sweethymns | OPEN RP POST QUATRE

[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...?

Ah, yes. Right.

[Amelia stands, briskly walking over to the hallway. She's looking into it and taps the wall with the palm of her hand three times (because if he looks in now, it'll be bigger than expected, not fitting with the form of the house), before gesturing to Booker with her other hand.]

Two doors on your right; bedroom and bathroom respectively, there's a door that connects the two. If you need me, knock on the door across from yours.

[He nods and follows over to her when she motions for him to come. Looks like a normal hallway to him! Well, as normal as things can be for a man way out of time.]

Right. Thanks again, Miss Amelia.

[He just gives her a lingering appreciative look before disappearing down into the hallway, straight towards the bedroom. It won't take him long to get settled in; he doesn't have much, just his gun and the clothes on his back, and he'll be eager to indulge himself in a hot shower (once he gets over how alien the bathroom will look to him, cozy home or otherwise.)]

[So that went better than expected. There's a lot that's been left unexplained, but Amelia feels like she probably made the better choice of letting this Booker DeWitt focus on his recovery. He's not a raving madman so that's an immediate relief. The resignation he displayed was somewhat troubling to Amelia, but she's not able to put a finger on why. Probably impossible at this point.

Overall, she's not in danger, he's getting some rest, and NOW THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ALL.

Grading papers.

For a lifetime of witchcraft, Amelia Eva Steinbeck sure is entrenched in the life of a mundane. It helps since she hasn't made one mention of anything abnormal about her when she's already so odd to begin with. Lives alone in her own house, full of wind chimes and lets a gunman with bloodied dirty clothes stay in her house?

Those thoughts idly run through her head as she reads and grades the last few papers in her stack at 7 AM in the morning. Her phone is next to her, blaring out a familiar and nostalgic tune which she hums along with.]

Nothing ever lasts forever
Everybody wants to rule the world...

[When Booker goes to bed, sleep takes him hard. And his dreams are just as eager to visit him in equal force.

They're varied, strange -- images of a city in the clouds, a girl in a blue dress, "twin" scientists and their riddles. Blood and bullets and his hand twisting into black claws, his nose bleeding while staring at a man who has his face, but doesn't. A monster, casting deep shadows on the ground as it circles Booker, swooping in with a screech that could stop your heart.

Again, Booker startles awake. The shock blazes through his system, and he reaches for his gun... but only grabs at a fistful of blankets.]

Shit... [He tosses the comforter off of him, sitting up, confusion flittering away as he remembers where he is. What had happened. That redheaded woman letting him stay in her house, letting him sleep in one of her beds. He rubs a hand through disheveled hair, waiting for his heart to settle, blinking away sleep. He won't be getting more of that, now.

Sunlight filters in, grey and dim from an early morning sun. He isn't sure what to do now, so naturally, he pulls himself out of bed. He's wearing a loose white tshirt and checkered pajama pants, a sight that would be comical if not for the fact that he's too grateful to have them to laugh at them.

In the distance, a tune catches in his ear. Booker recognizes it, and it makes him furrow his brow in confusion. A tune he had not heard since Columbia -- he hesitates only for a second before deciding it's worth investigating.

And so only minutes later, Booker can be seen hovering in the entranceway of the room Amelia is in. He doesn't know if he should interrupt. She looks busy, but that song spikes his curiosity enough for him to make his presence known.]

What song is that?

[Mornin'.]

Oh. Morning.

[Amelia looks up at Booker from the kitchen table and glances back down at her work. A red ink pen is being twirled between her fingers, albeit unsteadily. She's almost done with her grading and on her last paper and the pen scratches quickly across the surface.

She's dressed lightly for a Saturday morning; just a simple blouse and some slightly rolled up jeans and her hair is tied back in a messy bun.]

You woke up earlier than I expected...

[Oh, right his question. Almost lost her train of thought there, but it's been a while since she had company.]

Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears. 1985.

[Without looking away, her other hand moves to press the button on her phone to lower the volume.]

Guess you weren't around when that came out then.

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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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lil' time skip

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