(no subject)

[devoutish]

[Alfie greets and makes nice with newcomers when he comes across them, but he doesn't go out of his way to seek them out. He's not interested in being part of any de facto welcome wagon, especially not now that more and more people are filtering their way in, either to use the Meadous as a waypoint or to settle down and stay; that can be a job for people like Meulin and Harley. He does, however, notice new houses as he passes them by, and today there's one on his regular walking route. He takes note of the name on the mailbox - Beauregard, good lord - and is all set to continue ambling onwards when a flash of movement catches his eye. Is that--

-- yes. That absolutely is his cat, leaping up onto the windowsill and slipping in through the open window.

With a sigh, he turns and heads towards the door instead, giving it a firm knock.]

Comments

[devoutish]

[He doesn't need to see her hands to be able to tell she's in a bad way, which is why he heads them straight for the portal, with no detours along the way. Mercifully, they don't run into trouble, and they're back on their beach in under fifteen minutes.]

Come to mine.

[He suggests, nodding up the path. Royce has been spending most of his time in the treehouse, and Alfie doubts he's gotten out of bed at all today.]

[disreguarded]

[ royce, in fact, has not gotten out of bed all day because he's an enormous baby when he gets sick. the house should be empty.

beau doesn't argue, at least. she... probably shouldn't be alone, she thinks. she stares out at the ocean for a moment, and then nods. ]

I'm fine. [ she repeats. and then, quietly: ] You don't have to babysit me or anything.

[devoutish]

Ah, fuck off.

[He starts heading for the house, motioning her to follow.]

[disreguarded]

[ she keeps her hands in her pockets. it's best she doesn't look at her hands, is all. she keeps her back straight and her gaze forward, following him to his house. ]

Tell me you have alcohol in this house. [ she says, when they're close to the front door. ]

[devoutish]

It is my belief that wine doesn't properly count as alcohol, but all the same--

[Crossing into the kitchen, he flicks open the door to the wine cabinet, where a full bottle sits.]

[disreguarded]

[ snort. ]

Yeah, I was thinking more like whiskey, but I'll take whatever. [ she follows him to the kitchen, and - if he doesn't stop her - she just takes the whole bottle and moves over to sit down. she's clearly shaking at this point, though she's... doing a relatively good job of keeping it together.

mostly. if she can just. get this bottle open. ]

[devoutish]

We do have whiskey on occasion, but we're out at the moment. I'm not a regular drinker, truth be told.

[He hands her a wine corkscrew, then nods her towards the living room.]

In there. Are you gonna drink the entire fucking thing?

[disreguarded]

Yes.

[ she says, firmly. the whole entire bottle. she looks at the corkscrew, and then... takes it, and focuses on opening it. she's not going to do it the proper way, either. she basically just stabs the cork with the corkscrew and works the cork out back and forth, wiggling it until she gets to the booze on the inside.

... and then she'll go to the living room, if that's where he wants her. she takes a swig first. ]

[devoutish]

You're lucky it refreshes.

[Grumble grumble totally-not-actually-annoyed grumble.]

Oi. Don't break that opener. Royce uses it properly; he'll notice.

[disreguarded]

Royce can come at me, then. Or I'll fucking wish him a new one.

[ she tosses the corkscrew on the counter. she throws herself on the couch, and pauses. gets stuck for a second, staring at her hands. bloody. she should probably wash them off. at least her clothes are dry. ]

SPEAKING OF NOTIFS THAT NEVER FUCKING CAME

[devoutish]

[Noticing that too, he wets a washcloth at the sink, bringing it over to her.]

Here. There's the washroom, as well, if you'd rather.

GOD DREAMWIDTH WHY

[disreguarded]

[ she takes the washcloth first, expression twitching. setting the bottle down, she starts trying to wipe her hands down instead, jaw tight. ]

... Thanks. [ she says, stiffly. ]

throws it off a cliff

[devoutish]

I still don't quite know what happened.

[Alfie admits, watching her carefully as he leans against the kitchen doorframe.]

[disreguarded]

With what. [ she says, scrubbing roughly at her fingers. ]

[devoutish]

You spotted a man following after me, and he had a knife?

[disreguarded]

Oh. Yeah. He was right up on you. I ran for him. Knocked him down.

[ reacted. like a killer would. ] He was going to kill you.

[devoutish]

I don't doubt it.

[When she looks like she's cleaned off her hands as well as she can, he holds out a hand for the cloth.]

I owe you a debt, then, don't I. And you - you owe it to yourself not to feel guilty.

[disreguarded]

[ this is different, she tells herself. this was for a reason, this saved someone. deep breath.

she hands him the cloth. ]

You don't owe me anything. [ a pause. ] It's not - guilt.

[devoutish]

But it is something. I can see it in your eyes.

[disreguarded]

[ she's quiet for a moment, rubbing at her hands. ]

It's not the first time. [ and she reaches for the alcohol again. ]

[devoutish]

Because of your murder games. Yes?

[disreguarded]

Yeah. [ she takes a swig. ]

The last one I was in I was assigned to be a weekly killer.

[devoutish]

[... Oof. Dropping the washcloth into the sink (he can clean that up later), he heads into the living room, sitting down across from her.]

Under duress? You did not want this job?

[disreguarded]

No. I didn't.

[ another swig. ] Someone had to die every week or all of us would. My partner and I killed three people. I killed four, technically.

[devoutish]

Technically.

[Explain, Beau; he's listening.]