RP:You're Fired

Part of the The Dust Up In Cenril Arc

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Summary: Hudson meets with Valrae to tell her that they can't work together anymore. He offers to get her a new job, but Valrae is angry and leaves.

The Witch-Run Nail Salon in Larket

Hudson and Valrae have another meeting set after closing. On the agenda, that she might expect, is more money for the resistance. There's a little something else though. He looks tired when she rounds up the stairs to the lab to meet him. He's cleaned it up, of late, it's tidier than usual. There's less obvious drug-cooking paraphernalia around. He's leaning with his elbows on the counter, nursing a beer. He straightens when he sees her. "You want one?" he asks her, going for the ice box. "Sit," he gestures at the sofa near the window. (Some fond memories on that sofa. That'll have been the last time she was on it.) He joins her, with or without an extra beer, moments later. Reaching under the sofa, he pulls out a duffel bag, nudging it with his foot to sit at her feet. "We have to talk," he says in a beaten down way, like a man facing a firing squad.

Valrae takes the steps slowly and without the usual click of heels to announce her. Her feet are in whatever monstrous version of toms Hollow has to offer and they're even harder to look at because they're a mind-numbing grey. Her golden curls are pulled back in a messy, loose pony's tail with errant strands of honey free wave in her face under what Hudson would probably notice as his Cub's cap. She takes the beer with a grunt. Manish, sure, but Val could be. Her sweater too big and the same 'I've given up' grey and her tight cotton pants were an inky black. The witch's make up was still characteristically dark, the only thing she'd rallied to put effort into earlier in the morning. Obviously, single Val was gone. She plops onto the couch unceremoniously, with much darker thoughts on her mind than the apparently public 'comforting', and pulls her knees up before taking a long drink of beer. Hudson sits. She ignores the duffel bag and gives him long, heavy lidded look. "No good conversation ever started with, 'We have to talk.'."

Hudson sucks in a deep breath and mirrors Valrae in drinking from his beer. "Yeah," he agrees, scratching the stubble that lines his jawline. He makes a defeated gesture with his free hand, sighs loudly. "Oy," he says, meeting her gaze. "Well, I'll just come out with it. I'm putting my house in order with Alvina and one of the things she wants is for us to not work together anymore." He gives Valrae a wilted look. "I didn't fight her on it, she's right, considering," he gestures at the couch, "ssssssstuff she doesn't know about. But in general she's right we shouldn't. So. That's happening. I'm sorry, Val." He drops his gaze, looking into the mouthpiece of his beer, which he addresses. "I'm gonna get you a new job though, a better one for what you're doing, with the ah, those people. And there'll still be plenty of money. So."

Valrae's eyes narrowed further. She looks down at her knees. "Right." The witch sighs out after a long, tense moment. There was an ache in her chest, one that had started long before this conversation, and it was growing. Suddenly the ground was opening up beneath her again, like before when he'd pulled her into his office and screamed at her. "I get it." She stands quickly, draining her beer. "Actually, don't bother." She adds, heading to the door without looking back. "I don't need it, okay? And I don't need your money and I don't need your help and I don't need any more of your damn 'I'm sorrys'." She wasn't actually mad at him. She even understood why she couldn't work with him. She was sad to leave the salon, she loved her coworkers. She was sad it wouldn't be an excuse to see him, sure. But all she could feel right now was the screaming chasm of black under her feet and all she could hear was a voice that told her being alone was what she deserved. So, maybe she was tossing all her baggage at Hudson and running out. Hell, it beat carrying it. Val throws her bottle on the counter as she passes and doesn't stop when it tips over and rolls toward the floor.

Hudson had expected a negative reaction, the chopping block is an unfriendly place and all the more given the history they have. There's a difference between expecting something and it happening, though. "Val," her name sticks in his mouth. He likewise springs to his feet, feeling wounded by her deciding to flounce, even though he's the one holding the knife. She's still talking, and it's not making him feel any better. She doesn't need his help or anything from him: well one thing's for sure, after all this time, she knows how to hurt him. "Val, come on," he says, following her and recouping the rolling beer bottle in the process. She's going down the stairs, but he can't bring himself to descend after her. It feels wrong, let her be angry, she's allowed. He can't right the world where all the women in his life are concerned, and he should only be concentrating on Alvina, that had been his mistake always. He slowly brings his fist against the door frame, listening to the sound of her footfalls and the door to the salon as she lets herself out.