[b]Lynn[/b]

Lynn pulled a spoon out of the sudsy water of the dishwashing sink of [i]El Vaquero[/i]. It glowed red in her bare hands. She threw it in the rack with the others, then resumed scrubbing. In the front of house, traditional mariachi music flowed from the speakers. In the back, rap reigned supreme.

Dinners were always busy, and Lynn was grateful for that - she was trying her absolute hardest to stay as busy as possible these last few days. Keaton had told her about the meeting after she left, and it had left Lynn with questions, questions that spun in her head and birthed more questions, like drinking saltwater when you were lost at sea. The faceless men were anywhere, in Lynn's mind, lurking in the shadows, right behind her as she showered, as she washed dishes, as she slept. Well, as she tried to sleep. Lynn had not found it easy to rest lately. There were things waiting for her. The noose was growing tighter around their necks, and Lynn's feet were starting to twitch. [i]They don't know yet,[/i] Lynn thought. [i]The ghostfuckers don't know what we know. Not yet. If they did, we'd be dead.[/i]

She put a plate on the rack. When was the last time she'd slept a full night? Her mind struggled to remember as the music blared and the angry shouting matches of line cooks and waiters flared up. Lynn kept scrubbing. Scrubbing was simple. For a few hours, Lynn could rack up some cash and not think.

[i]"Despacia,"[/i] Ignacio shouted at her, dropping a pile of dishes beside her.

[i]"Tírate a tu mama,"[/i] Lynn shouted back, shoving them into the scalding water. Tonight was Homecoming. What a fucking joke. She and Keaton were fairly confident nothing would go down tonight, in terms of explosions, or terrorist attacks, or [i]four dead, gone, Salamandra's skull against the wall[/i] or anything else. Lynn was grateful for that, but the alternative irked her almost as much. Someone would want to invite her to something, she was sure - potentially Archie, the thought of whom still made her stomach twist. [i]He's a fucking fool,[/i] Lynn thought, scraping a plate clean. [i]Big, dumb puppy. Why did he grab me? Any other woman would've tased her ass or pepper sprayed him. Why would you grab me from behind? Damn you.[/i] Lynn had resolved to bury him. Hanging around him was only going to get her killed by the lizard or get someone else hurt. It happened every time. But there was something more that twisted at her, gnawed along with the leech-like questions that latched on and wouldn't let go. Something like flowers. Something like coming after her when she stormed off. [i]Why'd he follow me? And why'd he grab me?[/i]

Lynn shook her head and kept working. She certainly wasn't going to any Homecoming dance. No one had asked her, which was whatever. She didn't talk to enough people to really be a candidate. How did that even happen, anyway? Lynn had stopped going to school before dances happened back on earth. What was even the point of one? Beyond that, there was something about dresses and makeup and pictures that made Lynn squirm in her skin. It made her think of sisters. [i]Lucy's kid would be three or four by now. What if it was a para. That'd be fucking rich.[/i]

"Cordelia Lynn Holmes." Lynn stopped cold, steam pouring off her skin. She turned and looked at the bag next to her, staring down at it. Lynn turned off the water and knelt down. The voice, female and mechanical, repeated itself.

"What the fuck do you want?" Lynn asked. She could've sworn she turned it off. She...she could've sworn she did. Lynn could remember turning it off. Had she? Hadn't she? Lynn was forgetting things lately. Her grades were slipping. [i]Who gives a shit,[/i] Lynn told herself. [i]You'll be dead by Christmas.[/i] Lynn opened the bag after wiping her hands dry on her apron, which draped down to her ankles despite being the smallest size they had. She unzipped her bag and pulled out her phone, turned on.

Cara paused for a moment in agitation. "I have important news for you, from back home."

Lynn stared. "Is this some kind of game?"

"I only give unsolicited alerts in the event of disasters, emergencies, or personal tragedies. Your case worker requested that you be informed that your foster father, Gary Wendell Rogers, has passed away."

Lynn stared down at the phone, dumbstruck. "...what? Are you fucking with me, Carol?"

If it were possible for a machine to bristle, perhaps Cara would've. "No, Miss Holmes. He passed away three days ago."

"How?" Lynn asked, feeling something like a big warm cloud rising up inside her, swirling up into her face and pulling at her cheeks into a big wide grin. "Oh, Carrie, you gotta tell me how. C'mon."

"...you may find the circumstances of his demise traumatic, or - "

"Oh like I can't google the obituary anyway, just save me the hassle."

"...he was violently stabbed in prison by the other inmates. Initial reports indicate it was a crude form of justice meted out by the others. I am sorry for your loss."

"I'm not! Thanks, bitch!" Lynn turned the phone off and threw it back in her bag, turning back to the sink. Lynn giggled. She started to full-on laugh. "Holy shit," Lynn said, her eyes watering as she keeled over the sink. "Oh holy shit, this is like Christmas come fucking early." Lynn, cackling, took her shift break, laughing too hard to light a cigarette out by the dumpsters behind the restaurant. "Oh holy shit, I'd forgotten he was even in there," Lynn wheezed. [i]If Archie thought his hand got burned he should've seen that fucker's. Hah![/i] Lynn's break ran five minutes over. [i]I will buy Cara a drink or set her up with a nice lamp or USB stick or something for this. Oh Christ this is hilarious.[/i]

Lynn finished her shift as inefficiently as possible before pulling aside Ignacio. She handed him a roll of cash and he returned with two full bottles of tequila, which Lynn dutifully shoved into her bag, throwing her hoodie back on. He eyed them, and then Lynn, thin and short, a hesitant look creeping over his face.

[i]"¿Cuantos años tienes, chiquíta?"[/i]

Lynn grinned. [i]"Demasiado para Gary!"[/i]

Ignacio cocked his head in confusion, but Lynn did not particularly care if anyone else got the joke. She was still reeling from the punchline. Lynn left the restaurant out back, pulling out her phone and half expecting Cara to say something bitchy. For once, the thoughts of the Promise and Salamandra and Che and everything were slipping from her mind. She was weary from work and riding the high of hearing about a good old-fashioned ass-kicking. Lynn scrolled the wheel down to Keaton's number and punched out a quick text.

"What's the fucking move? I've got us hooked up. Tonight we are CELEBRATING." 

Lynn figured she'd pass the word along to Eli if she wanted. She'd hung with Eli a few times, mostly in Keaton's presence. Was Eli cool? Debatable. Lynn still didn't trust Keaton, but, you know, maybe she [i]relied[/i] on her somewhat, or sometimes [i]enjoyed[/i] being around her, but she didn't [i]trust[/i] her, because trusting someone was how you got fucked over. It was just that when Lynn thought of who she wanted to hang with tonight, Keaton happened to be the first, but that was solely because they had to keep up pretenses if Ebony and Ivory were stalking them, or the Promise wanted to know why they kept meeting up. Nothing more. And Eli was just like, another alibi.They were both...Lynn didn't know. They were older, and...sometimes Lynn thought about them and it was like thinking about the dresses and everyone she'd passed on the way here, tall and long-legged, faces contoured like fucking marble sculptures, with her smoking a cigarette and pulling back her flickering hair in a lazy band. But those times seemed fewer and further between. Especially tonight. Tonight, Lynn was getting fucking annihilated.

Lynn grinned - wider. She hadn't stopped grinning in an hour. It was a crime to not share good liquor. Tonight they were going to pour out a whole ass handle. If Arianna showed up, Lynn would buy her a round. She pulled her phone back out and punched out, "You know what, bring Eli." Lynn would pour a shot for anyone who wanted one tonight. Fish, Denim, Breakfast Club, maybe even that Paw Patrol ass cop. 

[i]And Archie? Or Natalie?[/i]

Lynn hesitated, a brief stutter-step in her bouncy walk back to her dorm. She...she wasn't sure about that. But it didn't matter. Fuck it. She earned this.