sweethymns | OPEN RP POST QUATRE

[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.

[He pauses only long enough to bring the mug to his lips again, considering her question. She made it easy, at least, just him having to reply with a yes or no.]

Yeah.

[He places the tea back down again, and the fingers of his left hand trace over the scarred initials "AD" on his right, without truly thinking about it.]

Yeah, I remember.

[He remembers properly now, too, though that was mostly a recent development.]

Mm.

[Fingers drum against her mug and then she finishes it off. Her eyes are on him this whole time, carefully watching although it isn't a calculated gaze. Curious, wary, perhaps tempted to ask more.]

When's the last time you slept?

Edited 2016-09-16 15:19 (UTC)

[Now that he isn't sure of. He's lost track, what with all the reality and time hopping -- had he slept at all since he first stepped foot on Columbia?

Honestly, the last time was probably when Elizabeth knocked him over the head with a wrench. He was out for a few hours then, and he wonders if that counts as sleep.]

That's something I'm not sure about. I've been busy, haven't had a lot of time to sleep.

[48 hours maybe? Longer? Who knows.]

Well, I'd recommend sleep first then, before doing anything else.

[A decisive nod as if this is the best course of action.]

You'll need it to properly process your mental and emotional state. If you need an alarm to wake you up, I can provide that. You're not in a condition where it's safe to try and figure things out, especially if you came from a situation that required guns of all things.

[Another scoff that he wouldn't be able to stop even if he wanted to.] Required a lot more than just guns.

[But whatever. He's not really in a mood to explain further, though he does wonder exactly why she's being so nice to him. He's a complete stranger, plopped right into her living room -- and she's providing him a place to stay?]

Why are you doing this? You don't even know me.

[... Give her a sec, she's thinking this over.]

[And she runs a hand through her hair before setting her glasses back on the bridge of her nose again.]

I just now realized that I could have handled you in a variety of ways, but I can't say this outcome is all that bad. As they say, it could be worse.

But, if you're asking me why...

[She makes a noncommittal gesture with both hands.]

... I don't think I'm very good at acting like a normal person?

[Why is she like this]

[For a moment, he looks surprised at that answer; it certainly wasn't what Booker was expecting. Despite everything, despite himself and all he's been through, it manages to eke the smallest chuckle out of him.]

I could've told you that from the five minutes I've known you.

[What a weird woman.

A hand comes up to scratch at the stubble on his face.] Regardless, I... well, it'd be remiss of me not to say I appreciate it, irregular or not. And I don't really need a bed; the sofa's comfortable enough for me. [He's slept in worse places.] I, uh, actually wouldn't mind washing up some first, though.

[He sounds vaguely hesitant to ask, like he's already encroaching on her hospitality. But god, he's covered in dirt and grime and sweat. And in some places, dried blood.]

[Her face turns a little red at his chuckle and remark and she looks down for a second before looking at him again.]

That easy, huh?

[And yeah, she's noticed those dried blood parts... Don't spook her so much, god DeWitt. At his insistence, she replies in a rather stubborn manner, shaking her head.]

My house is too big. You're not going to take up space by taking up the spare bedroom.

As for washing up, there's a shower right next to said bedroom, so I don't think you can refuse that.

[He's spent some time as a PI; it doesn't even take that much to realize that, yes, Amelia is a strange girl, no doubt with some kind of story. He wonders what it might be, but doesn't entertain the notion of asking just yet. Now wouldn't be the time nor the place, and he's not sure he's up to swapping life stories this afternoon.

So he just shrugs a little at her "that's easy" comment, and at her offering for him to stay in a spare bedroom, he frowns. He really doesn't deserve that much, but if she really had no need for it, then he may as well take her up on her offer. A guest room would afford some modicum of privacy, at least, whereas the living room would not.]

I rightly can't. [He takes one final sip of tea before setting the mug down again and making a move to stand up, scooping up his holsters off the ground as he does so.] Not to hurry you, but I think I'm gonna take advantage of that right now. It'd be rude of me to stink up such a nice place.

[It's spoken wryly, but it's half true. Everything here seems so... clean, Booker is almost embarrassed to be in this house in his state.] If you don't mind showing me where it is...?

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

bad kitty!!!

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1/2

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