[psl] 2015: Crawl 'til dawn, on our hands and knees

[firewatcher]

The end of the first night of the rest of her terrible garbage life saw Palmer in a situation she never imagined possible: in the first all-night diner she could find, sitting across the table from Vera Volkov, back from the dead.

Or—Liv Lazzari, now, wasn't it.

That was going to take some getting used to. That, and the fact that despite the drastic changes to her appearance, Vera—Liv—still didn't look a day older than when Palmer had seen her last, over twenty years ago. Not worth the price of admission, in Palmer's mind, but it felt a little unfair. Palmers tended to start showing age early, and she herself was no exception.

Palmer leaned on the slightly sticky table with one elbow, absentmindedly stirring her coffee with the other hand and biting back a yawn. "Is every night in hell this eventful?"

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[wolfatyourdoor]

With her back turned, Vera hadn't been ready for that; Palmer's hand on her shoulder yanked her roughly around. Her own left hand was midway to one of the inner folds of her jacket; her teeth were gritted—almost bared.

But then Palmer spoke again, and she staggered. The hand dropped. Her expression crumbled.

And then she stepped backwards, jerking her shoulder away. "I've got plenty to hate you for, Maria." Her voice was pitched low. "So...just... trust me when I say: that one wasn't your fault."

She turned away again. "I need to— leave."

[firewatcher]

Palmer let her arm drop, tucking her hands into the pockets of her coat. "I just—"

She sighed. "I'm tempted to ask what else I did, but somehow I'm sure I'll find out eventually. That, and I think we've scared the bejeezus out of the staff here enough today. We may have to find another diner to have that argument in." She shifted slightly on her feet. "I know it's not my fault. I mean, I have my educated guesses on whose fault it was, now, I just... never wanted you to get hurt. Family motto's 'protect what is ours', you know."

What a rollercoaster of a night this had been. "But—yeah, I guess I should probably go, too. I took the day off to sleep. I should probably actually do that instead of just telling people I'll sleep eventually."

[wolfatyourdoor]

Vera hesitated, and turned her head back over her shoulder, mouth partially open as if to say something more. Evidently she thought better of it, and for a long moment she just looked at Palmer instead.

"Yeah, you... go to bed. You have my number, now, if you... need anything. I mean, with this case, or your kid. I sleep at pretty weird hours, so don't worry about the time." The words were slow and slightly stilted.

"And, ah... I know I just fucking told you to 'trust me,' but you trust too many fucking people, Palmer."

With that, she began to walk away, boots heavy against the diner's tiled floor.

[firewatcher]

"Yeah," Palmer said, after a moment. "And... you have mine. And I'll remember that. Trust me, I wish I didn't need to, right now."

A pause. Vera was almost at the door.

"And if you're going to be this annoying about it, just call me Maria. It's weird to hear you call me 'Palmer', anyway."

[wolfatyourdoor]

Her hand was already pushing the diner's door open, but she stopped, then, and turned around to grin crookedly.

"Took you long enough. I'll chalk that up as another victory for my effortless charm." It was the kind of thing she might have said back in high school, enabling Palmer into cutting class.

She lifted her hand to her forehead in a mock salute, and then she was the rest of the way out the door.