We Are Bulletproof

Marge set her phone face-down onto the table with a sigh and picked up her espresso. She studied its dark surface briefly and then took a sparing sip as her sharp gaze darted back and forth. Birdy Bee Cafe was hardly the place to instigate a fight but she wasn't going down like a little bitch...

Ken dropped into the chair opposite her with hardly a word, carrying his own cup of coffee. Marge set her cup down onto the saucer with a soft clink. "Didn't expect to see you here, Skinny."

"..." Ken's brows lifted but his expression remained stoic. "I've not been called that before," he muttered at last, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Hm." Marge smiled humorlessly across the table at him. "Cut the crap, Ken. Why are you following me? I know you've been talking to your hunter buddies. This another job?" Nothing got by Marge--not where it came to her family. And if someone was talking to hunters and threatening the people closest to her, she was going to find out. One way or another.

Ken seemed pensive for a long moment while he sipped his coffee, eyes on the table. "No," he said finally, shaking his head. "Not the kind of job you're thinking of. I'm not a hunter anymore."

"So the conversation with your friends from out of town?"

"I wanted to see if they knew anything that could help Brayden. They said a witch was asking around town about life fruits. Figured it was you. I'm here to help."

Marge toyed with the handle of her cup. It seemed like one of those things that Raf or even Bee would go nuts over--it had cute bumblebees all over and the handle was painted in yellow and black stripes. "Not a hunter anymore, huh?"

"No."

"Why? You'll excuse me for being a little suspicious, but hunters are no strangers to lies. The others might think you're on their side, but I'm not as easy to convince. Skinny."

It was a while before Ken spoke and even then, Marge sensed that he was still weighing his words all-too-carefully.

"I found what I was looking for. I was never really a part of the guild. It was only convenient for me to travel with them."

"And you were looking for...?"

Ken's brows lifted as though it should have been obvious. Marge frowned. Not many things would make a hunter hang up the boots for good. They didn't suddenly grow a conscience. If they weren't killed they were turned. Sometimes they fell in love though. With the enemy. "...Butterfingers..."

"What?"

"The one who thinks nobody sees him trying to pick the lock on the liquor cabinet." Marge didn't know how to pronounce his name. Ni-all? Nee-all? She preferred Butterfingers; call it an... affectionate pet name. It probably would've been easy to find out if she asked... but nah.

Ken merely nodded. Didn't speak a whole lot, did he? Marge got that whole lone wolf deal--saw it a lot--but this guy was going a step beyond that. She didn't know how Butterfingers got along with someone who didn't speak more than ten words at a time. Then again, how did any of the others get along with their significant others?

If you asked her, Jack and Bee were the only normal couple there. And by far the cutest. No bias or anything.

"So. You fell in love with a dark fae prince and suddenly decided that hunting's not for you anymore?" Her sarcastic tone seemed to roll right off of Ken's back. He shrugged and sipped his coffee again... and she still didn't trust him completely. "Pretty quick 180 there, Skinny."

"No."

"No what?" Jesus. Was this going to be a game of 20 questions? Marge resisted the urge to slap the coffee out of his hand.

"I didn't suddenly decide to quit." For the first time, Ken broke the stalemate of their direct eye-contact and looked down at his own cup. "We're starting a family."

"Oh jesus." Marge leaned back in her chair with a squeak and a long exhale and turned her eyes skyward. She shook her head. "A family? You and Butterfingers?" God, what did that look like? Ken doing most of the work, Marge thought. And Butterfingers running around all in a panic, making a mess of things. More of a mess of things. "Sure you're ready for that? Hunting might be easier."

The shadow of a smile crossed Ken's lips. He didn't say anything but he shrugged lightly and Marge shook her head again. Nobody would lie about something as bizarre as that. And Ken seemed serious--okay, he was always serious but Marge could tell by the light in his heart that he meant what he said.

"So you're not buddy-buddy with the hunters."

"No. My only... buddy... also quit. There's nothing keeping me there."

Marge thought that over for a long moment, studied him for longer, and then slowly pushed back from the table. She dunked the espresso in one shot and dropped the cup back down onto the saucer.

"IF I let you in on this, you're backup, got it? I know these bitches. I mean--" Her smile would have sent grown men scurrying for cover. "Witches. I know what they'll want for the life fruit, but I also know that they have a little problem with staying honest. So if they pull a double-cross, you're going to pull the trigger. On all of them. Got it?"

"...yes."

"Good. And whatever you hear about me when we get there doesn't get back to the others. You keep my secrets... and I won't tell Butterfingers you're out here talking to big bad hunters. Deal?" Marge held out a hand; Ken stood and shook it firmly without hesitation.

"Deal."

Hey bitch!

How're you holding up Jack sweetie?

I thought I told you not to leave the damn apartment Jack! What the hell were you thinking?!

This little baby boy's trouble Jack
We have to ditch him

I know Bee's giving you the big old doe eyes right now but I don't see this leading anywhere good

@Jack Ripley

(Gonna do Marge's running commentary here—she's texting Jack cause she doesn't want to say this stuff out loud in front of Raf. One less person to add to the chaos of the scene!)

Our crazy little baby boy has graduated from bathroom sex to middle of the club in full view of everyone sex

I think some part of me is actually kind of proud of him

@Jack Ripley

Damn. The soup was really good. Marge had two bowls in her hand, transporting them from the kitchen to the couch where that sad broken little crazy boy sat with a blanket around his shoulders, watching an episode of the Golden Girls. He seemed to have gotten hooked on it—that or he wasn't really watching, and was only staring at the screen while the crazy percolated in his pretty little head.

"Eat," she said—commanded—as she handed him a steaming bowl. He took it and held it to his chest like a protective shield, sniffing it cautious animal-style. Rolling her eyes, Marge eased the bowl closer to his lips and said again, "Eat up." She threw herself onto the couch beside him and spooned some soup into her own mouth. The eye-rolling this time was out of pure delight. God, that was good. Hearty but not overly rich, with a perfect amount of herbs and chunky tender vegetables and chicken, one mouthful instantly transported Marge to her own youth, and cold days in her grandma's kitchen sneaking bites of soup from the bubbling pot.

And Jack had trouble fucking this man, when he'd had his soup??

Marge still hadn't gotten a good look at him, either. She tried to peek at him from Jack's window but hadn't had any luck. And while Jack was at work, she had to watch their crazy son, so she couldn't exactly pop around to the apartment across the courtyard—not to mention he left early and returned late. Bad luck! Marge was bursting at the seams with curiosity. But! She had his soup. And it was delicious. Almost as good as booze!

Beside her, Alejandro also made an appreciative noise and when she looked over, he was eating it with evident enjoyment. "Good, isn't it?" He turned to look at her with disturbingly haunted eyes and nodded. "...want a drink?"

"With soup?" He sounded mildly incredulous.

Marge waved a dismissive hand. "Just a little cocktail to get us through the evening, honey." She wasn't an alcoholic, she was a professional bartender. Who sampled her own merchandise. Ssshhh. There was a small pause during which she ate some more soup, thinking that Alejandro was going to decline her offer, but he nodded.

"Sure. Why not."

Marge smiled and patted him gently on the head, then went off to mix up a little pick-me-up. Everything was better with some drinks in their bellies. It was late enough, anyway, and soon Jack would be coming back to relieve her of her babysitting duties, allowing her to go back to the club for work. Plus, if she got Alejandro a little tipsy, he was less likely to go and off himself. Win-win!

Soup with a cocktail was an odd combination but for some reason, it worked. Marge was back on the couch again, one eye on Alejandro and one eye on the TV, chatting with him about sleepy little Hazleton and the characters she saw at the club and just in general filling up the time until Jack came back. He wasn't a bad little boy, either—just a touch troubled. Marge reached over to take his bowl when he was done—his ass was broken too, he said with a wry but charming smile—and brought it to the sink for Jack to wash.

What? A Queen couldn't be seen up to her elbows in soapy dishwater!

She was just about to suggest that Alejandro come to the club with her, maybe have some drinks and mingle with some people, when there came a soft little tap-tap-tap on the door. Marge exchanged a bemused look with Alejandro before going over and opening it. She stared at the man who stood at the door, looking like he was apologizing for even existing in that instance in time. There was another container of soup between his hands and a loaf of french bread resting in the crook of his elbow.

"O-oh hi. Hi um. I'm Brayden, I live... uh... I live across the way. I'm Jack's friend." He smiled tentatively. "He said you were over to help with... ah... with a friend, and I thought maybe you'd like some. Oh. Well. This." The soup and bread was extended to Marge, whose smile started out small and grew larger and larger.

"Oh you're Brayden!" She looked him up and down carefully, making no move to take the peace offerings. Such a kind gesture. Mm. And he did have that geeky adorable stuttering, stammering thing down pat, didn't he? Marge's smile was now making him uncomfortable, she could tell. "You're not even that cute," she said coyly, which she could tell only confused him.

Whenever you get around to seeing this

Congratulations baby

I'd send flowers but that's a little too contrived, I think, even for me. ;)

@Jack Ripley