It would have made Rupert vindictively pleased to know that it took the light weight excuse for a mutant well over five minutes to move him all of ten feet and get him in a chair. What, didn't think muscle training was important, because of your little powers? Rupert's deadweight gave its opinion on that.

As it was, his normal slightly asthmatic breathing continued peacefully on, unaware of the growing goose egg on his head or the strenuous efforts Tarin was making to secure him to a kitchen chair. Which was, indeed, the same chair to which he'd once hand cuffed Tarin. The look on his unconscious face was about as peaceful as he ever got.

Naturally, the freak had to poor a cup of ice water on his head.

>> "Wakey wakey."

Rupert sputtered. Slowly, his muddy hazel eyes focused on the most important things in front of him: a cup of scotch, and... a bag of frozen corn. Both of them were helping to block Tarin's mug from his vision.

As electrons struggled to find their correct paths through his reset brain, Rupert instinctively tried moving his arms and legs. The legs were okay. His feet--one in a dress shoe, the other in a stripped sock--scuffled against a cold tile floor a few inches before coming to a disjoint stop. His arms... that was more interesting. For some reason, moving his arms produced a tug on his shoulders.

A tug on his shoulders, because some genius with a bag of frozen corn on his head had thought it was a good idea to thread his arms through the chair back and tie them up with somethi--

--Why were his pants so loose?

There were a few curse words that came to mind. More than a few. All that came out when he twisted his mouth open to say them, though, was a low groan. Rupert blinked, and tried that again.

"...Scotch. Now."

Close enough.

It worked, Tarin was actually a little impressed that it had worked. Usually the stuff like that, the stuff that a person saw in movies, didn't work. This, however, worked like a charm.

Rupert's eyes took a long time to open and Tarin started to worry in spite of himself that he'd really hurt the guy. That hadn't been his intention, never mind the fact that he'd kneed him in the nuts and pistol whipped him. Tarin kept watching as Rupert seemed to experiment with his limbs, probably making sure everything worked. It did, until he got to the part where he tried to move his arms.

Rupert didn't do a whole lot, even once he'd figured out he was tied to a chair. Then he...asked for Scotch.

Tarin didn't have a clue what to do at that point. He'd expected a snide remark, fighting...something. Not a demand for liquor. Tarin's face throbbed under the corn that he was still holding there.

Tarin was torn, in order to give Rupert what he wanted, Tarin would have to get close enough to be within leg's reach. He didn't know if that was a risk he was willing to take. Not after the fist to the face and the tumble on the livingroom floor.

"Why should I take a chance coming that close..." Tarin said, scowling at the cup in his hands as he continued to hold the frozen corn over half his face. "Dammit..." he added a moment later, pushing up out of the chair and approaching the other man from the side of the chair, careful to skirt outside the reach of his legs.

"I swear to god Rupert if you kick me or anything else...I'm going to make the right side of your face match the left." That said, he approached, still from the side, ready to either react to an attack or give Rupert a drink. "Are you going to tell me why you're really here now? If you'd really meant to kill me, I'd be dead."

>> "Why should I take a chance coming that close... Dammit..."

Rupert just stared back at the man. Blearily. Waiting for the colors to separate enough so he could see where the corn pack ended and Tarin's face actually began. The man said that, sure. He said it, but the 'Dammit' told Rupert he'd already won.

A fuzzy time late, Tarin stood up, and listed to the side. Or the floor did, in any case. It... listed. Rupert blinked, shaking his head slightly as the man approached him from the side.

>> "I swear to god Rupert if you kick me or anything else...I'm going to make the right side of your face match the left. Are you going to tell me why you're really here now? If you'd really meant to kill me, I'd be dead."

If he hadn't been thinking about kicking the freak before, he certainly was now. Of course, that would sort of imply knowing exactly where the freak was to begin with. And coordinating a kick. Which, if Rupert's eyes were right, and the freak was off to the side, then it might take a bit of complex maneuvering to do. Like getting the chair to turn, first.

...Yeah.

"Did you manage to get more annoying?" Rupert asked, squinting up at the mutant. "Just give me the damn scotch."

He didn't know how to answer the man's question. And he was having trouble slurring together an appropriately ranting response in his head, right now. Therefore: he put the reply off.

Scotch first.

Scotch was always first.

Rupert wasn't coming around very well and for a moment Tarin wondered if he'd hit him a little too hard with the gun. The squinting, the blinking, it all indicated a condition slightly more serious than Tarin had been going for. That was a lie, Tarin decided a few moments later as he stood and looked at Rupert, at that moment he'd intended to hit Rupert every bit this hard. Then Rupert spoke and Tarin stopped feeling bad at all.

"I'm annoying." Tarin said, incredulous as he looked at Rupert. He'd crossed the short distance between them now and was standing out of kicking range. Now Rupert demanded Scotch. Feeling slightly chagrined by the other man's attitude, Tarin squinted back at him. The height advantage was nice for once.


"Number one. You're in absolutely no position to be making demands. You're probably lucky I couldn't figure out how to use that damn gun...because I probably would have shot you. What the hell kind of crazy mission are you on anyway? If you want to commit suicide there's way easier ways than walking up to a grizzly bear and punching it in the face...and I'm not talking about me. "

The spirit was still standing, seething across the room, "That son of a bitch...you're damn lucky you got him before he got you."

Tarin realized he was lecturing...lecturing Rupert and decided it probably would have been more productive just to talk to the floor. Rupert had just regained consciousness too, Tarin realized, he was probalby a little bleary eyed.

"You're such a bastard..." he concluded, then dropped his arm, holding the scotch so Rupert could drink.

The medium really was a pansy little ass, wasn't he? Rupert had walked through his door uninvited, put a gun in his face, insulted his girl, and punched him in the face. Now the freak had him tied to a chair. But order a drink of scotch, and here the freak came: hand delivered.

Pansy.

>> "You're such a bastard..."

Rupert took his damn drink. And he downed most of the glass, too, before coughing. That was better. Yeah. Now, he could rant.

"Number one," he parroted back, his hand forming into a pointing finger behind his back and tugging at the belts before he remembered. Ah. Right: restrained. "I'm clearly in a position to make demands, since your whiny little ass is answering them. Let's try this: untie me, and get me a damn cup of my own. Then we'll talk about my crazy mission and suicidal tendencies." Muddy hazel eyes glowered upwards, slightly more focused now, but still a little bleary around the edges.

Rupert drank...Rupert drank a lot. Tarin was slightly impressed, until the other man started coughing. Only a douche drank more than he could handle. It didn't do anything but make you look bad.

The scotch seemed to make Rupert feel at least a little better though. He was moving around and his head wasn't lolling like it had been a few moments ago. Tarin grew even more confident the other man was going to live after the shot to the head. That left Tarin convinced that he didn't have to be nearly as nice as he had been so far.

Then, Rupert started making more demands, and calling Tarin a pansy. "For some unfathomable reason, I was being nice. I won't make the same mistake again."

Rupert wanted Tarin to untie him and Tarin just laughed, and laughed, ignoring the pain it brought into his head. "I may be a pansy Rupert, but I'm not stupid. I'd rather not have to beat your ass again...at least until I know why you're really here. Besides, I still owe you one for threatening my wife." He said, brown eyes glaring down.

That word, that one little word changed the expression though, and Tarin's eyes grew wide. Lee had to be almost home by this point. Nearly dropping his scotch, Tarin ran the few steps to the phone and hurriedly dialed the number for the shop. No answer.

"Son of a bitch..." Tarin said, louder than he'd intended then made his way back to his chair and sat down, looking at the gun that he'd set on the table a few minutes before, then turning to Rupert.

"She's going to be home any second Rupert...and if you think I'm pissed...you'd better start explaining so I can stop her from killing your stupid ass." Tarin smiled at that as he reached and refilled his glass of scotch, "I'm not ashamed to admit it. She's hot when she's in a murderous rage. So if you're still considering suicide by mutant...her comes your chance."

>> "For some unfathomable reason, I was being nice. I won't make the same mistake again. ...I may be a pansy Rupert, but I'm not stupid. I'd rather not have to beat your ass again...at least until I know why you're really here. Besides, I still owe you one for threatening my wife."

To be honest, Rupert hadn't really expected the man to untie him. But it damn well would have been convenient. It wouldn't have surprised him to learn that the man was that stupid, either. He shifted his hands, mouth twisting as the belts dug into his wrists. The little cowboy wanna be knew how to tie a man tight, it seemed. With a belt. Had experience, medium?

And then the freak was running for the phone. The cops? Oh, Rupert hoped the little whiner called the cops. Let's see who they believed. Even with the evidence pointing to Rupert--the fact he'd come over here armed with a gun that had a rather illegal extension on its muzzle, for instance--we'd just see who they believed. That was the good thing about being a human in this city, and a former cop himself. It was amazing how quickly evidence could be made to disappear, if the right beat officers responded to the call.

>> "Son of a bitch..."

The man sat his ass back down, and looked at the gun. Didn't have enough in him to pick it up, though. Oh how little Rupert was surprised. The man hadn't reached whoever he was calling. Not the cops, then; 911 was pretty good at answering the phone when people rang, last he'd checked. So who...?

Maybe if he didn't have a concussion, the answer would have been obvious.

>> "She's going to be home any second Rupert...and if you think I'm pissed...you'd better start explaining so I can stop her from killing your stupid ass. I'm not ashamed to admit it. She's hot when she's in a murderous rage. So if you're still considering suicide by mutant...here comes your chance."

Rupert let out a short laugh, crossing one foot over a knee. The foot with the stripped sock, to be specific. "Right. Oh, I'm scared of her, Tarin. Just look at me trembling in my belt straps. And sure, let's have a little heart-to-heart before she gets here. That sounds like a great idea." He leaned forward as far as the belts let him, with a smile plastered on his lips like a true pal. "I'll start. 'Why Tarin, nice day, isn't it? So, how many people have you killed since the last time I pistol whipped your thick skull?'"

Rupert cocked his head to the side. So serious. "Is that a mutation?" He asked. "The thick skull, I mean. Did any of those women you killed try and knock you out? Did they find out about you and your thick skull, right before you started cutting them? Or was it more towards the middle? Were their hands free the whole time, or did you tie them up?"

He gave a jerk at his own bindings, and a oh-you-handsome-devil smile. "You're a real pro at this, Tarin. Is this how Lee likes it?"

Go ahead, Tarin, pick up the damn gun. It was right next to you. But the medium really was a little pansy, wasn't he?

Rupert had been quiet while he moved, quiet when he sat down, and quiet when he explained that Lee would be home soon. Tarin should have known it wouldn’t last long. Rupert spoke, and as the words flowed, Tarin questioned the wisdom of not gagging the man when he’d tied him to the chair and made a mental note for next time. The fact that he didn’t even notice he’d built in a ‘next time’ said something about the situation, but Tarin was way more focused on the words than any of the thoughts running through his head. Rupert wasn’t scared of Lee? Well, he obviously hadn’t seen her angry enough to have a healthy dose of fear, then.

>>'Why Tarin, nice day, isn't it? So, how many people have you killed since the last time I pistol whipped your thick skull?'"

Tarin’s teeth clenched, “It wasn’t me….” he said through them, deciding that even though he was tied to a chair, Rupert was still trying to provoke him. Tarin decided to let him and consequences be damned. Rupert went on though and the mental picture and partial memories his words provoked made Tarin’s face go as white as one of the spirits he was so used to seeing, “I…I…yeah...” he said, looking up and meeting Rupert’s eyes, the personal torment shining through unbidden and honest. “Two got away, too.” He said, the muscle in his jaw that ticked when he was angry beating a furious temple in his cheek as the torment and guilt gave way to his anger at the entire situation.

>>"Is that a mutation? The thick skull, I mean. Did any of those women you killed try and knock you out? Did they find out about you and your thick skull, right before you started cutting them? Or was it more towards the middle? Were their hands free the whole time, or did you tie them up?"

Conflicting emotions were a bitch, and as Rupert spoke Tarin’s stomach rolled at the mental image that he painted, the mental image that was probably at least a partial truth.

He was up out of the chair and moving before he really knew what was happening. Tarin reached the other man and leaned close, gripping him by the front of his shirt and practically yelling in his face, “I gave you the chance! Two chances! To put a bullet in my head and make sure that it never happened again. You’re the one who turned them down. Both of them. From what I know from that poor, sick bastard you did manage to pull the trigger on, if you really thought I’d done those things. I’d be staining the rug in my entryway instead of standing here and chatting with you.”

Tarin realized he’d lost his cool and loosened his grip on Rupert’s shirt, his voice getting soft as he looked away from the other man, “You don’t know shit Rupert. You don’t know how many times since that night I’ve wished you’d done it. I never could do it myself, and for that brief few minutes I thought maybe you were going to end all this.”

Tarin wasn’t yelling now. He wasn’t even holding onto Rupert, “Now it’s too late. I really don’t want to die anymore. You missed your chances” Tarin said, emphasizing the plural and getting ready to walk away.

Then Rupert had to take it too far…again. Before he even thought about it, Tarin’s fist came around again, not quite as hard, this time and he had he courtesy to throw a left. The sound it made when it connected with Rupert’s face was satisfying. “I told you to stop talking about my wife.” He said, rubbing his knuckles. So satisfied, in fact that Tarin didn’t even hear the front door open for the second time that night.

OOC – I’m assuming that since Rupert is tied to a chair he didn’t get a chance to dodge that one. The bitch slap felt out of place after everything else…so I went with a simple left hook. It wasn’t too hard.

Gabe had left the shop, Lee could only assume heading to the mansion like she had suggested, since she had told him what Sam had told her about there being room for him to stay there.

Lee had followed suit and left the shop not long after Gabe had; she was eager for the dinner that Tarin was cooking, had been since she had found out he was planning it, and had decided that she had given him enough time by this point.

So out of the shop she went, locking up behind her, and down the street. It didn't take long, it never really did. They had been lucky to find such a good apartment so close to the shop. In the building and up the stairs she went, and Lee could smell cooking already. But as she got closer to hers and Tarin's apartment, Lee realized it smelled wrong. She had burned enough food over the years to know what burning smelled like.

As she opened the door, Lee was greeted with the burning smell even stronger than she had been in the hallway. Why was Tarin burning her dinner?

And then she heard Tarin's voice, and the slight frown on her face turned into full on worry. “I told you to stop talking about my wife.” What the hell was going on in her home now?

"Tarin?" Lee called into the apartment as she shut the door behind her, taking her coat off and dropping it and her purse as she made her way further into the apartment. "What's going-

"Rupert?" Lee's original question was cut short as she stepped into the kitchen to see Rupert sitting there, Tarin standing nearby rubbing his knuckles. And a gun on the kitchen table. Lee's eyes widened and her eyes darted back between the two men again. "What the hell is going on here?"

((ooc: Totally fine, Tarin. )

Awww. Personal torment shining through like the purity of the man's little soul as he spoke of his tortured half-memories in splintered sentences. Well wasn't he just a lovable little murderer? That's probably what Lee liked about him--at the end of the latest serial killing, she could take him into bed and hug him and tell him that everything was going to be all right; that it wasn't his fault.

Yeah, right.

You know what else a gun was good for? Putting it against your own damn thick skull and pulling the trigger. If Tarin was as self-loathing and repentant as his whining made him seem, then there it was: the solution to all his problems. The way to show the world he really was sorry, and he really didn't want to do it again: it was sitting there on the kitchen table, safety already off.

This is what Rupert was glowering about as the man ranted right on back at him.

>> “I gave you the chance! Two chances! To put a bullet in my head and make sure that it never happened again. You’re the one who turned them down. Both of them. From what I know from that poor, sick bastard you did manage to pull the trigger on, if you really thought I’d done those things. I’d be staining the rug in my entryway instead of standing here and chatting with you.”

"Ever thought of cleaning up your own mess, Tarin? Why the hell should I have to be the one to put you down?" Never mind the fact he'd come here to do that. That wasn't the point now. The point was... was...

...Screw the point. Even Tarin's face annoyed him, never mind that grip on his shirt.

>> “You don’t know shit Rupert. You don’t know how many times since that night I’ve wished you’d done it. I never could do it myself, and for that brief few minutes I thought maybe you were going to end all this. ...Now it’s too late. I really don’t want to die anymore. You missed your chances.”

Awww, was the little freak all worn out from his big display of angst? Maybe he should--

Rupert felt his head snap back against the top of the chair. It took an extra moment for the pain from the actual punch--and the sound of it--to process in his head. Blame it on the near-braining, but Tarin's sucker punch left his head cotton-wrapped again, even if the man had held back.

>> “I told you to stop talking about my wife.”

He grumbled something incoherent, and none too pleasant. It probably wasn't suitable for younger audiences.

>> "Tarin? What's going- Rupert? What the hell is going on here?"

He blinked at the new blur in his vision. Slowly, it cleared into Lee. Lee. Well, this was just a wholesome event for the whole family, wasn't it? Rupert moved to give a friendly wave at her, but the belts effectively vetoed that idea. His hand ended up wiggling behind the chair.

"Me an' your husband are about to have illicit shex." Rupert slurred. "What's the hell it looks likes goin' on here?" Again: blame it on the concussion. And since we're blaming it on the concussion, anything that came out of his mouth until his head cleared was Tarin's own damn fault. Way to remove Rupert's last trace of a censor, medium.

Lee was home. Tarin just stared at her for a moment, the slightly smug smile fading from his face as he rubbed his knuckles. Only then, did Tarin look around. There was actually smoke coming from the kitchen, the enchiladas had burnt, the living room was in disarray, the area rug and couch akimbo and Rupert’s shoe lay in the middle of the floor. Rupert himself was tied to a chair, head lolling a bit and blood trickling down his left temple. Tarin knew he was a mess as well, his carefully tucked in shirt was half out, dotted with some of Rupert's blood, his hat was nowhere to be seen and it was getting more and more difficult to see out of the eye Rupert had hit him in. “Lee…” Tarin said, stammering slightly. Then Rupert spoke. Tarin rolled his eyes, “You shut your mouth.” He said, turning and jabbing a finger in Rupert’s direction, “Running it has done you a lot of good so far. In fact…why don’t you just quietly slip into a coma or something? Haven’t I knocked you in the head enough?”


Tarin turned back to Lee, “This…” he said, gesturing around them, “Is unfortunately…exactly what it looks like.” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair, “This one…” he said, gesturing over his shoulder at Rupert, “Showed up with that…” he added, pointing at the gun, “Apparently ready to correct a mistake he feels he never should have made. I disagreed and we fought. I hit him in the head. Three times in fact, once with the gun.”

He was worried how Lee would react, he’d seen her temper in full force before, and Rupert was in no condition to handle any more blunt trauma to the head. That said, he manoeuvred himself between Lee and Rupert. “Obviously, I’ve neutralized the situation…and now we just need to figure out what the hell to do with him. Why don’t you go shut off the oven before we set the place on fire…then come back and we’ll talk some more?”

Lee blinked when she heard Rupert's slurred words, his answer to her question about what was going on. Twice. Blinked three times. They were going to do what now??

Tarin didn't seem overly impressed by Rupert's answer either, and started snapping at the other man. Lee blinked for a fourth time. What the hell had happened here, what had changed before she had gotten home? Lee stood there, tensed and worried, as she looked between the two men, one her husband and the other tied to a chair. Tarin had always been the one telling Lee that Rupert was a decent man, that they could trust him, even when Lee hadn't believed a word of it. What had changed to cause Tarin to-

Then Tarin explained exactly what had changed, cutting Lee's thought off mid way through. Lee's eyes shot to Rupert, anger burning there. He had done what? Brought a gun into her house to use it on Tarin...

"You ******* hypocrite," Lee snarled, not even realizing she was taking a couple slow steps toward the restrained man until Tarin was there, standing in her way. "You don't, you can't do it when you have every legal right to, when we're telling you to do it, so instead you come now to kill us in cold blood? How can you pretend, even in your own mind, that you're better than us?"

Tarin was speaking again, blocking her direct path to Rupert, and Lee blinked up at him. Ok, maybe he did have a point. It really didn't look like Rupert was much of a threat right then, not with how he was tied to the chair and how his head kept lolling this way and that. And the burning smell from the oven was getting stronger. On top of everything else, Rupert had ruined a perfectly good meal.

"Fine," Lee said. "Hypocrite," Lee then snapped, her eyes now on Rupert before she moved past the two men, further into the kitchen, to turn off the oven before their apartment burned down to top off the night.

>> “You shut your mouth. Running it has done you a lot of good so far. In fact…why don’t you just quietly slip into a coma or something? Haven’t I knocked you in the head enough?”

"Yeah, probably," Rupert blearily agreed, with a blink.

Tarin proceeded to explain, in incomplete sentences, what had occurred. He used a lot of hand motions. Those helped Rupert follow along; his gaze unconsciously followed the motions. Was the man still holding his frozen corn? Yeah, yeah Rupert was pretty sure he was. That was manly.

>> "You ******* hypocrite."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Rupert said simply, as Lee's words barreled over him. She seemed closer now that she had been. And the scotch bottle, somehow, seemed farther. Neither of those things seemed good. And what the hell was Tarin doing stepping protectively in front of him? "Don't need your help, medium," he glowered on principle.

>> "You don't, you can't do it when you have every legal right to, when we're telling you to do it, so instead you come now to kill us in cold blood? How can you pretend, even in your own mind, that you're better than us?"

"I'm not better than you," Rupert growled back. "That's why you've got to die. Evolution... evolution has got to stop. **** Darwin." **** Darwin, indeed. He had a gun. Or... he had a gun. Where was his gun, now? Right. The table.

>> "Fine. Hypocrite."

"What does that even mean?" Rupert couldn't help but ask. "Everyone always says that. What does that mean? They say it when I'm helping mutants, they say it when I'm hunting mutants, they say it when I'm a cop, they say it when I'm working in a coffee shop. What the hell is a hypocrite?" It was something he'd never actually been clear on, and the head trauma wasn't helping.

Scotch. He needed that scotch. His gaze rolled back towards it. "Need a refill over here, medium." He ordered.

Rupert was dumb, but he wasn’t quite stupid, Tarin decided as the other man agreed that he’d probably been hit in the head enough for one day. Lee was mad though, really mad, just like Tarin thought she would be and as he stepped between her and Rupert, he heard Lee curse and Rupert exclaim that he didn’t need any help. Maybe he was stupid after all. Lee backed down though, but only after a tirade of nearly epic proportions. Part of Tarin wanted to point out that he’d already said some of the things Lee was covering, the other just wanted to watch. Lee was impressive when she was angry.

As Lee walked away, Rupert just had to keep voicing his opinion. Tarin wondered if Darwin was rolling over in his grave with Rupert’s harsh words. Somehow, Tarin doubted it. Tarin shook his head and turned back as Lee left the room to take care of the burnt enchiladas. “Rupert.” Tarin said, “Evolution isn’t going to stop. But you know that.”

Then, Rupert was talking again, musing in what could only be explained as confusion over the word hypocrite. Tarin frowned, feeling slight empathy towards the other man in spite of himself. “We’re all hypocrites Rupert,” He said, halfway to himself, then moved towards the table and picked up the gun.

Tarin didn’t have a clue how to actually use it, but after a few moments of fumbling he managed to disengage the part that held the bullets from the rest of the gun. Moving to the window that faced the alleyway behind their building, Tarin emptied the bullets out into the street and made his way back to Rupert, putting the gun back together as he walked.

“I still don't think either of us was ever going to use that tonight, but now I’ve eliminated even the temptation.” Tarin said, putting the gun back on the table and fixing Rupert with a no bullshit look. “Now, about the Scotch.” He said, “I don’t want to sit here and spoon feed your stupid ass all night.”

Tarin sighed, not quite sure why he was about to offer what he was about to offer. “Now, if I unhook you, can you give me your word that you’re going to stop being violent. I’ll tolerate your attitude towards me, but the second you lift a hand to Lee in violence, I swear to god Rupert I will kill you without a second thought. Don’t think I couldn’t either. We need to talk, and I’d rather do it man to man than like this.”

Tarin gave the other man a few moments to consider this, looking at him levelly and wondering how Lee was faring with the enchiladas. Tarin mourned for the enchiladas, in fact, as he waited for Rupert to decide if he could behave himself, Tarin remembered what this night was supposed to have been and almost hit Rupert again. But he didn't, and he waited, congratulating himself on his patience.

Tarin had stepped between her and Rupert when she had started advancing on the restrained man. Something neither she, nor Rupert it seemed, had failed to notice. Though Rupert did not seem overly impressed by Tarin's movement.

And then Rupert went on to tell her that he wasn't better than her and Tarin, and that was why they apparently had to die. All Lee could do for a few moments was blink at Rupert. Hadn't pretty much everything she had heard come out of his mouth before this night pretty much said that he believed he, and humans, were better than mutants, at least morally if not genetically? And now he was doing a complete 180, saying that he was the worse one now.

That was why Lee was constantly calling Rupert a hypocrite; because one time he'd say one thing, then another time he'd say the opposite. Sometimes, that would happen in the same sentence, even.

But Lee wasn't going to argue with Rupert any more, not about this. She was liable to hit him if they kept it up, and it didn't look like Rupert would be able to handle many more hits that night. So instead, Lee just left, making her way into the kitchen.

Reaching the stove, Lee turned the oven off, grabbed the oven mitts, then opened the door. And proceeded to cough as she waved the smoke away before pulling the pan out and dumping it in the sink. This was how her cooking turned out, which is why Lee didn't cook very often. Not Tarin's cooking. Tarin's cooking was good, which was why it was so nice when he actually did cook. And now, thanks to Rupert, it was ruined.

Those thoughts definitely did not help Lee's mood as she returned to where the two men were. Just in time to hear Tarin's question to Rupert about whether he'd behave if untied.

"No!" Lee exclaimed, marching over, close to them, close to Tarin, as she gave him a hard look. "That's going too damn far, Tarin. This isn't the time to sit and chat over Scotch. He came to kill us, Tarin!"