The Basement III

Harlowe quirked a brow as she listened to Marion's tale, cool and quiet as he made his case for supernatural activity.

As it stood, there really wasn't any.

"Right now, what you're suggesting ain't necessarily somethin' to be attributed to a creature of some sort," she stated blandly. "Y'might think it does, 'cause Lord knows an FBI agent could never miss a few minutes in an intense situation. That isn't why ya'll have shrinks or anythin'."

It was damned difficult for Harlowe to keep the skepticism out of her voice, but something about his holier than thou attitude rankled her the wrong way. "What y'described sounds more like PTSD," she remarked. "Could be a monster, sure. But nothin' you're describin' sounds like it wouldn't be PTSD either. It can hit anyone, buddy. Regardless of how fucking well-trained they think they are."

Mike slugged some of his coffee back and sighed at the FBI Agent and the bragging. He'd met guys like that on the track, too. Insisted that because they were in peak physical condition, they couldn't get sick, or whatever. It was as reckless.

"Guy, it's not weak or something to black out after a gunfight. I blacked out the entire walk home the first time I saw a monster. Still have nightmares. It happens. If you're going to measure your dick over how badass you FBI Agents are, you're probably just going to flip out faster."

Daysha didn't really flinch at the story, Harlowe was right and so was Michael. But sometimes there were many 'right' answers.

The detective's hand moved on the table to make a point. "Alright, say it wasn't PTSD. Then say it wasn't just that you blacked out after a gunfight." Her other hand moved on the table making a circle. "What do you think it was?"

"We're all in the vigil. And let me tell you, training goes right out the window with this shit whether it's FBI agent, Cop or whatever your vocation." One hand went to her temple and she rubbed it a moment and flanked it to continue. "Now, do you know what you may have been dealing with before the blackout? Or was it all business as usual?" Whatever that may be...

Becoming frustrated at their disbelief at his story, the FBI agent strides out of the room. The door slams shut behind him.

Harlowe arched a brow. "Well, on that note, I'm headin' out." She glanced down at her watch. "He'll probably be closin' up soon anyway; and I need my beauty sleep," she snorted.

"See y'later," she gave a generic wave and pulled open the door to head upstairs.

Mike nodded glumly, raising his coffee cup.

"Some people ain't ever gonna listen," the huge Athlete sighed. "I'll see you around, Daysha."