Saturday, Nov. 16th, 9 pm
outfit + jacket

 The Barbarian appeared to be a very... Tarzan-themed establishment. Lora wasn't one to pay much mind to the choices of interior design made by most businesses, but this one was a little wild. No pun intended. Fake vines around poles and wrapped in various places as "accents," a few splotches of leopard print this or that. She wasn't sure if she was a fan of it, really, but her coworker who had suggested the place to her didn't mention the theme very much. Just that they made their drinks strong and played good music.

 Mostly, she was here to sort of watch bartenders, for all that sounded kind of weird. Also to try to build her tolerance up a little bit, though she had no intention of getting drunk. So she made her way to the second level, where a thick crowd had already begun to assemble on the dance floor. She would probably not be doing that tonight, she figured - especially as she noticed a slowly-made-familiar sensation of a spirit in her presence.

 She couldn't hear it over the music and the all the chatter in the room, not at first - but she tried to parse through all the noise, trying to see if she could single it out. It pulled her out of her seat, drink in hand, and she wandered along the row of seated patrons. So focused on it, she would nearly run right into someone else who appeared in her path, almost out of nowhere.

 "Ah, shit," she said, startled back into the physical realm, her short stop splashing a few drops onto the other patron. Lora smiled weakly at the other woman. "Sorry."


 In all reality, if she was to have a heart-to-heart with herself, she supposed the act of hunting itself had lost most of it's high. A drug she'd built a tolerance for, a routine and not a treat on more evenings than not - an impossible to gap threshold. Too many nasty little incidences, too much hassle - none of that stopped the hunger though, at the end of the night. So generally, she kept out of the Heights, tried to avoid mess as much as possible in the aftermath of the Pegasus event.

 This godforsaken place wasn't exactly somewhere she reveled in nostalgia - but it was crowded enough for some reason or another. Garish and cheaply decorated with a theme that left something desired, but nothing she couldn't stomach. It had the usual mix to it, plenty of people and the slightest spike of something special that would have been a challenge to root out in the tangle of so many outcroppings of bodies.

 So for now she was just as settled on something mundane to get through the night, no need to soar above and beyond. Happy to plot and keep to herself while she did it, focused enough on that end goal that she didn't see the woman to dodge her. With an instinctual huff she looked down at her arm, wiped it off with her hand, thankful it wasn't a total disaster as she looked up to dismiss the woman when ...

 Maybe this was a small severance package for all the hassle hand delivered by fate itself, maybe it was pure dumb luck. "No apologies necessary, it can get chaotic - are you alright?"

 The woman was dressed like a knife’s edge, sharp and quick to draw the eyes. Lora did well not to stare at her shiny boots or the dangerous valley of her blouse, because that would be even more awkward. She looked her in the face instead, grateful to not be met with bitter scorn for her absentmindedness.

 "Yeah, yeah - all good, just distracted," she confessed, abandoning her ghost chase for the time being. "Getting lost in the jungle. Or something." She joked about the place around them, but would be unsurprised if it fell flat. "Can I get you a napkin or anything?"

 For all the manners that the little psychic bled out, she was a little less subtle, looking her over and keeping her fingers over the spot where she'd spilled her drink seconds prior. "A napkin would be nice. I'll follow you." Half a promise, really, as she nodded in the general direction of the bar and waited for the girl to turn. "The whole place is very ... Party City."

 Right. Okay. Lora nodded and turned, back towards the bar. It was filling up quickly, enough that trying to reach between anyone for a bar square with the strength of cotton candy seemed pointless.

 "Yeah, no shit," she laughed a little, absently, and added, "Let’s uh - bathroom paper towels." She gestured towards the growing crowd at the bar, and then started towards the restrooms in the corner of the room.

 Oh, yes, of course, bathroom paper towels - she would flash neat rows of dulled human teeth and follow the trail that the girl cut. It wasn't the height of glamour, but she was far from above it by now, whatever worked. Hopefully, it had a door that locked, but that was a bridge they would cross in due time, assuming fortune saw fit to gift her with a bathroom free of lingering tipsy gaggles of women. "Am I keeping you from anyone? I'm sorry, I didn't even think to ask ..."

 The night was young still, leaving most women still on the floor or around the bar - the bathroom was nearly desolate. One woman taking care of business in one stall, another sniffing deeply and harshly in the next one over. Damn girl. Shameless.

 "Oh, nah, you’re good," she meant to assure the other woman. How kind of her to ask. Woman number one flushed and stepped out to wash her hands briefly. Lora set her half-empty drink on the counter and stuck her hand up into the towel dispenser. "Here."

 Woman one left, woman two continued to sniffle and snort aggressively, and Lora opted to wash some of the sticky spill off her fingers while she was here.

 "Thanks." She listened to the sniffing and wandered to herself about the quality of the night if you had to take your business to a shithole like this. Taking the wad of paper towels and running them underwater, she wiped her arm off pointlessly and watched the first woman leave in the reflection of the mirror in front of them.

 There was a lull, a second where she decided if this was worth further pursuit - but without so many people cutting and diluting psychic, well ... it was worth it. "Leah, you?"

 Lora mmhm’d to the woman’s thanks, then grabbed a few towels for herself. She didn’t particularly think much of this moment, except that in the silence it threatened to lean into awkward territory. She introduced herself, at least, and the psychic would toss the towels into the little wastebasket under the counter. "Lora. Nice to meet you, Leah."

 The occupied toilet flushed, for all Lorena had her suspicions that it hadn’t been really used at all, and she would lower her eyes to try to watch subtly as the woman all but stumbled out of the stall. Short, dark hair and pupils blown out like old tires in the summer. She didn’t bother stopping by the sink, just trotted right on out.

 "Holy shit," Lora whispered, almost grinning, her tone some cross of amusement and uncertainty. It was just real weird, people snorting substances off a toilet paper dispenser. Yikes.

 Lora, that was a nice name - it was the thought that her attention snagged on just as the last stall door swung open and a living train wreck pulled out the station and back into the club proper just behind them. She'd chuckle, rub her hands together and make sure to keep her pace casual as she strolled over to head the woman off at the door.

Risky. But she'd be quick, she wouldn't kill - in and our and then back to business as usual.

 "Can't say I expected that to be the sort of clientele this place drew in. The same could be said about you, I suppose." No one waiting for her, seemingly trusting - hopefully unarmed where dangerous talents were concerned. She hesitated to lock the goddamn thing right in front of the girl. "Did she leave any trace in there?" Nodding to the stall and hoping Lora was just nosy enough to peek in to check.

 Lora hadn’t thought this was that sort of club, either. She didn’t quite understand what Leah meant, about her not being the suspected type for this place, so she only sort of chuckled. Maybe she wasn’t the Barbarian type, really.

 She was indeed curious enough though, eyes wandering toward the stall. She leaned her hand against the door slightly and looked inside. For all the woman had been noisy in getting her fix, she didn’t waste a single crumble of it that Lora could tell. "Looks like she’s pretty thorough with her habit," she observed.

 She waited until the redhead was mostly tucked away in the stall, hooked two fingers in the handle of the door to hold it flush before she turned the lock above without a sound. "Can't say I'm surprised, the way she was carrying on in there it sounded like she had a head cold." Looking over her shoulder to inspect her work quickly, she'd cut across to peer into the booth and keep close (but not too close), hoping to get the other woman's gaze and make this quick and painless.

 Lora chuckled a little for Leah’s analogy. It was a good one. She turned away from the toilet to find the other woman lingering closer than was probably necessary! Her hand touched the stall, uncertain, and she glanced between Leah and the space behind her. Probably just trying to get a look at the cocaine stall herself, Lora reasoned. Smiling awkwardly at the other woman, she would mean to slip past her to grab her drink off the sink.

Suggestion 1 - Success

 She immediately moved, planting her palm flush to the other wall at Lora's chest height and smiling as warmly as she could muster. "Stay. At least until I say you can leave, we got plenty that we can talk about in the meantime - like what is it that you can do, power wise?" Her eyes flickered to silver, pushing for the truth through any potential impulse to lie in the face of such a personal question.

 Lora froze immediately, and stepped back from her attempt to slide over to her neglected glass. The hair on her arms stood up, feeling suddenly threatened. Had this woman really just intimidated her into staying put until she said so? It was disappointingly effective, and Lora would watch with muted awe as Leah's eyes bled silver. Distantly, she knew what that meant, but didn't have enough space in her flow of thought to name it.

 "I can commune with dead people, and make a bomb out of any inanimate object." It came out quickly, almost monotone. Like this woman had reached into her soul and crushed a well-hidden truth out of hiding with her hands. Her heart hammered in her ears, acutely aware of her own breathing, the sound of her own swallowing. There was some urge to ask her what her power was, what she wanted, blah, blah, blah. Nothing came out though, jaw locked in quiet trepidation.

 Communing with the dead wasn't any proper threat to her, thankfully. The second one, however, was enough that she looked sideways to wear Lora's fingers touched the stall wall, frowning and going stern. "Move your hand." No telling how controlled or easy it was for her - but better safe than sorry.

 This command was different. Lora couldn't place her finger on it, but there was enough room for hesitation that she could swipe at it. What sort of thing did this woman have planned? She demanded her hands be idle, nonthreatening. She was torn between balking, and self-preservation. Make me, she wanted to say. She lacked the courage. Leah knew what she had in her armory - but the same could not be said the other way around. It was too much for her to even begin to wrap her head around it.

 Her brain wired onto one thing, instead: escape. As quickly as she could, Lora lifted her other hand to the other stall wall. Calling on her power was less a need to coax, and more a thing of opening a door for a dog dying to get out and assault a passerby. It was a thoughtless, inky black fury. Make me, it said. Try to.

 There would be no immediate explosion yet, only a faint hissing noise that would begin to fill the room as her eyes made a subtle change of color - dirt brown to amber. She didn't even have room to consider the consequences.

Suggestion 2 - Success

 "Bitch." Still there was an almost humor to it, stepping back when it was - no, definitely the sound of something. And between that and the angry way she planted herself, it was enough to make her shuffle back as she fixed on her eyes and rushed over her words. "Forget everything about me - my face, my name, all of it." Turning then to walk briskly for the door and unlock it. Stepping out and shouldering past a gaggle of pissed off women as she tried to make her way quickly but calmly for the exit.

 Lorena stared back at the woman with an almost empty stare. The reality of her fuck up was slowly dawning on her. The longer she held her hands there, the worse this was going to be. Could she take it back? Could she suck all that furious energy back into her hands?

 Someone spoke to her, and then they left. Who was that. Who? Lora was left staring at the row of sinks, listening to women talk shit as they pried their way into the bathroom. Fuck. Fuck. They were all going to die. She was going to die.

 Her hands fell away from the stalls, and in an instant, the bathroom was collapsing into a smoking, roaring void. The waves of energy blasted out, away from her, the way they always did - perhaps the only reason she had ever survived this god forsaken power. The walls gave way, crashing over screaming voices, and beneath their feet, the floor crumbled, dropping everything down onto the first floor. It happened too fast to think about any of it. Merciful.

 Not being dead was less fortunate, probably. Lora wasn't out for very long - a handful of seconds, waking blearily to a scene of rubble and fire. A sink counter laid over her, propped up by some sort of pipe, stone and drywall and ash littering the rest of her body, and several feet of her surroundings. The blast she'd created had eaten a hole into the entire northwest corner of the building. Her entire body ached like an overgrown bruise, blood streaming out of her nose and her ears, temporarily deaf, marks of punishment. People scattered away from spots of newborn fires like ants.

 Who was that. What the fuck just happened.

Emergency services poured into the packed thoroughfares and side roads over the next hour. The clamor was god-awful. Fire trucks, ambulances, and police vehicles flickered their reds and blues in unison, crying out in a riot of garish color to diffuse in the billowing plume of dark smoke from the northwest corner of the The Barbarian. Traffic ground to a halt throughout Larkspur as interjoining streets were closed. Anxious panic intermingled with morbid curiosity to descend upon the neighborhood. Whispers of a bombing and terrorism fluttered between onlookers and leached into the airwaves.

#barbarianbombing, #bombarian, and #larkspur were trending. Cell networks strained at capacity from the panicked spike in usage. Morgan's black SUV crawled past solemn processions of cold revelers, eager to leave the area and get home. Her strobing lights joined others to paint the march in sharp-shadowed reds and blues. Waved on by uniformed officers, Morgan rolled her SUV past a police barrier and found somewhere to park.

Morgan could barely hear outside the SUV. The rancorous churn of generators and idling engines, the intermittent shriek of sirens, the rush of water, the cries of the injured, and the lost, all echoed off the press of brick and glass and concrete overhead. Everything was wet from the department's fire hoses pelting the northwest corner with tens of thousands of gallons of water. The mist made everything that much colder and Morgan shivered in her jacket. With hands pressed into her pockets and chin thrust into the collar, she forged closer.

Within an hour, the responding officers on the scene had established a perimeter and brought the injured to triage. The walking wounded or those who were miraculously not injured but still on-scene were led to a cordoned-off area to await police interview. The dead were left where they lay, just as with any crime scene.

That said, it was a very curious crime scene - after the bomb dogs scoured the buildings, the investigating officers were left with a very interesting conclusion: there was no bomb present. Yes, there was most certainly an epicenter to the blast (second floor, upstairs corner, ladies restroom), but no evidence of an explosive device.

As a result, the case was passed on down to the Supernatural Task Force. Sliding out of the passenger side of the vehicle, Emily shouldered her briefcase and caught up to Cass, bringing up the case file on her tablet to review the data once more. Looking up, her dark eyes roved the mist-shrouded scene, picking out patient collections, set up around the perimeter. There were a goodly number of people in the central location who had already been interviewed, but were kept waiting for the task force. Perhaps at this point their confusion and fear were bleeding back into weariness.

"Witnesses stated that a few women were seen moving in and out of the bathroom just before the blast." Emily noted to Cass, gaze dropping back to the report. "They described a short woman with dark hair, a red head, and... well-dressed black-haired woman who headed for the exit shortly before the blast. No sign of her among the wounded or witnesses though."

All information was delivered with a quick efficient tone just before Emily tucked the iPad away and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Tapping it against one hand, she slid one out and lit up, the embers briefly warming her face against the misty dark.

 Lorena had, ultimately, been hauled out of the rubble by an EMT. She wasn't sure how long it took them to arrive, but thought that maybe the anguished wail of sirens would haunt her for the rest of her life. Being pulled to her feet had been more painful than falling through the floor, her hands and arms red with blisters, her body welted with fast-forming bruises.

 She was quiet, unable to make tears in her state of shock where she sat on the back end of an ambulance, bloodied and shivering, clutching a heavy first responder blanket around herself. The scene was something out of a nightmare - plumes of steam and smoke as the last of the flames died, men and women in their dark uniforms, lines of yellow tape, glimpses of news crews down the block. Lorena had had some hope that no one would be dead by the time it was all said and done. She thought maybe that was a naive thing to think.

 She wished her hearing had stayed gone, that she'd been made permanently deaf by what was easily the biggest blast she had ever made. So as not to hear the cops and the cries, the dogs barking, the murmurs and gasps of passersby kept at bay by city forces. Her words had been thin and few when questioned - she didn't know what happened. She had seen someone in the bathroom, but couldn't remember what they looked like. She'd been trying to get napkins.

 Her eyes fell on one of the policewoman lighting a cigarette. She had never wanted one in her life, but it sounded good right now. Self-destruction sounded good.

"It's a woman's bathroom." At a club no less. Morgan scowled, chin pressed into her jacket's collar. She made herself compact against the mist which matted strands of hair to her scalp. "Probably in use right until the blast." The stalls offered some privacy to prep a device and then stow away in a trashcan. A smile twitched at her cheek; imagine a night out with the girls, hitting the head, then boom.

Morgan took in the controlled chaos with a huff, the breath condensed in the cold. It would take hours to collect all the statements and then days to weeks to comb through the rubble for any buried bodies or fragmented remains of a device. Though… apparently… the dogs hadn't picked up the scent yet, and it wasn't a gas main explosion. The dogs always picked up something eventually, even a faint trace lead them in the right direction. Bagging evidence needed to wait until the preliminary sweeps were completed and the uniforms were done with the witness testimonies, the preliminary reports of which were already being logged and collated in the database.

Uniforms would be here all night with this. She looked to Oryx as she took a drag of her cigarette. "Alright, I'mma lend a hand; gather a few statements." She sounded resigned and waited to see what Oryx planned before heading towards the fleet of ambulances.

Emily inclined her head in silent agreement and took a deep pull on her cigarette. It was going to be a hell of a job picking through all the witness statements concerning that bathroom - different witnesses tended to remember different things about the same situation allowing them to piece together a vague picture of what happened. At the very least, they had three suspect descriptions that stood out. Twin streams of smoke jetted out of her nose and Emily's quick eyes caught the slight smile on Morgan's face. If she were to guess, the woman probably found a bit of black humor in this, a little something lighten the evening.

Nothing wrong with that, they did what they needed to. No judgement. The entire scene had a rather distant quality for Emily, as if she were far away and just watching herself work. She recognized the feeling - it was what allowed her to cope with the moment and deal with the horror later.

At Morgan's announcement, Emily nodded in agreement once more. "See if you can't find anything more about the black-haired one that rabbited. Seems promising." She dropped her cigarette to snuff it with her boot and started off in the the direction of the patient triage, following her fellow agent.

Scanning the area quickly, Emily's gaze met Lorena's and her expression softened - the detective knew a thing or two about trying to start an interview off right. Starting in her direction, she smiled faintly and then crouched down in front of the huddled woman. Was her hair red or was that the light from the patrol cars? "Evening, ma'am... Can I do anything for you?"

 The smoking cop caught her glance, and Lora would lower her gaze as the woman approached. It was not hard to decide rather immediately that she wouldn't ask for a cigarette after all. It was a bit surprising to have the woman kneeling before her suddenly, and she drew a weary breath as she was spoken to. She thought maybe she would be happy if she never had to be this close to a cop ever again.

 "No, ma'am," she croaked quietly. "I'm just waiting to be released to go home. Thank you, though." She offered a very small, very tired smile as punctuation for her words, and lifted the edge of the blanket to her nose to keep it from showing any more unflattering runoff. Home held no better promise than this scene, really, except solitude. This night would play like a recording on her wall when her eyes refused to close.

Morgan walked alongside Oryx, eyes set on the cramped horizon of misery with the wail of sirens and the injured in her ears. For a distance she walked without purpose, simply a rock in the chaotic sea and let it run against the fiber of her being. Her edges frayed in the maelstrom, wet and cold with the falling rain. But no further did she let herself sink. Morgan took in enough to understand and rebuffed the rest. She blinked away the haloed fuzz of emergency lights and scowled at the Barbarian's blasted remains.

"I'll ask around." If Oryx said it seemed promising, it probably was. The woman had a knack for working through the chaff to find the seed. But almost as Oryx spoke, she made for a survivor slumped on an ambulance's rear bumper. Morgan followed if only out of curiosity, keen to pry some insight from the other woman. She learnt early to trust Oryx's intuition.

But where Oryx knelt and put herself on the stunned woman's level, Morgan remained upright to watch a little from the side. She split her attention between the woman and the agent and their surroundings, half expecting a woman with black hair to cross their path.

Emily was glad to have Morgan at her back - she always was, even in supposedly secured areas like this. Her sharp eyes and quick reflexes were always a boon.

The detective took in the young woman’s body language, noting that she appeared surprised or dismayed at her approach. Easily written off as trauma, considering what she’d just been through, but Emily would still stow that detail away for later, should new context arise.

In the meantime, she maintained her low, non-threatening posture, staying crouched at eye-level. The detectives stance had always been to approach interviews with care taken to help the subject get comfortable - obviously this wasn’t always viable, considering the situation, but she could do her part. Her eyebrows drew together in a sympathetic expression and it wasn’t all an act. She genuinely felt for this woman’s experience. It would not leave her for some time.

"I hear you, ma’am. It’s been a long night, I’m sure." Her voice was gentle but still quite formal. Dropping down to one knee, she pulled out a notepad and a pen. Emily often found it was a bit more efficient than using the iPad to write her notes. Clicking the pen, she went on, "I’ll level with you, ma’am, because I want to speed up this process for you and get you home safe - I’m Detective Emily Oryx and this is Officer Morgan. We’re a part of the Supernatural Task Force and we were called in because a few details of the scene are bit out of the ordinary." She looked up to meet Lorena’s eyes, expression mild though she was watching her carefully. "I’m sure you’ve been questioned already and I apologize for asking you to recount it, but we want to be able to do anything we can to keep you safe. Can you tell us anything you might remember about the incident?"

 A long night. That was one way to put it. Lora watched the woman pull out her pad and pen, huddling against a shiver as she spoke. Level with her - make it quick, get her home. Detective Emily Oryx and Officer Morgan. Lora glanced up at the woman who stood by, then back to the detective. Supernatural Task Force. Whoa. She didn't know there was such a thing. Lora nodded her head lightly to show she understood, and was listening.

 She was being asked to repeat her statement. Wearily, Lora drew her words back together, keeping still except for a readjustment of the blanket around her shoulders. "I was only aware of two people. I saw one lady with a pixie cut, dark hair. Runny nose or something," she recounted, feeling bad for the thought of saying "yeah, chick was snorting a fat line in a locked stall. "I don't... remember what the other woman looked like." She assumed the burnt hole in her memory was a woman. It had been a women's restroom, anyway. "I think she locked the door. I mean - I thought I heard her unlock it before she left. And then other women came in, but I didn't see their faces or anything. And then." She shrugged, sighed wearily. "Then it was just a nightmare."

 And boy, fuckin' was it.

The woman looked tired, exhausted even. Morgan shot an accusing glance to the smoldering building as if it might be shamed for what it had done. The woman's rendition of events was a soft-spoken muddle delivered from inside a thick blanket. It was easy to believe she wanted nothing more than to go home. When the dark-haired pixie cut was mentioned, Morgan's eyes widened. Was she the one Oryx was on the look out for? Morgan turned to her fellow agent for anything like confirmation.

But as the survivor continued, Morgan doubted her assumption. Locked doors weren't uncommon in bathrooms, but that she chose to mention the unknown woman unlocking the door struck her as important. Maybe important wasn't the right word. Interesting, perhaps? Or nothing more than the precursor to a nightmare. Morgan wagered the latter.

Emily's eyebrows canted up in surprise. "You were in the bathroom when the explosive device went off... My God." Shit, this woman was lucky to be alive. As for her descriptions... Yes, Emily was quite sure her hair had an auburn tint. She'd seen the short woman with dark hair, which meant the one she couldn't remember could very well be black-haired woman who left just before the explosion.

The timelines made that conclusion favorable. Leaning over her notepad, Emily scribbled down her thoughts to solidify them. This black-haired woman was unlocking the door... Perhaps to keep anyone out while she set up the device. However, that did not explain why she left two witnesses present. Unless they were involved somehow.

Emily's expression remained neutral and she glanced up at Morgan. While her expression didn't change, the other would know she smelled a lead. However, she seriously doubted that this young woman was in any state to be brought down to the station and Emily got the sense she'd given them all she reasonably could at the moment. They could look for the shorter woman in the meantime.

"Could I get your name, ma'am? It's possible we'll be contacting you as the investigation proceeds." Dark eyes flicked up from her notepad to regard the young woman evenly.

 Yeah. She'd been right on top of it. Lora's eyes wandered back to the blown out building corner. It was pretty fucking tragic. She looked between the officers again, then back to Detective Oryx as she was asked for her name. Further contact. Sounded right to her. She was living a Law and Order episode.

 "Lorena Sousa." She'd spell her name out for the woman as well, keeping an eye on the pace of her writing hand to make sure she wasn't going too fast, and she would also rattle off her phone number.

Morgan's eyebrows raised to Lorena's admission, but she didn't believe her. Even when Oryx sympathized with the survivor, Morgan's suspicions grew. Maybe she'd been in a bathroom, but it couldn't have been the bathroom. Why were they even entertaining this line of questioning? A quick glance over her shoulder to the corner torn open to the sky told her that much. Lorena Sousa would be little more than a stain on the concrete.

"Sorry, hun." Morgan missed something important here and shook her head. She glanced to Oryx before continuing. "You saying you were at the epicenter of the blast?" Like fuck was she. Morgan knew the devastation IEDs caused up close. She knew too well the ragged and missing limbs, and the pulped bodies of the concussion wave. Sousa could walk and talk. She wasn't there. She couldn't have been… right?

Emily dutifully took down Lorena’s name and number and was quite ready to wrap the interview up. By her estimation and unfortunately very limited knowledge base, there was something supernatural going on here and Lorena was involved in some capacity. More research was needed, and Emily intended on bringing Lorena into the station for continued discussion, when she’d recovered a little.

The opportunity to interview someone who may be part of the supernatural community was a rare one. Emily thought it better to approach each situation with honey rather than vinegar.

She was standing when Morgan spoke up and a hot frisson of annoyance lanced through her. She didn’t let it show, but damn it, Morgan was at risk of blundering through the delicate process she’d begun. Keeping her expression neutral, Emily focused on hard on writing her notes and allowed the interaction to carry itself out. She was irritated but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to present a united front with her fellow officer.

 The blue-eyed cop cut in with a question, seeming incredulous, or at least doubtful. She considered the woman with bloodshot eyes, and then looked at the blasted corner building wearily. She shouldn't have survived that powerful of a blast. She wished she hadn't. But here she was.

 "I think so," she said, half hearted. She didn't know what else to say. Maybe Officer Morgan thought her confused or delirious. There were worse things to be thought as, at any rate.

There was something else going on here but Morgan couldn't put her finger on it. Adrift in the conversation and intent to have this make sense, she played through situations how Lorena could have survived so close to the blast. Maybe the bathroom fixtures protected her somehow, or the blast was shaped away from her, aimed towards the exterior to cause maximum structural damage? But Occam's Razor said Lorena Sousa was mistaken. She wasn't at the epicenter… but it may have very well thought like she was.

But blatantly doubting her story, and to her face, would only hinder their investigation. The smile that grew on Morgan's lips was supposed to be comforting. "Then you were very lucky."

Emily had a good inkling that this wasn't a 'normal' incident, but she was an outsider - completely unaware of the extent of a psychic's capabilities. Her approach was to treat every suspect as though they were heavily armed and dangerous because... well, they were. You couldn't disarm a single one of these supernatural creatures, as far as Emily was aware.

Looking up from her notes, she caught Morgan's smile, stilted and but a good attempt all the same, and then exhaled, breath misting out in front of her. With it went her annoyance, the woman silently grateful her partner cottoned on to the attempt at friendly negotiations. Pulling a card with her contact information from inside her vest, Emily offered it to Lorena. "We'll be in touch, Ms. Sousa. I know it's a tall order, but please try to rest easy - we're looking into this as closely as possible." She attempted a comforting smile as well.

 Officer Morgan considered her lucky. Lorena looked away from the building, back up to the officer with a quiet exhale. She wasn't so sure surviving was any stroke of good fortune. Her gaze dropped to the detective then, and then the offered contact card. Lora would take it with one pained hand, looking at it without absorbing the information printed on it. Her head bobbed in a weary, somber nod. "Thank you," she said quietly.

 Maybe it didn't particularly matter if she never got caught for this disastrous fuck up. Living with herself might be just as good as a concrete cell.

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