<strong>Malcolm Wade -- All Things to Those Who Wait</strong><br/><br/>Well, no one was screaming and he hadn't been slapped yet. That could only be good news. Except that the back of his head was pounding and he'd probably just blown his shot at $25,000. Still, Mr. Hatcher didn't seem overly incensed, so maybe the whole thing wouldn't be held against him after all. Besides, it wasn't like he'd pulled the chair out or made the waitress trip, right? Right. Totally not his fault. And Cathy...well, she probably -- no, almost certainly -- didn't have anything to do with it, either. Sure, she laughed about it, but she laughed about almost everything that happened to him. Easily amused, that's all she was.<br/><br/>"Sorry about your drink, Mr. Wade," the woman said, as though it were somehow her own fault. "No ma'am, never mind about the drink. I'm the one oughtta be apologizing, ruining your shirt and all," Mal said, carefully keeping his eyes above her neckline despite temptation. As she patted herself dry with the napkins and wrapped herself in the younger woman's coat, another new face arrived at the table.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=101356.msg4407503#msg4407503">Quote from: Fulgrim on 22-03-2011, 18:29:30</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Excuse me for interupting! Are you by any chance Mr. Caleb Hatcher?" he asked in a calm, dulcet voice addressing Hatcher. "I am Father Graham." Owen nodded to everyone around the table and smiled. Not-Mr-Hatcher's shirt was was soaked and didn't hide a lot anymore. Owen's smile got a little bigger before he pulled himself together again. "I was sent by His Holiness in Rome to help the troubled facing...extraordinary problems."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>Almost the moment the newcomer identified himself as a priest, Mal felt Cathy move a little closer toward him. Priests usually had that effect on her; Malcolm suspected it was because they had a tendency to exorcise first and ask questions a week or two later. Without even realizing, Mal adopted a slightly more protective stance towards her. Still, he wasn't too worried about her; his companion had already proven she could hold her own against even the most devout exorcists. He just hoped this one wasn't the trigger-happy type.<br/><br/><em>'Shouldn't be much to worry about, though; with the smell of whiskey that strong on his breath and the look in his eyes when he caught Ms. Tate's, er...wardrobe malfunction, I don't exactly think this guy's a paragon of righteousness. Hell, we might even get along.'</em><br/><br/>Malcolm's thoughts were derailed by Hatcher's enthusiastic welcome to the Father, as well as his apparent hesitation to talk about what had obviously brought them all there. However, it was the clergyman's response that really threw him for a loop. Not that it particularly shocked Mal to learn that the Vatican and the Holy See didn't actually give a damn for a haunted house or something, but the message's coldly amused delivery was definitely enough to dismiss any thoughts that this fellow was on any kind of Church PR campaign.<br/><br/><em>'Father Graham? Owen McDermott? Huh. Must be a Catholic thing. But what do we call him?'</em>Mal thought absently as the ladies left the table. The priest with two names caught another waitress and ordered a stiff one, and Malcolm decided to risk his luck again. He requested another bourbon while McDermott ran through what sounded almost like a practiced spiel, alternating between humorous and threatening.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=101356.msg4418780#msg4418780">Quote from: Fulgrim on 25-03-2011, 05:48:38</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"You know Mr. Hatcher, I've ran down some ghosts and demons in my days as exorcist. Some of them were as real as only something unreal like that can be, others were mere pipe dreams. In fact, most of the ghost-in-the-attic cases are more like squirrel-in-the-attic. And most of the time it's an ol' confused gramps or an overly concerned mother who has a thing on horror stories. I think my distraught friend whose name I don't know yet may confirm that." He flimsily smiled at the man across the table. "If someone offers 25 grand for a job - 100 grand if you don't plan on playing us of against each other - I start to listen attentively.  Tell me Mr. Hatcher: Is this a joke? Or are you really in the shit that deep?" Owen leaned back and took a sip of his drink that had just arrived. "For your sake I hope it's neither."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>Thankful that his second drink was delivered without incident, Mal relished a long sip and nodded in agreement, though he bristled a bit at being labeled 'distraught'. He didn't think this was some kind of scam, though; quite the opposite. He strongly suspected Mr. Hatcher was indeed as deeply 'in the shit' as he could get without a shovel. Before Hatcher could respond, Mal stole the chance to extend a hand and introduce himself to McDermott.<br/><br/>"I'm Malcolm Wade, by the way. Good to know you."