sweethymns | OPEN RP POST QUATRE

[Oh.

Amelia stops and freezes like a deer in headlights eyes widened at the sight of the firearm pointed at her. It feels like her brain activity has screeched to a stop and for a moment she doesn't quite know what to do and doesn't register Booker's appearance.

So she takes a step back outside and wordlessly closes the door. ]

Edited 2016-09-15 20:23 (UTC)

[At first, Booker isn't sure how to register that in his head. It doesn't exactly settle his nerves (who in their right mind reacts that way?), proving to him more suspicious than anything.

Still, it's respite enough to lower his gun a little, cursing under his breath. He feels so tired, and it takes more effort than usual to bring himself to his feet and call back out to the woman who disappeared behind the door.]

Hey!

[What the hell is going on- Not to mention, where the hell is he? Someone's home?]

[Outside, Amelia's swiftly going around to the back, her heart beating wildly in her chest. There is a man with a gun in her house. That's strangely a first for her. A robbery? No, he sounded confused and angry. And her house has protections on the outside so there was no way he could have broken in intentionally.

When she reaches the back she calls to Booker, loudly, clearly, and calmly. Sort of.]

I'm entering the back door. Sir, please put down your weapon, breathe and calm down.

[She pauses putting her book down in front of the back door, pursing her lips. ]

Please.

[it never hurts]

[Her request gives Booker pause, despite himself. The way this woman sounded, she didn't seem like a threat -- he could tell from her voice that he was probably causing her more anxiety than the other way around.

What did that mean, then? After everything, he should be dead, he has no right to be standing in the middle of a stranger's... home for no real reason.]

Damn it...

[He holsters his weapon, a little reluctantly, and eyes what appear to be wind chimes all around with a skeptical, uncertain look.]

Fine, I'm putting my gun away. [He calls back loud enough for her to hear.] But I'm gonna need some answers. And quick.

[Oh, thank god. Amelia picks up her book bag as if it's a protective shield before taking the plunge and opening the door.]

Alright. Coming in.

[And through she goes, closing the door behind her and then walking through the kitchen and back to the living room with the wind chime covered ceiling. Granted more like she looks from behind the doorway at Booker, finally examining him from a distance and making sure he put away his gun.

Yup, that sure is a redhead. Said hair is somewhat messy as if she's had a long day and her green eyes are framed by thick black square lenses. Her facial expression is neutral for the most part, but the way the woman grips her bag and regards Booker stiffly, probably speaks volumes about how she really feels.]

... No gun? Gun's gone?

[Amelia takes a step forward.]

Good. [Looks down at her bag and blurts out rapidly.]

Nothing in here by the way. Well, there are papers. So don't shoot those, I need them.

[One of the most powerful witches in the world, ladies and gents...]

[He examines her from where he stands, brow creased. She doesn't look like a threat, but Booker knows from experience that you shouldn't judge a book by a cover. Just because she's a delicate-looking young woman doesn't mean that she can't be dangerous, though he's trying to get a read on her body language -- a bit stiff, probably hiding her uncertainty.

Well, apparently he's the one trespassing, so maybe he shouldn't be too surprised. Honestly, he's more irritated at the situation than at her; everything has happened so quickly that his brain doesn't have time to register any other emotion. (Yet.)

Booker himself looks a bit worn, his clothes straight out of the 1910s. His hair's disheveled and his eyes are tired, but still sharp when he looks at her, speaking.]

Gun's put away. [Not gone. He's not that trusting just yet. At least he's honest about it though.]

And I ain't gonna waste bullets on papers. Who're you and where am I now?

[Bless Booker's heart because he's exactly right about that notion. Not that there's anything else to indicate any sort of danger about her, but wasn't like she'd show anything to begin with. She takes another step out, a little more confidently.]

I'm Amelia. This is my house.

[There's a pause. Oh yeah, that probably isn't enough. She clears her throat and continues.]

You're in a house that's in the state of California, it's September, it's a breezy, but still warm 73 degrees outside, and you somehow landed in my living room.

That's just what I collected from my thoughts so far. Trust me, I'm just as confused and that's saying something.

[He listens intently, his stern look not doing much to mask the confusion underneath it. California? In her house? His first thought, his only real explanation, is that this is another alternate universe he's landed in. But how? Why? The baptism in the river, it was meant to end him right there -- no more Booker DeWitt and no more Comstock, negating him throughout all ripples of time.

He shouldn't be here. But explaining that is tricky business.]

Well, Miss or Missus Amelia, it wasn't my intention to...intrude. [He eyes flicker around the room, searching.] I don't know why I'm in your house of all places, but I might not be the first one here. [Elizabeth. Anna. Where was she? Was she even here to begin with?]

You can use Miss. I'm the only one that lives here.

[Now that she feels slightly less apprehensive (well, not that much), Amelia sets down her book bag while letting out a huge sigh, but also giving Booker a once over, hands on her hips.]

And your name?

... Also, you don't look well.

I'm fine. [-is the immediate response, so very much a lie. He isn't "fine". Not after everything he's just been through. Everything is sore, and mentally he's just barely hanging on, even if he puts up a brave facade in the face of this Amelia woman.

Booker is the last person to really worry about his own health, though. And he'll be the first to tell you that he doesn't deserve the concern. Besides, there are other important matters right now.]

My name's Booker DeWitt. [He briefly pauses to see if it rings any bells. He isn't sure what manner of universe he's ended up in.] That... mean anything to you? [Please don't start yelling "false shepherd" at him....]

[And her answer is...!]

Not in the least.

[... Curt. She seems to immediately regret sounding rude and shakes her head.]

Look, whoever you are and wherever you came from, I won't ask you that right away. It's probably a good thing you landed here though because if it was anyone else, you'd be pelted with questions.

Or arrested for having a firearm in a private home. That too.

[Amelia points to the sofa behind him.]

Sit down, let me get you some tea. Or coffee. Or both.

[The redhead throws her hands up in the air, trying to collect her thoughts again about what to do next. Tea is usually an icebreaker, but is this what one does with an armed man in their house?? Look, she doesn't know!!]

[Booker doesn't seem offended by her curtness. There's something about the way tension deflates from his shoulders that make him seem slightly... relieved?

He's about to say that he doesn't have time to sit and drink tea, but then it hits him that, if he's been transplanted into this universe mysteriously and indefinitely, he has all the time in the world. Where else is he supposed to go?

That epiphany hits him, and something about his demeanor shows its tiredness when it does. He looks to the sofa behind him, unsure what to do, but finally relents and walks over, sinking into it.

He bones feel exponentially tired almost immediately.] ...You seen a girl around here?

[Looks back and forth. Looks at herself. Then at Booker. Her cheeks puff up a bit and she shakes her head.]

No, no one. I was just coming home by myself before you happened.

Let me get the tea and we'll both settle down okay?

[The kitchen is an open area so he'll be able to see her get out a kettle, get the water, and put it on the stove. She talks while she gets to work, taking out two tins of tea, trying to decide between the two.]

Booker, is it? Something tells me you'll need a place to stay the night too.

[So... no one, then. He's not sure if he should be thankful or sad. (In some ways it feels as if the latter is inevitable.)

He inhales. Exhales long. Places his elbow on the armrest and rubs at his eyes, edges of his mouth turning downwards. She's not wrong about needing a place to stay the night, but the cynical side of him isn't so tired as to not voice itself.]

You're pretty trusting of a man who just appeared in your house with little to no warning. Some might even call that naive.

[Booker, this is not how you talk to someone trying to help you....]

[Amelia coughs lightly at that remark, setting down the tins. There's... Really no way to reveal things about herself without making the situation more outlandish and awkward than it already is right now. The fact of the matter is, is that she has magic on her side. She may not be very proud of many things about herself, but her skill in magic is praised for a reason.

And she can't really even say anything about it. Not yet anyways, not until she figures Booker DeWitt out.]

I'm old enough to mind myself, Mr. DeWitt.

[She'll leave it at that.]

And despite myself, I know when to look at someone and at least figure out when they need help. You got that look.

[He looks skeptical at the remark. Sure, she's old enough to carry a decent amount of common sense, but she doesn't look older than... what? Twenty-five? Somewhere around that, he reckons, and that was young enough to still be lacking a fair amount of wisdom when it came to these things. Not that she had anything to worry about from him, but he can't imagine what someone less thoughtful might do to take advantage of her in the same situation.

None of his business, he supposes. For once he should thank his luck, rather than questioning the living daylights out of it.]

I got that look, huh? [He scoffs.] Let me tell you something: I'm beyond help. Don't waste it on me, all right? I'm not even supposed to really be here.

[But he sure as hell has nowhere to return to.]

Edited 2016-09-16 04:27 (UTC)

[There's nothing she can say to that (a tad dramatic of a response in the witch's opinion, but everyone's got a story). The scent of tea begins to fill the house; she made it strong. Instead of delicate teacups, she comes out with two large ceramic glazed mugs instead, holding one out to Booker when she walks over to him in the living room.]

Drink.

[Amelia has her own mug and plops on a nearby cozy chair, pushing her hair out of the way and readjusting her glasses so they sit on top of her head instead of her nose. The tea steams up her glasses anyways.]

[The tea is calming, though it's not the sort of drink he usually indulges himself in to relax. Usually, that something is a bit stronger. He makes a dry remark about it as he takes the offered cup, warm and enticing nonetheless.]

You don't got anything a little stronger than tea or coffee?

[But it's not really a complaint. He takes a sip just as soon as he says it, but his eyes hover over to her from the rim of the cup, and briefly at his surroundings. This sure isn't a 1912 home, he thinks. Did he end up in the future as well? Or just some world full of odd design choices? One thing's for certain, Amelia has a... thing... for wind chimes.]

I only share the stronger stuff with people I like.

[She says this in a flat way which makes it hard to gauge whether she's serious or not.]

I don't know if I like you yet. Fair enough?

[That almost, almost makes him smile. The way his lips move, they only threaten to dimple, but it doesn't quite breach the surface. He'll give her due credit for that line of thinking, though.]

Now that's a less naive way of thinking.

[Though he's not sure how much he should share about himself, about all he's just been through. That might be just enough to make her change her opinion of him, and have someone come over and toss him in the loony bin.

Could be he belongs there, after all is said and done, but it doesn't sound pleasant to a man who just needs a minute to sort things out in his head.]

But yeah. Fair enough. Guess I should be thanking you for being so generous instead of questioning it for now.

I definitely have a lot of questions, but I personally hate being put on the spot. So, I won't do that to you, just as long as the gun stays away from me. Got it?

[Yeah, still a little worried about the pistol, but Amelia looks more relaxed now. She takes a large sip of her tea herself ~~doesn't she have papers to grade~~]

Like I said before though, better my house than someone else. It's embarrassing to admit, but I'm a magnet for this sort of thing.

[Well, that's vague.]

[So the gun still worries her. Booker isn't surprised, but keeping his gun on him makes him feel a little more secure in an unstable situation. He can always rely on a bullet to do its job, if his aim is true. He's less certain about the people around him at any given moment, with the exception of one.

But thinking that way now might be too narrow-minded. If Amelia is willing to help him, it's not right of him to make her feel unsafe in her own home. As a show of good faith, he momentarily sets his mug down on a flat surface nearby, and begins shrugging off his holsters, undoing them with impressive muscle memory.

He sets the leather down at his feet, Mauser and all. It's more comfortable this way anyway, letting him sink into the couch further without reminding him that there's a weapon strapped to him.]

A magnet? [He reaches for his tea again, this time just cupping it in his hands and taking in the warmth.] For what? Wind chime collecting enthusiasts? I'm sure as hell in the wrong place if that's the case. [Ah, that dry humor.]

Ah, those?

[A glance is given up at the wind chimes. There's a fondness in her eyes as she looks at them all over.]

What, you don't like them?

[Well, aren't wind chimes supposed to be outside after all?]

They let me know that someone was in my house.

[His feelings regarding wind chimes are ambivalent at best.]

It's not that I don't like 'em, it's just that I usually see wind chimes hanging outside of people's homes.

[Now that she mentions it, though, it's certainly odd that they had made noises when he arrived -- he doesn't remember running into one at the time. He didn't realize this until now, and looks up at them, unsure.]

What do you mean, "they let you know"?

It's not a good thing to collect admittedly. Not enough room outside to hang them.

[... Is her excuse.]

Also, if you fell to the floor... Well, the impact made a bit of noise.

[Another good excuse, totally. She drains another third of her tea.]

Here's one question I hope you don't mind me asking. Do you have enough recollections about your previous situation and what happened last? Just a yes or no should suffice.

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i lied, one more since my cat doesn't want me to sleep apparently

bad kitty!!!