Conversations with Lorelei
Chapter 5- The Last Cigarette
Author's note: Well, it's lucky for me that people don't read this for all the death stories, because this chapter doesn't exactly have one. This is more about Vincent himself, which naturally includes a bit of Lucrecia-obsession, but yeah. This isn't the usual way my stories are written.
Also, I'd like to offer a bit of a warning. This chapter contains some fairly serious violence, and while I assume that most of those reading are probably angst-loving Vincent fans who can read brutal passages and come out saying "That was beautiful!", I understand that some people may not want to read all the gory details. If you're one of those, please send me an e-mail, and I'll get you a synopsis of this chapter before the next one comes out, so you'll know what happened.
My deepest thanks to all those who have provided me with feedback; I apologize once more for the wait, but moving home for the summer left me without internet for a good long time. I am also in the process of mourning my old copy of FF7. It seems that over five hundred hours of gameplay, over the years, have simply worn it out.
At any rate, thank you again, and please enjoy the story.
Energetic though she generally was, it was plain to see that Lorelei Calldrick was having an exceptionally good day. It seemed distinctly out-of-place to the townspeople that she was practically skipping toward the Shinra Mansion. What could make the girl so chipper with her brother --and thus her caretaker and livelihood-- gone forever? Her matted ponytail was a testament to the fact that she wasn't accustomed to taking care of herself, and according to the grocer, her supply of food would by now be all but exhausted.
Yet she seemed perfectly content, no bit of grief visible in her expression. So, too, was her voice cheery as ever whenever she turned down families' offers to take her in until something more official could be arranged. Added to the daily trips she made to the mansion and the ever-present pistol at her belt, rumors were flying at full speed, each wilder than the last. Most assumed that, at the very least, she had gone quite mad, as they could see few other explanations for entering the haunted mansion once, much less day after day.
As she pushed aside the creaky iron gate and made her way to the door, the girl was whistling a jaunty tune; she felt better than she had since the day she first shouldered open that difficult gate. She wasn't hungry, for once, and her muscles seemed to greatly appreciate their day off from training. Moreover, it was raining, the day cold enough that it offered the possibility of turning to snow, and she thought it was high time something covered the brown October grass.
Her whistling ceased in an instant when she opened the door, startled by the sight of Vincent standing just a pace away from the threshold.
"…do you not own a jacket?" he asked, no bit of annoyance or concern finding its way into his tone.
"Um…hi," Lorelei blinked, "I get the feeling I've missed something."
"Indeed you have…there are reports of a strange creature near the ruins of the old Mako reactor…"
"Mako?" Lorelei asked, wide-eyed, "Oh, yeah. That old weird energy stuff we had before going back to coal and all that. But, ah, two questions."
"I know because I do own a radio," he matter-of-factly explained, "This matter is relevant to our present conversation because we are going to find the creature and, if necessary, kill it… I cannot say how long this may take; possibly several days…I trust you have no pressing engagements?"
"Oh, sure, just assume I have no life," she griped, rolling her eyes.
"…well?" he calmly inquired.
"Fine, fine, you're right; I socialize about as much as you do. You don't have to rub it in."
"Check the closets for a coat," he told her simply, "I have already packed our supplies."
The black-haired man's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly when the girl returned to the foyer several minutes later, a slim-fitting coat of mauve suede over her baggy t-shirt.
"…That is hardly practical…" he said, the chill in his voice making the girl take a few awkward steps backward.
"A-alright," she stammered, turning away just as quickly as she could, "I'll go find something else."
She half-sprinted back into another room, and looked to him timidly when she returned, holding up a cobalt-blue bomber jacket with a few black splotches staining the sleeves.
"…much more fitting…" he murmured, his composure regained.
Lorelei shrugged into the coat, too relieved to even notice how baggy it was on her scrawny frame. Nor did she offer a single complaint as Vincent handed her a pack containing her share of the gear. She simply walked along behind him, silently, as he led her through a dusty corridor, and out the side door at the end of it. In fact, it was not until the town was but a tiny dot behind and below them that she quite dared to speak.
"So…is this black stuff from axle grease? It sorta smells like it, though I guess it's dumb of me to ask since you prolly haven't memorized every single object in the mansion."
"It is…" he replied, "…and I have."
"…wow."
"I had the time," he told her with the slightest bit of a shrug.
"So do I get a story?" she asked, guessing that a change of subject was in order.
"…I do not know that the next tale is one to be told on the road…"
"Okay, then; maybe if we stop for the night?"
"You will have another task, then…for now, stay on your guar-"
"Ack!" the girl exclaimed, turning quickly on her heel as she felt sharp talons rake across her back, her pistol in her hands in the space of a few moments.
It was too late, of course, for Vincent had already taken the creature-- a brightly-colored bird whose general shape would have better suited a jet-- down with a single shot.
"Point taken," she relented, "But I still say that wasn't really fair."
"And what brings you to that conclusion, Miss Calldrick?"
"You're using that huge monster of a rifle," she said, sounding very proud of herself for making such an astute observation, "And I've just got this little pistol."
"In my experience…" he replied, brushing a few flakes of the snow that began to fall off of his shoulder, "A rifle bullet through the heart has rather the same effect as a pistol bullet through the heart, though the latter tends to be a bit cleaner. The trick is simply being swift and skilled enough to get either bullet there…"
"…you really scare me sometimes, you know that?"
"If you truly wish it, I'll let you try a larger weapon when we return…The recoil will, of course, be greater as well…"
"Okay, okay! Bluff called. Touché. I lose. -Um…what are you doing?"
Of all the scenes Lorelei had expected to see after the short tiff with the bird, Vincent crouching beside the carcass with a knife in hand was one that wasn't on the list. The sniper seemed calm as ever, cutting under the dead creature's skull and, inexplicably, amid the gore, pulling out a few little balls of gold.
"Hold out your hand," he tranquilly ordered.
"Do I…have to?" the girl asked, though she did as he said, already knowing the answer. She winced and bit her lip at the feel of the warm, moist material around the gold as he dropped one of the balls into her hand, her disgust increasingly obvious.
"Most animals…" he told her, taking up a black cloth and cleaning the gold he held before handing it to her, "Do not act so boldly around humans… Those who do generally carry these bits of wealth inside their brains. I am no scientist…but I would guess that these shining intruders, whatever brings them into the creature's body, drive it mad…and so it is that travelers of unique nature support their ventures, at times…To live, in this world, we often must profit from madness…"
"I-It's…" Lorelei stammered, looking to the little ball of gold and red and grey in one hand, and the dirtied cloth in the other.
"Disgusting?" he suggested evenly, drawing a timid little nod from her.
"A moment ago…" the black-haired man continued, "You, more or less, berated me for stealing your kill…You would slay this creature, but cringe at the sight of its blood?"
"Well…yeah…" the girl murmured, her voice weak and broken.
"Until no, you have hunted only ghosts, spectral fears that fade away to nothing once conquered…but the weapon at your belt was made to steal blood and breath from the living. You are a bit above a child, Miss Calldrick, and there are hard truths that you must know…tales alone are not sufficient in revealing the nature of this world…you must claim experience, as well. You will be forced, in your lifetime, to do many things you find tedious, heartbreaking, and even appalling…You cannot move through your days and arrive at your end with the pure heart and soul of childhood…in the end, this world will only be capable of judging you by what is left…clean the gold."
Swallowing hard and clenching her teeth, she did as he asked, and then held the soiled cloth out at arm's length, the newly-cleaned gold still resting on her other hand's palm.
Vincent gave her a nod, folding the cloth into fourths and tucking it away inside his crimson coat.
"Put tem in your pocket…" he instructed, dropping the other bits of gold into her hand. It took the girl several moments to realize what he meant, by which time he had already raised a hand to silently dismiss her protests.
Much to Lorelei's chagrin, Vincent didn't let it end there. He made certain, after healing her initial wounds, that she made the next kill, and before long placed a knife in her grasp, telling her to retrieve the gold of a kill herself. Her protests that he had never trusted her with a blade before only drew a simple reiteration of the command, though he offered no rebuke when it took her well over ten minutes to finish.
The remainder of the day passed largely without event, and by sunset, Vincent was instructing her on how to locate a suitable camping spot. When they finally sat on opposite sides of the small fire he had taught her to build, any vague memory of being well-rested seemed entirely unbelievable to the girl. Also greatly to her surprise was the fact that, despite having cut through the brains of several newly-killed creatures that day, her stomach didn't protest when Vincent handed her a towel dipped in hot water, telling her to clean her hands for dinner.
"Turn around," he said evenly, passing her a packet of travel rations, and the girl obeyed, once more, though her curiosity did its best to try to persuade her to take the slightest glance over her shoulder. She managed to resist only by reminding herself just how frigid his glares could be, and that the last thing she needed was to faint and fall face-first into the campfire. Still, she had to do something, so she elected to ask a question.
"So…why aren't you going to tell me a story now?"
"You have a different task, tonight," he explained, his voice once more muffled by the high collar of his coat, "Turn back toward the fire and open your pack…"
More than a little confused, she did as he asked, her puzzlement only growing as she pulled out a thick, ancient-looking hardcover book.
" Fundamentals of Algebra and Geometry?" the girl inquired, "Um…"
"You expressed a desire to study at the Highwind Institute of Technology, and it would appear that you have had little formal schooling…If you wish to pass the entrance examinations, you would be was to start studying now."
Lorelei sighed, shaking her head, her expression for once downcast, though it was given a false glow by the firelight.
"I wanna go, sure," she told him, her tone uncharacteristically subdued, a trace of pain easy to note in it, "But it's not going to happen. Even if I got in, I couldn't afford tuition, so it's sort of a moot point."
Vincent looked at her over the fire until she would meet his gaze, and spoke as calmly as ever.
"The world…is not a kind place…" he murmured, "What we wish for…is seldom as it seems. But I have found that hard work and determination are quite often… 'rewarded'…with a proper set of circumstances to let us achieve our misguided dreams…Longer than long ago, I studied from that same book, seeking to meet the necessary standards for the career I meant to take on…and fate was cruel enough to let me succeed…"
"So what did you-"
"There is a notebook and pen in that pack, as well; I suggest you begin now…I expect you to complete the first two sections of problems before bed."
"But I don't know how to do this stuff!" she protested.
"If you did…" he smoothly murmured, "…I would not have told you to study it. Read the book and complete the problems."
The girl sighed and did as she asked, but she was certain that several decades had passed before she had finished the final problem and closed the book.
"Bring me your work…" he evenly commanded that very moment, as though he were able to hear the tiny thud of the closing book.
As she walked around the fire, Lorelei saw him take a smaller paperback from his own pack, as well as a pen with red ink. For several minutes, he checked her answers against those that seemed to be in the second book, until he handed her work back, half-full of cherry-colored checkmarks.
"Fix those marked as incorrect."
"Huh!" the girl demanded, "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"Think. Experiment."
"Why do I even have to do it?"
"If you aim a gun incorrectly during a fight and miss your shot, you do not simply give up or shoot in the exact same position again. You adapt and make adjustments until you make your mark…so adjust."
Grumbling, the girl did as she was told, and by the time she curled up to sleep in the corner of the tent, she had perfected every last one of the problems assigned.
She was quite surprised to find herself more exhausted by numbers on a page than a day of physical training alone.
The days seemed to stretch on and develop a stead pattern; Vincent awakened Lorelei at sunrise, the two ate a morning meal, and then they broke camp and set off, wandering among the mountains and caves. As they went, he taught her to track, to use terrain to her advantage, and to move less noisily than the awkward girl had thought herself capable of managing. So, too, did they begin to amass a great deal of the tiny golden balls that Lorelei no longer became queasy removing from their prey. After the last light of dusk had fled, they set up camp, and Lorelei took up her assigned lesson, corrected her mistakes, and went to sleep entirely exhausted.
It was not until the third day that they found a trace of anything significant; surprisingly, it was Lorelei who made the discovery. The girl had dropped one of the little golden balls, and it rolled away, leaving her to search for it in the underbrush. The growth was thick, and so she had to grope almost blindly, her brow furrowing in confusion when she felt something soft, smooth and cold. She pulled it out of the brambles to get a better look at it, unsure of what the clammy thing might be.
A scream of agony, revulsion, and fear rent the air, echoing up into the mountains. It was followed by the sound of racing footsteps crushing twigs and brambles, and in mere moments, Vincent arrived at the scene, gun readied, some little spark of emotion--whether it was anger, annoyance, or worry was difficult to tell-- in his scarlet eyes.
Before the girl was a hand that looked haphazardly torn from an unknown arm at the wrist, a tarnished silver ring with a dull-green stone on the index finger. Vincent looked to her just long enough to see the tears running down her cheeks, though he made no move to comfort her, even when she said her brother's name in a choked tone. He only stood, gun at the ready, his eyes narrowing, focusing on something far in the distance. He fired twice, before using the smoking end of the Death Penalty's barrel to give the weeping blonde girl a little prod on the shoulder.
"Get up," he told her evenly, coldly, "If, at any rate…you want revenge…"
"Why should I! I couldn't if I tried…I…If it could kill Ian…" she sobbed.
The gunman's flesh hand came down hard on the girl's cheek, though his voice was as even, as coldly commanding as ever.
"Rage before sorrow, Lorelei…You have the rest of your life to weep, and for the rest of your life you will, but little time to lash out with any effect. Judging by what you have told me…your brother was a miner…a simple worker. You are becoming a warrior. To kill with a bullet…is an easy thing. Moreover…I am uncertain of this creature's strength and whether I can defeat it alone, and while I do not fear death…my survival is in your best interest, and novice help is better than none at all…"
The girl stood, shocked, putting a hand to her bruised cheek. She was still trembling, still crying, but she bit her lip and drew her pistol, swallowing hard. She tried with all her might to steady herself, but those efforts were rendered futile the moment the beast came into view.
It moved far more gracefully than a thing that could easily swallow her whole had any right to, not seeming clumsy in the least as thousands of sticklike legs skittered along the ground, ferrying a body like that of a gigantic, tawny-furred centipede along. It was at least forty feet in length, its head resembling a rats, though it bore a snub-nose and teeth better suited to a crocodile.
It was all the girl could do to keep from being sick at the rancid smell of its breath as it opened its maw to give a rasping roar, and it helped not at all to think that its last meal might well have been her brother. She couldn't fathom how Vincent seemed unbothered by the stench, leveling his weapon and sending a bullet into its mouth. The creature snapped its jaws closed too quickly to be seen, the shot inexplicably bouncing off of its teeth without so much as nicking one.
"…a spell, Miss Calldrick…" he said all too calmly to his companion.
He turned to look at her only when several moments had passed without any response from the girl. The gunman said nothing, merely tugging momentarily on the high collar of his coat, at the cloth covering his nose and mouth.
It took only a moment for Lorelei to catch on, pulling up the collar of the bomber jacket she wore, the barrier weakening the creature's stench. Eyes closed, she clasped the pistol with both hands, bringing it up in front of her face, aligned with her nose, as though aiming straight up into the sky. It seemed easier, that way, to draw upon the words the shiny green sphere set into the gun was whispering to her, and she murmured them aloud, feeling a little tug somewhere behind her eyes as the already cold air took on a more distinct chill. She didn't let herself look until the chant was done, and she saw the creature lurch back, ice crystals suddenly spearing through its snout as though from the inside, and when it roared in agony some of the skin within its mouth had already turned black as though from frostbite.
Vincent wasted no time, using the moment that the creature was disoriented to strike, his bullet piercing one of its beady eyes. The entirety of the left half of the creature's body seemed to go numb, and it began to flail wildly, helplessly, its roars becoming more and more frantic. It seemed, for a moment, that the battle was one, that it was only a matter of finishing the beast off.
All at once, the creature lunged forward, and Lorelei raised her free arm in futile hope of fending it off. She felt its teeth tearing into skin and muscle, scraping bone and threatening to crush it, its hot breath stinging the wounds, making the ribbons of flesh feel as though they were already beginning to be digested. She felt the creature's body whip around, begin to wrap around her, squeezing, her joints beginning to pop…
It was too much. The monstrosity she was sure had devoured her brother was about to do the same to her, was killing her. The pain was unbearable, tears blurred her vision, a scream that seemed too far away to be hers split the air and turned into an almost bestial growl, choked though it was as the creature's powerful body began to constrict her chest. She saw her blood falling to the ground, and for a moment, she laughed madly, at how ironic it was that the first coat she had tried on would have shown the bloodstains just a bit less. She heard a distinct snap, and felt as though shattered glass had filled her lungs, doubtless the result of broken ribs. How long had it been since the creature first took hold of her? What was taking Vincent so long? Why wasn't he killing the beast, or healing her? How could he just stand by and watch this?
"You cold, heartless bastard!" she heard herself cry, feeling a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth, rage and grief mixing with agony.
Though Lorelei Calldrick was sure, in that moment, that she couldn't move, she felt the creature's hold weaken just slightly as she defiantly spat her own blood in the creature's good eye, and heard the shots as she raised the pistol, pressing the barrel right against the monster's brow and emptying it of ammunition faster than her finger should have been able to move the trigger, and she was laughing again, painfully, breathlessly laughing as she felt the creature go limp, as it fell away from her into a pile on the ground like an overgrown garden hose, laughing as she collapsed against it, laughing at the sight of her mangled arm, at the fact that she could see her own scratched bones.
She was still laughing when the world began to fade, as Vincent scooped her up and lifted her away from the dying creature. Her hearing lasted a moment longer than her sight, and she heard him faintly beginning to chant before all gave way to nothingness.
It was dark by the time she awakened, though firelight played against her face. Her left arm was numb from the shoulder down, and she only vaguely realized that something made from red, coarse cloth covered her like a blanket.
The face of the figure that sat beside her, looking down at her, was strange and startling at first. The man's features were at once angular and delicate, and she wondered, briefly, why the fact that his eyes were crimson brought her some comfort. His expression held the slightest, most subtle trace of something between concern and resignation. The thing that drew her gaze most, however, was a scar at the right side of his mouth, almost perfectly round and looking to be the result of some sort of burn.
"…Vincent?"
He simply nodded in reply, turning his gaze to the fire.
"How long was I out?" she asked groggily, raising her good arm to rub her eyes, not quite daring to try sitting up, yet.
"Ten hours…" he told her, evenly as ever, "…you should rest more…"
"I don't really feel like it," she said, trying to shrug, though she found her left arm wouldn't respond.
"…you will be able to use the arm again…" he told her matter-of-factly, "Just not yet, and you will have many scars…"
"Scars are fine," she murmured, shifting the blanket off of her to see that her left arm was wrapped tightly in bandages, "To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you could even get it to be the right shape again."
"Are you hungry…?"
"Nah…I feel sort of sick," the girl replied, looking up at the night sky, "Vincent…what happened? In the fight, I mean…When I shot that thing, it was too fast for me to have really done it. I felt like I was dying, I was in too much pain to do anything, so how did I kill it? What I did…it scared me. Something tells me I would've done the same thing if it had been a person standing in front of me."
"You were pushed beyond the limit of your endurance…" he told her, looking for a moment to the dull bronze-colored metal claw that was his left arm, "Instinct and adrenaline took over, and did what was necessary to ensure your survival…in time, you will almost grow accustomed to it…"
"Oh…" she awkwardly mumbled, her eyes once more flitting to the scar at his lips, only then realizing that he had covered her with his coat, "Vincent?"
"Yes?"
"I wouldn't ask this if I had the feeling things could get much worse for me, and it's pretty stupid of me to ask anyway, because you're going to get mad and just leave me here to die, but how did you get that scar?"
He did not look at her, nor did he speak right away, simply looking into the fire. There was something impossible in his eyes, in those long minutes; something at once ancient and fresh, as though through the brevity of the flickering flames he could see the traces of something timeless, something that had been constant through all his centuries of life.
"I acquired this scar…" he said at last, his tone guarded, seeming strangely exposed spoken to the open air instead of through the cloth of his collar, "Because when you hear that your one reason for living has vanished…the cigarette you're smoking ceases to matter…you cannot do anything about it, even when it's burned down to nothing, and begins to burn your flesh…and yet it was the last I ever smoked. For in that moment, I still had some shred of hope, though it was in its death throes…The taste clung to my palate, and will for the rest of my life, and I know that any other…will be but an empty mockery, for I can never again feel as I felt then…"
"You were in love," Lorelei said, realization in her tone.
" 'Were', Miss Calldrick?" he asked, the slightest trace of a scoff in his tone, "I still am in love…I will be in love for eternity…There was a time when I thought of women as little more than toys…but when I met her, I went from being a complete cad to being entirely, eternally loyal…and in so doing, I sealed my fate…There are those in this world who can love more than one…they, at least, can move on with their lives despite their pain. So, too, are there people who can go through their lives and never love…they are fortunate, indeed. It is a shame for you, Miss Calldrick, for I saw the way you grieved for your brother…I still see that grief and brokenness in your eyes…A part of me wants to shoot you now, and save you from the misery of knowing the end of a greater love before you ever find one…"
"Okay," she said with a grim little smile, "But tell me what she was like, so that once you've shot me dead, I can find her and tell her you said hello."
For the first time, Vincent's expression seemed torn and bewildered, as he looked down at her, half-glaring. She wasn't sure whether he would end up telling her what she wished to know, or shooting her.
She couldn't really find a reason to care either way.
"…her name was Lucrecia…" he said at length, making sure to turn his gaze back to the fire, his composure mostly regained, "And she had the most rare sort of beauty a woman can possess…it was timeless…the moment I saw her, I knew she would still seem as lovely to me at seventy-three as she did at twenty-three…She was brilliant, but humble; I cannot count the times that she let others take credit for her work…she was kind…and found a way to care for those most couldn't even tolerate…above all, she was curious…it was her greatest gift, and her greatest flaw…She saw the world as a great mystery to be unlocked, and her excitement at unraveling its secrets put a light in her eyes and a spring in her step…but so, too, did her insatiable desire for knowledge cause her to…-"
"To what?" Lorelei couldn't help asking.
"…go back to sleep…" Vincent coldly ordered, "…we will start back to town at daybreak…"
In truth, the girl was too exhausted from the ordeal not to obey.
The trip back to Nibleheim was a silent one. Although Vincent had wordlessly taken Lorelei's pack along with his own, he made no move to aid the girl when she stumbled, nor did he even slow his pace the handful of times that she fell to her knees and wept. When he at last opened the mansion's side door, Lorelei, largely oblivious to what was going on, promptly ran into him.
She looked up bewilderedly at the black-haired man, who stood in the threshold, his face once more obscured by the high collar of his coat, his hand stretched out with the palm up.
"Give me the gun…" he emotionlessly commanded.
"Wh-what!" Lorelei demanded, her puzzlement only growing.
"I merely lent you the weapon…I ask that you give it back, as you will have no more need of it…"
"What are you talking about, Vincent? Is this because of that battle? Look, I know I messed up and let my guard down, I was an idiot, but I'll do better next time! I-"
His hand darted out and plucked the gun from its holster.
"Go home, Miss Calldrick…and do not disturb me again…"
"No!" the girl exclaimed, tears beginning to wet her cheek again, her eyes wide in shock, "Vincent, Ian's gone, he's really gone! I don't know what I'll do, you're all I have left! You have to-"
"Adapt," he interrupted, turning his back on her.
"Why? Vincent, wait! Why are you doing this?"
He spun on his heel, glaring down at the girl with his crimson eyes narrowed to slits, the look fearsome enough to make her stumble back a few steps.
"Because I tire of your questions, Miss Calldrick!" he practically hissed, before turning away once more and slamming the door behind him.
As she heard the click of the lock, Lorelei felt simply empty. She trudged home after several moments of indecision, her mind racing, trying to figure out how she would live. She could no longer deny that her brother was dead, and though her pockets were filled with the gold balls she'd extracted from her kills, she knew the money wouldn't last forever. Without the gun, she couldn't very well make a living off of hunting, and even if she used what gold she had to buy a new one, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to wander dangerous places without someone skilled like Vincent by her side.
"Someone's going to take me in…" she muttered dispiritedly, only absently noting that her brother's ring was now on a chain around her neck, doubtless the gunman's doing, "I just know it…"
"Well there's the elusive Lorelei Calldrick," a slightly-rasping tenor voice suddenly chuckled.
The girl looked up, startled, to see a tall man with short black hair standing in front of her door. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit, half-smiling down at her. He looked to be in his early thirties, and there was a long, jagged scar across his forehead.
"What's the matter, honey?" he asked, "Don't recognize your old man? My letters weren't getting through, so I got permission from the New Hill people to just come myself."
"…you're my dad?"
"Hell! Do you have to say that like it doesn't matter in the least?"
"Sorry," she muttered, "I've had a hard day."
"I'll say! What happened to your arm?"
"Nevermind…go on in, the door's unlocked."
"Livin' on the edge, then," he said with a laugh, opening the door and walking in as though he'd lived in the house all his life, "A chip off the ol' block. Say, you got any booze, sweetheart?"
Mumbling that she didn't, the girl stepped into the house behind him, closing the door against the cold October wind.