"Quigley," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Natalie, you don't need to try and hide this from me. I'm the poster child for depravity—which, in the 1890s, included same-sex relationships. I can spot a couple when I see one."
Dorian is hilariously wrong. But also, let's be real Nat, is he, though?
"Like she's in love with you," he points out, like it's the most obvious thing ever. "Have you seen the way she looks at you? If you asked her to jump, she'd respond with 'how high?'"
"Well-- yeah, because she's got it in her head that we're all bffs for life after we the crash and-- and we should do all these fun things together like solve murders and spy on people."
That's all it is. The hidden camera thing wasn't-- oh god the hidden camera.
Not gonna think about it. Natalie takes that shot, puts the glass down hard on the counter, and slides it to Dorian for a refill.
Dorian refills her. Shot number three. He's going to find a way to cut her off after number five no matter what. Though hell, there might not be much left in the bottle after number five...Dorian takes his own shot then pours himself another.
That's one way to get rid of booze.
"Solving murders and spying on people sounds like the world's worst date. Also, I still don't know much about this actual crash you both were in."
Right. Okay. He's set on this. He must be fucking with her at this point. But as long as the booze keeps flowing, she's sticking around.
"The plane we were on crashed over Canada. Those of us who survived that spent nineteen months in the wilderness, hunting and gathering. More people died, and then we got rescued."
That's the snapshot the public got when the media swarmed them all, like starving dogs waiting for scraps. That's all they ever gave outsiders, and all they ever will.
Natalie downs the shot. "So yeah, she thinks she's gotta have my back all the time." And Natalie has Misty's, just less obsessively.
Dorian frowns, thinking things over. It takes him a moment before he points out,
"One, I don't think this is entirely Misty having your back. If I did stab her, I doubt you'd ever forgive me. Two, both of you should talk to Francis Crozier. His was 'ship frozen in the Arctic' and less 'Canadian plane crash,' but I think he's the only person here who might have a hint of what you two went through."
"We don't need to talk to anyone about the crash." Her voice is hard, and so is her gaze. "We've done enough of that. And you're right, I would never forgive you if you fucked with her."
When she sighs, some of the rigid, defensive tension leaves her frame.
"What do you mean, not entirely Misty having my back. What else would it be?"
She looks down at the shot glass, then looks back up at Dorian, performing at defiant when, really, it's the tequila just starting to hit her, and not at all that he's pointed out something she's been telling herself is just to do with them being on a goddamn prison ship.
"Well, you've seen how she is. She'll get herself killed to prove a stupid point."
"But that didn't happen this time," he points out. "I was in the dining hall when that went down. Misty didn't get herself killed to prove a point, she died in an accident. A completely stupid accident that nobody could have prevented."
There's a pause before Dorian sighs. He downs his tequila before pointing out,
"And it sucks. Trust me, I am well aware of how garbage it feels when something happens that you couldn't stop."
"So what's your point? I knew I couldn't help her. I couldn't look out for her. I could've taken her out before she turned into a zombie, but then I'd get infected."
Hunter made it abundantly clear that contaminated blood was not to be touched, and there's no way that the quick death Natalie could have given Misty wouldn't have resulted in abundant splatter, much of it on Natalie herself.
"It's not a pity party," she grumbles, and takes the shot. The sweet heat of it warms her all the way down and starts to flow through to her limbs.
"I'm just-- I just need to wind down."
She shouldn't be drinking after taking painkillers for her hand (thanks for the tidbit about the nerve damage she has, Malcolm) but here she is anyway, because that's how she rolls.
It's hard to stay even just grumpy at the person who's given her liquor and a place to stay. Natalie nods at him, and then waits a while, and when it becomes crystal clear that he's not going to pour her another shot, she heads over to the couch and lies down.
"She's coming back, right? The revival thing, it's never not happened before?"
"You don't need to worry about that one. She'll be back asking invasive questions within the next day or two. Granted, she'll feel like shit for a week. But I don't think feeling like shit has ever stopped Misty from getting in other people's business."
What a small, empty comfort. Natalie grabs one of the couch pillows and hugs it to her. Elevating her injured hand helps with the pain the meds can't silence.
There's something about this, about Natalie curled up on the couch, holding the pillow to her, that just looks kind of pathetic. Poor kid. This is the world's worst first week, isn't it.
"The Barge isn't always like this," Dorian points out, as he goes to sit on the arm of the couch. "There are wonderful people here and wonderful experiences. It's just that every now and then, you get a little psycho who likes to cause trouble."
Even Franky, tough though she is, isn't an asshole. She's strict but not sadistic. And Jon is someone Natalie feels she can message whenever. Dorian too, for all that he's a little shit, is okay.
"The city was cool. Not sure how it's supposed to help me ~redeem~ myself--" she says that in a mocking tone "--but it was nice, I guess."
"Honestly? I don't think the city was supposed to help us redeem people or help people get redeemed." Dorian shrugs, leaning against the back of the couch as he continues the conversation.
"We had a pretty shit first few months before you came aboard. I think the city was the Admiral's odd little idea of a vacation."
This is the weirdest rehab center she has ever been in.
"Misty said that. Said she was more afraid than she'd ever been in the woods." She winces as she shifts her injured hand a little on the cushion. "Not sure I want to know the details, after this."
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"My what?"
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Dorian is hilariously wrong. But also, let's be real Nat, is he, though?
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"We're not."
How did this happen???
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Is he taking crazy pills? Why is she saying they're not? Has Natalie looked at Misty's face?
"She certainly seems to think so, at least. You know how she looks at you, right?"
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"Like she's obsessed?"
There's a few seconds where she's openingg and closing her mouth as if to say something, but no sound comes out.
"Dorian, what the fuck?"
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That's all it is. The hidden camera thing wasn't-- oh god the hidden camera.
Not gonna think about it. Natalie takes that shot, puts the glass down hard on the counter, and slides it to Dorian for a refill.
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That's one way to get rid of booze.
"Solving murders and spying on people sounds like the world's worst date. Also, I still don't know much about this actual crash you both were in."
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"The plane we were on crashed over Canada. Those of us who survived that spent nineteen months in the wilderness, hunting and gathering. More people died, and then we got rescued."
That's the snapshot the public got when the media swarmed them all, like starving dogs waiting for scraps. That's all they ever gave outsiders, and all they ever will.
Natalie downs the shot. "So yeah, she thinks she's gotta have my back all the time." And Natalie has Misty's, just less obsessively.
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"One, I don't think this is entirely Misty having your back. If I did stab her, I doubt you'd ever forgive me. Two, both of you should talk to Francis Crozier. His was 'ship frozen in the Arctic' and less 'Canadian plane crash,' but I think he's the only person here who might have a hint of what you two went through."
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When she sighs, some of the rigid, defensive tension leaves her frame.
"What do you mean, not entirely Misty having my back. What else would it be?"
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"You're on your fourth shot of tequila in under half an hour, after all."
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"Well, you've seen how she is. She'll get herself killed to prove a stupid point."
We won't talk about the alcoholism part.
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There's a pause before Dorian sighs. He downs his tequila before pointing out,
"And it sucks. Trust me, I am well aware of how garbage it feels when something happens that you couldn't stop."
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Hunter made it abundantly clear that contaminated blood was not to be touched, and there's no way that the quick death Natalie could have given Misty wouldn't have resulted in abundant splatter, much of it on Natalie herself.
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And he'll top off that tequila for one last shot.
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"I'm just-- I just need to wind down."
She shouldn't be drinking after taking painkillers for her hand (thanks for the tidbit about the nerve damage she has, Malcolm) but here she is anyway, because that's how she rolls.
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A pause before, "And if you want to crash on said couch, feel free."
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"She's coming back, right? The revival thing, it's never not happened before?"
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"You don't need to worry about that one. She'll be back asking invasive questions within the next day or two. Granted, she'll feel like shit for a week. But I don't think feeling like shit has ever stopped Misty from getting in other people's business."
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What a small, empty comfort. Natalie grabs one of the couch pillows and hugs it to her. Elevating her injured hand helps with the pain the meds can't silence.
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"The Barge isn't always like this," Dorian points out, as he goes to sit on the arm of the couch. "There are wonderful people here and wonderful experiences. It's just that every now and then, you get a little psycho who likes to cause trouble."
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Even Franky, tough though she is, isn't an asshole. She's strict but not sadistic. And Jon is someone Natalie feels she can message whenever. Dorian too, for all that he's a little shit, is okay.
"The city was cool. Not sure how it's supposed to help me ~redeem~ myself--" she says that in a mocking tone "--but it was nice, I guess."
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"We had a pretty shit first few months before you came aboard. I think the city was the Admiral's odd little idea of a vacation."
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"Misty said that. Said she was more afraid than she'd ever been in the woods." She winces as she shifts her injured hand a little on the cushion. "Not sure I want to know the details, after this."
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