free_form2 Understandings
"I'm really very sorry that I upset you. I shouldn't have pushed that hard. That was not what I had intended to do. Not that I intended to do anything. This whole thing is stupid. You're my friend, I miss you. I'm sorry I ran you off. Even the dog misses you, I think. Forgive me, OK?"

Yeah, that sounded good, not too practiced. Too bad Sonya would never hear any of it. Mallory knew denial when she read it. The last thing she wanted was for the 'Couch Incident' to become the elephant in the room, but if this was her punishment for upsetting the apple cart, then so be it. Sonya did not want her like that. Now Mallory had to live with it.

So, she had banged around in the trailer by herself without an attempt to make contact, respecting the Russian's space and issues. But if Sonya just happened to be at the Lighthouse tonight, well, they might see eachother. Searchlight was a small place. Even if she never got to say the other thing, she could mend the friendship fence.

The door closed with a whoosh of air behind the redhead and she walked across the room to take a seat at the bar. The rain had finally passed and she had been going stir crazy. A few beers could not hurt.

This late into the afternoon, virtually nobody was in there. Especially on a week day. Bars were for lunches or late evenings, most people seemed to feel. The times between, especially with an area of such a sparse population, were not necessarily good for business. At the moment, a couple of locals were the only other customers in there and would likely continue to be for some time.

That was why the one who next appeared at the doorway must have seemed so unusual. A mature man in what could best be described as clothes best fit for a lawyer or politician; black trousers, white shirt, tie and black coat. There was nothing jovial about him. Quite the opposite, in fact, for his expression seemed to project the utmost seriousness. Even his hair seemed immaculately groomed, with not a strand out of place. Someone with government in their blood, obviously and who observed his surroundings with a slight frown, before moving on with a brief, "Hm," journeying to the bar.

There were likely to be a lot more of those types soon, not that Mallory would know it. Searchlight had recently come to greater prominence in official circles, than many realised.

With the redhead nearest, the visitor turned her way.

"Young lady, excuse me," he began, with an accent as thick as that of her winged friend, although with a much greater command of English grammer. "I am looking for Sonya Ramius, a citizen of the Russian Federation, who I have been informed resides in this area. It has come to my attention that there is an urgent government matter to... Discuss with her. Would you be able to assist me?"

Mallory had been working on her first beer and crunching into some pretzel sticks when the man addressed her and she swivelled left on her stool to take in the suit and haircut. That accent... Like Sonya's and yet different, less fumbling for words. More polished, somehow. "Excuse me?" She asked politely and, although she did not know it, like Connor before her, there was something she did not like about the man.

"Uh... Sonya. I haven't seen her around in a while. She still lives in town, I just don't know where she's been." That, at least was true, but the redhead felt a vague sense of disquiet. Must be the suit, the way the guy looked so officious. Or maybe even official.

'Government business'... What was Sonya's immigration status? If she was not working, could she be sent back to Russia?

"She's not in trouble, is she?" Mallory queried, because knowing Sonya she'd put herself into another situation somehow and this suit was looking into it. "What kind of business, sir?"

"Private business," he answered-without-answering, now choosing to take up station on the seat beside her. "Business it would be in her best interests to be made aware of, as soon as possible."

The man seemed rather unphased, however. It seemed like an urgent matter, yet his personality did not seem to give way to haste. content, instead, to stay there until she showed up. Apparently, Sonya's alcoholic tendencies were known to him. No doubt, they were in any files to do with her, regardless of whether her supernatural heritage was known about. Leisurely asking the tender for tea, he was met with a puzzled response, frowned in turn and reconsidered his request with the alternative of a glass of water.

"How long have you been acquainted?"

"Oh, ever since I first got to Searchlight," Mallory replied, her posture relaxing by a single notch. Not any more than that, but enough that the girl did not feel like she would leap up from the stool at any second just from being close to 'Gomez Addams', over here. "I think she was the first person I spoke to here. That was... Three years ago? Yeah, somethin' like that."

If she ever speaks to me again, we might even stay friends...

"Are you with the government?" It was the suit which elicited the question, looking like something a funeral director would wear. In Siberia. Someplace cold and bleak like that. "Immigration?" Because a Sonya who might be in trouble, was a Sonya she wanted to protect. "I'm pretty sure all her papers are in order. She worries too much about stuff like that to let it slide."

"Yes, I'm sure..."

The way he phrased it, the visitor seemed either disinterested in excuses or to be rather sceptical of such a claim. Ultimately, it probably mattered not which. Sonya was headed for rocky territory, or so it seemed. It was just a matter of how she happened to land. The man's water arrived and he dipped head forward to take a sip, the action measured and precise. A total contrast to the chaotic and often impatient young Sonya. An anarchist, at heart, but one who lacked the focused and was too cynical of authority figures, as a whole, to join some sort of political movement.

And just then came the sound of something new. Another visitor. One who had arrived just near enough the early evening to be...

The redhead Mallory had been hoping to see, now stood in the freshly opened door with a look of surprise. A look of surprise soon shifting to something else, as the man turned in her direction, expression as serious as ever. He rose to his feet and, just by looking at him, the way he approached her, Sonya seemed to know who he was, what he represented and she swallowed, hard. Running would do no good. what would be the point? And so she looked on, letting him step closer and closer, identifying her with a call of name.

Were she a hound, then her ears would lower and tail would perhaps curl between legs. This was a man from her government. A man with 'business'. A man who knew her secret.

"Hello, father," she spoke in English. A momentary glance spared for her friend, before looking back again and gesturing, "This is friends... Mallory Quin."

Father. Oh. Wonderful. Mallory had to turn back towards her drink, because she couldn't stand the kicked-puppy look Sonya had on her face at the sight of the man, picking up some more pretzels to eat, crunching more noisily than she probably needed them to. What was it with Sonya and her parents to make her look like that? First Devora, now her dad. Well, at least this one was not likely to rob her blind, because that had already been done.

"Hi," she said to the dark-suited gentleman, offering a terse smile to go along with the terse greeting. It could not just be the wings, it just could not. She wanted to smack him with her beer mug just for making the hybrid look like that. Ugh, parents. "I didn't realise you two were related, I would have already introduced myself properly."

"'My friend', Sonya," he corrected his daughter. "You should say, 'This is my friend - singular. Not plural.'"

Sonya twisted her mouth in response looking at her father in a 'stop embarrassing me with lectures' sort of a way and gave a miniature sigh. Her father ignored it, more out of expectation than rude malice and extended a hand towards his hybrid daughter's colleague. "She has told me much about you, Miss Quinn... In fact, I had almost come to think of you as a local icon, so often are you mentioned," he espoused with a friendly, if brief, smile. "You have my gratitude for taking such good care of her."

"Yeah, well," the older redhead said, giving Sonya a quick look, as if to suss out current feelings about her. She was perfectly fine with letting the Russian ignore what had happened; that did not mean she would, if only in private. "That's what friends do for eachother. She's a good friend."

Mallory indicated the seat on her right, which would put her between father and daughter as a buffer, if that was how the hybrid wanted it. "You want a drink, Sonya?" She asked. "I don't think they have your vodka tonight, but they do bourbon and gin. I'll buy if you want."

The man looked down at little Sonya and restrained from tutting, but it was evident that he did not approve of her drinking habit. Sonya tended to... Get over the top and make something of a fool of herself, not to mention start flirting with boys. Of course, he guessed that this would probably be what happened, once in America. She did it at every opportunity she could, back home, so, why not?

Now it was her turn to ignore, however and she did so with a, "Da! I shall be havings this!"

Clenching his jaw at Sonya's wilful display of rebelliousness, her father cleared his throat and halted her progress with a hand on shoulder. "I must speak with you," he told her, using that voice to impress upon her the urgency of the matter. The man had not reached as high as he was in diplomatic circles, for nothing.

Looking between them a couple of times, Sonya relented and the man gave a formal smile, Mallory's way, before they headed off to a private corner. "Excuse us, Miss Quinn," he said, before they went that way and the pair began to converse in pure Russian. The dynamic was not at all like that which Sonya had with her mother, Devora. Eventually, Mallory would come to see just how much of a polar opposite he was to the demoness, but she would only be able to read the coupel's body language, for now.

It lasted for about a minute and whatever the news was, it seemed to leave Sonya rather worried. Something like an ultimatum seemed to be spoken to her and the girl nodded with a troubled swallow. What Mallory would see, however, was something which had never been shown between Sonya and her mother; namely, a proper hug. Not one for formality's sake, but one given from father to daughter, as a way of trying to express solidarity. They had their problems, as Mallory would eventually see, but at least seemed to demonstrate an emotionally care for the girl.

Catching sight of Mallory again, the man nodded her way and departed out the door, leaving Sonya to wander over and sit down beside her.

"Sonya is be not the happies," she commented with a depressed form of sigh.

She would not pry. She would not act like an over-protective boyfriend. She would not pick up the nearest ashtray and throw it like a discus at the back of Mister Ramius' head. Sonya seemed fine, if a little uncomfortable, but then when was Sonya not uncomfortable, in one way or another? Mallory indicated the drink she had bought for the other redhead, picking up her newly-filled mug.

"Hope everything's OK, back home," she offered. It could have been worse. Devora could have been in tow. At least the man had hugged his daughter. Not that the whole thing had not made her itch, but still.

"Do you want to talk about it? Haven't seen you in a while, figured it was best to leave you alone and let you sort stuff out. If it needed sorting, that is."

Taking the drink without hesitation, Sonya had heavier things on her mind than the momentary tryst between them, a few weeks ago. Much heaview things. She practically downed a quarter of the contents in one go then set it down, staring into the liquid, as if searching for inspiration. "Regulatings," she thought aloud. "Regulatings and catelogues..."

It would make little, if any, sense to her elder riend, of course and eventually Sonya looked up to explain.

"Sonya have choosings to do. Choosings of where be home... Russian government is..." But she trailed off, not really able to locate the right English words for it and, in any case, it was all rather confidential. "Reasons are not matterings... Sonya have choosings to make. Much changings for future."

'Regulatings and catelogues'. She really was going to have to get Sonya some language lessons or something, to help her get a better grasp on English. Mallory lifted a hand to get the bartender's attention, indicating the other redhead's rapidly emptied glass.

"What are they regulating? Is your father involved, somehow?" At least it did not sound like it might be related to immigration technicalities, but with Sonya, who knew? "Is he wanting you to come home?" Trying to catch her eyes now, ducking her head, just in case the Russian sought to take refuge in studying the contents of her glass again. Whatever else happened, they were friends and she was protective of her. "Is that what he told you, that you might have to leave here?"

"Sonya have choosings to do. This is all," the girl shrugged and, surprisingly, waved off the barman, actually refusing another drink.

Which just went to show how dire her new situation had been... Sonya? Wanting to stay sober? It was unheard of.

She took another sip of the drink and took out her mobile telephone, dialling in a text message to someone and then, once finished, made another little troubled sigh and looked at her friend again. "It have same result... But must be decidings where. Here or Russia."

She took yet another drink and then simply left the glass, still a quarter of the way full, to give the other redhead a spontaneous hug and then offer a farewell, saying that she had to go somewhere private and think. Fate had just thrown her a curveball and a crossroads in her the girl's life had opened up, telling her to decide in which direction her destiny would now go.