walking_napalm | Union Square -- San Francisco

TUESDAY
1420 PST

"Excuse me," says Liz, rolling her eyes as she elbows and squeezes her way through the crowd. "Excuse me, would you just--"

She hisses an exasperated noise as she slips between a couple in matching fanny packs and wide-brimmed hats who are waiting to board a brightly-painted cable car.

It's a beautiful early afternoon in San Francisco; the sun is shining, the palm trees are swaying in the breeze, and Liz sticks out like a sore thumb as she navigates between tourists in Union Square; it probably has something to do all of the black clothing and just how covered up she is.

"Sorry," she says, into the cell phone tucked between her ear and her chin. Her tone warms. The worst of the crowd dealt with, she transfers the phone back into her hand, her other arm carrying her camera. "I'm back.

"Apparently, there were a couple different spirits haunting the place; Leach thought at least three or four. He couldn't figure out which one of them it was, but he thought one was luring kids off the rocks and watching them drown. That's really the only explanation we've got."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Red, sitting on the edge of a table in his room, throwing a small tinfoil ball for one of the cats, holds the phone away from his ear a bit as the sounds of a crowd echo in his ear.

When Liz's voice comes back on he returns the phone to his ear.

"So, what happened?"

The shiny ball goes sailing, the cat scurries after it and Red stuffs a fresh handful of popcorn into his mouth, listening intently to the story.

There's one empty park bench with the shade afforded by a tall tree; Liz makes a beeline for it, bag bumping her hip.

"Mendoza really came through," she says. "He finished the Latin with me and then Park was too cold to handle the holy water, so Mendoza did it. We went through the whole place; Leach thought we got it, and nothing weird happened the rest of the night."

She sinks gratefully onto the bench; draws her knees up and then smiles, just a little, with her chin on her knee. "I didn't explode."

"The new guy?" Red gives the phone a surprised look, then a nod of approval.

When he hears her last words he smiles.

"You didn't? Liz, that's great."

"Nope. I didn't." She shakes her head, just a little, even if he can't see it; tucks her hair behind her ear and settles in with her back against the armrest and her legs taking up the rest of the bench.

"Something weird happened, though."

Red forgets about his popcorn and switches ears with the phone, his excitement for her turning to concern.

"What happened?"

"No, it's okay," she says, recognizing that tone immediately. "Everything's fine, Red, it's just that the guys said the fire turned--" She gestures with her free hand, camera safely in her lap, "you know, actual fire colors. Red and orange and everything, instead of blue."

"I don't know what it means." She blows out a breath. "If anything."

Confused and curious now he scratches at his goatee.

"Like fire, fire? It's gotta mean something."

He just doesn't know what.

"I know." She rests her arm along the back of the bench and glances up at the palm fronds swaying in the wind overhead. "I just don't know what."

(What she's thinking: I wish I could ask the Professor.)

"I couldn't do it again afterward, so I don't know." She throws up her free hand. "Maybe it was a fluke."

His father would know. Or, at least know what to say.

Red's voice softens and he tilts his head with the phone slightly.

"Nah, you did it, Liz. You probably just... need more practice. I'm sure you'll get it."

There's silence on Liz's end for a few seconds, as her own expression softens. A half-formed comment on the usefulness of color-changing fire dies unfinished.

It doesn't happen 100% of the time, but when Red figures out the right thing to say, he really figures out the right thing to say.

"Hey," she says, gentler, almost smiling (tiny) at her knees. "Miss you, you big ape."

He's getting close to asking if she's still there when she doesn't say anything for a few moments, and then she does and he smiles; relieved and touched by her tone and words.

His hand tightens on the phone a bit, bringing her closer even though in reality he can't.

"Miss you, too, Liz."

Liz wants to brush his chin with her thumb right now; kiss his cheek.

"I'll be back in a couple days," she promises, instead. "Thursday at the latest."

"I'll be here," he returns with his own promise.

If only he could kiss her, but he's sure she knows he cares.

"And then we stay in the same state for a while," she says, half-joking and entirely firm at the same time. "I'll barbecue anybody who tries to say anything different."

With 'anybody' mostly being Tom Manning.

Red laughs and by his tone he's in full agreement.

"Sounds great to me. I can even go and tell Manning now, if you want."

Liz smiles at the bench seat (at Red, really), then at the rows of people sitting along the steps out in the square. "Put the fear of God into him."

A toddler goes running past, shrieking happily with a melting ice cream cone in pudgy hand, his father in swift pursuit; Liz's smile softens further before she remembers herself and sits up straight.

"--I should probably go, Red," she says, reluctant, now sitting Indian style. "But I'll see you soon. Really soon."

The cat Red was playing with earlier has returned and is demanding attention, perched just behind his shoulder and trying to push its head between Red's ear and the phone.

"Yeah," he replies reluctantly, "I guess I should let you. Don't do anything I would do, all right, Liz?"

He scratches the cat under its chin and it immediatly starts to purr.

"See you soon."

"I'm gonna do lots of things you wouldn't do," she teases, rising from the bench and squeezing the phone between her ear and her shoulder again. With her hands free, she frames and snaps off a quick shot of the little boy with the ice cream, now riding high atop his father's shoulders. "Everything I can think of." Liz lowers the camera, strap dangling against her leg.

As she crosses the square toward the stairs: "Love you."

"Sure thing, babe."

He smirks and then it turns into a warm smile.

"Love you, too. Oh, and the kids say hi."

As if on cue the cat begging for attention lets out a 'meow'.

"Your kids," Liz says, with the resigned, fond air of something that is repeated often; "not mine."

She doesn't give him the chance to retort; just says, "Bye, Red," light and easy, and waits for his sign-off before flipping the phone shut. She tucks the cell phone into her camera bag, and looks up.

A cable car, overflowing with passengers, has just pulled up across the street. A bell dings.

Liz smiles to herself and lifts her camera.

Union Square -- San Francisco

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject