face." "Wha-," begins the poor, unsuspecting man, but Misty's teacher-esque clapping interrupts him.
Natalie has a hard time suppressing her grin when the lights switch on (she imagines Misty's startled scream), but her attempt is sufficient.
"Hello Misty," she begins. "You crazy, fucking bitch."
The scream never comes.
The expression on Misty's face is hard to gauge, but she doesn't at all appear startled.
Natalie barely registers that the man (Sam? Dan?) runs off - instead, she is extremely aware of the bitter taste in her mouth, which makes itself known as a result of the realization that she missed Misty.
In fact, the intensity of those brown, wide eyes on her is somehow as satisfying as the way the sharp burn of liquor would slide down Nat’s throat.
And the very, very worst thing is - Misty doesn't look completely repulsive.
A copper-pink dress hugs her body and as she hangs against the doorframe, a crooked smile appears on her lips and, god, Natalie hates that she notices.
Her anger seems to have gone somewhat numb. She doesn't know what to do with it, and that's a problem; because the only thing Natalie Scatorccio knows how to handle is anger.
And then Misty has the audacity to greet her in a sweet voice, confidently, even: "Hey Nat. It's been a while." As if they are merely old acquaintances; as if their lives are normal.
"Yeah..." she begins, "You haven't changed." Whether that's a compliment, she isn't sure. It isn’t meant to be, at least.
But Misty doesn't answer, and merely looks at her inquiringly as Natalie starts talking about why she's there in the first place.
Just for a second, she realizes that Misty is probably the only person in the world whose first question is not why the fuck someone, with a rifle, is in her house.
"The postcard," Misty realizes (or rather: pretends to realize). And god, it's so terribly draining, because of course the postcard, and Natalie is already done with this bullshit.
But when she threatens her gun, (and only gets a small laugh in response); Misty suddenly tells her that she has one too. In fact, she shows it, and yes: Natalie believes her.
And now it's definitely fucked up; because if it's not Misty - "I didn't send it, silly" - it's an actual threat.
She should walk away now, she should search further, contact Taissa and Shauna, perhaps. But Misty rattles off her theories and the drink options - tea, sherry, whatever - and suddenly she is curious. Misty has always been insufferable, but she is also, like Natalie, completely herself. Both care little or nothing about other people's opinions; they barely even consider them.
Misty is so many things, as well as not. She is immensely strange, that’s for sure, but she also has tons of knowledge. She’s calculated.
Natalie has to admit that she wants to hear about Misty’s ‘suspect list.’ But then she casts a glance around her at the white, lace curtains that recur throughout the kitchen - not in this granny kitchen with some damn sherry.
"Well,” she sighs. “I'm gonna need something a little stronger than that."
And so she finds herself at the bar, with her go-to drinks in front of her. She hasn’t looked back yet - she absolutely would not admit to herself that she is waiting for Misty Quigley's presence to follow her, wherever she goes.
And yet: she feels a surge of relief when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the grey-blond puff of hair appear.
She also feels other kinds of emotions; irritation, familiarity...
She throws back her shot.
"Oh! You got me a drink," Misty says cheerfully, sliding onto the bar stool next to her. Natalie ignores her, grabs the beer bottle and pours it back as well.
Misty's eyes dart up and down self-consciously while she straightens her glasses, and in another universe it would almost be cute. Nat hates that very thought and takes another sip.
Still: she tries to imagine it. Misty, as a stranger, besides her in a bar, with her crazy curly hair, big eyes and echoing laughter.
"I've never been here before. It's so, um... edgy." And that phrase, used before by the small number of women she has dated in her life, suddenly makes things easier.
But when she closes her eyes, and opens them again, it's Misty in front of her. Misty, with an axe; Misty, with blood splattered on her face.
Even if they wanted to, they could never be anything else.
"So what have you got?", she asks. "Oh," Misty says; and it's more acknowledgment of being ignored than she did for the entire past half hour, if not for her entire life. She, however, immediately rattles on. "Well, if I've learned anything in the citizen detective community..."
The what?
And so Misty explains how they are so-called private detectives with a community, or whatever, while the enthusiasm splashes off her face. It's extremely pathetic and, again, cute.
Goddamnit. She takes another sip.
"So I've been asking myself, what does the person who sent these postcards want?" It seems logical to Nat - "To scare us, to mess with our heads. Make us think about... What happened, out there."
Misty nods thoughtfully. The frown is still on her forehead. She pushes her glasses back up and gives her a small smile; all while maintaining eye contact. And for the first time that night, Natalie suddenly wonders: is Misty flirting with her?
"It's obviously a threat," she begins, grabbing Misty's cherished papers from her stupid, far too large, detective bag. For the first time that night, Misty looks annoyed (or is it upset); but then puts the bag away anyway and watches Natalie go through her collected documents.
Natalie is surprised that she lets her have her way, but then again; Misty knows what she’s capable of too, knows not to mess with her.
So far, everything is somewhat known to her, until she sees an unfamiliar business card. "Who's Jessica Roberts?"
"She claims to be a reporter, but I think that's a lie. She's been nosing around, she claims she has a book deal, but..."
"Well, how could she know about...?" She grabs the postcard and leans a little more toward Misty. "You know."
Misty shakes her head, in a I-have-no-idea way, but with a twinkle in her eyes and a small smile on her lips, as if discussing something so much more light-hearted; as if Nat was asking her why spring was so early this year.
"Maybe somebody talked..." she then says and Nat feels those eyes take her in expectantly. But it wasn't her; she has no idea, and Misty knows that, too. She just hopes that-
The bartender interrupts her train of thought. "Here you go, ladies. From the gentleman in the back. Says it's your drink of choice."
And suddenly they are out of their safe bubble; and automatically they look around alertly, as if assessing their chances of survival.
Yeah: old habits die hard (if at all).
And suddenly a figure walks up to them, the gentleman in question, and she recognizes him immediately. Her body petrifies when, over Misty's head, she suddenly has eye contact with her once-best friend Kevyn Tan.
"Hey," he simply says. "Hi, "she replies.
And she can't deny it: it's nice to see him again.
Misty chimes in with her own surprised "Hi!" and it's all too clear that Kevyn doesn't recognize her.
And as Misty explains who she is and he pretends to miraculously remember; Natalie feels that nice feeling completely fade away.
Seeing Kevyn reminds her of a simpler time, before it happened, before everything about her changed. If everything had turned out differently she might never have remembered Misty either, and the other girls probably not even that well.
But it wasn't like that; and no matter how she turns it around; the faces of her old team members accompany her thoughts every day. Including Misty’s.
He gives his business card and his intentions are clear. And though he is kind, she doesn't care for it.
"Sorry, is this a, is this a bad time? You in the middle of something?"
Misty looks at her sideways curiously; awaiting. "Mm-hmm," she says, averting her gaze.
"Right. Got it."
She doesn't look up again and hears his footsteps fade away.
And somewhere it hurts, no- somewhere it should hurt. Her dear, wonderful friend, all grown up; who made something of himself and with whom she now suddenly has completely nothing in common.
But in fact it doesn’t hurt at all; he is from another time, from another universe. One in which Misty Quigley is just a meaningless, forgotten name.
And when she looks up again, it is those eyes again, which immediately take her in expectantly.
"Dang," Misty begins, "If somebody had told me that that's how goth freak Kevyn Tan would grow up...," and she clamps her bottom lip between her teeth, for some reason.
Natalia's eyes flicker to her lips for a moment, just a moment; and suddenly the words dawn on her, and she remembers how Misty, less than an hour ago, had taken some guy home.
Misty - weird, insane, poodle-haired Misty - is capable of having sexual thoughts, of being sexually active.
Natalie realizes that she has never thought about that before; doesn’t know why she is thinking about it now.
Because why the fuck would she?
Yet - Misty's eyes still stare into hers and suddenly she can't think about anything else.
When she realizes that she’s leaning in, it’s already too late.
Misty's lips meet hers and she kisses her back; slowly yet surely, as if she was expecting the kiss.
Maybe she was.
Maybe this whole evening she had been waiting. That idea is pretty fucked up, and yet it makes Natalie kiss her even harder.
She sweeps her tongue through Misty's mouth as hands grab the collar of her leather jacket.
And the soft, whimpering sound that leaves Misty is, for once, not annoying (but, okay, yes: cute).