"I'm /fine/," Amity insists as she leads the way up through the front door of the Rose Court Tenements. She fumbles for a moment as she tries to find her keys inside her purse. Dammit, they were there a minute ago. Ah! She withdraws a hand, triumphant, and unlocks the door into the lobby before leading the way through opulent corridors. "I know it looks all fancy," she says as she reaches her door, "But it all came furnished. Part of why I picked this place, honestly. I didn't have any furniture to bring with me and not enough money to buy it..." She manages to get her own suite's door open and then stumbles inside, leaving Mavis to follow. "Make yourself at hommmme."
Mavis just sighs at Amity's petulance and follows along behind her, trying not to crowd the concierge just so she could avoid being bickered at yet again. "Yeah, I know you're fine, Amity," she says for not the first time. Mavis keeps her mouth tactfully closed while her friend fumbles with keys, finds them, and leads them into the building.
She's right... the place does look fancy.
Then Amity lets her into her apartment and Mavis hesitates outside of the doorway before taking the plunge and stepping inside. She closes the door behind her then peers around the space. "I can call my Uber in a bit, I just want to," she looks at Amity, pausing, not sure if she was going to be squawked at again, "make sure you get into bed okay."
Amity might be floating a little. Not literally, of course, but she still feels really lovely with that beer and food and all. She's just... not much of a drinker already and then you add onto that her rather slender build and alcohol tends to hit her like a truck, even in small amounts. She drops her purse and keys on the dining table and then turns back towards Mavis.
"There's no rush! We can hang out. Besides..." She shakes her head. "That hotel room is so cramped. You need someplace nicer to stay until the utilities get their act together." She sits down on one of the fancy bits of furniture. "Besides, I like having you over."
Mavis watches Amity drift around in her happy, little haze. The young artist walks over to a couch and sinks down onto it. She's buzzed, that's hard to deny, but Mavis' liver was processing the alcohol better than her inexperience friend's was. She smiles at Amity, feeling a little uncomfortable here in this space in a way that makes her miss her cramped hotel room. At least she didn't feel guilty about being there. This was nice, though, being here with Amity and Mavis tries to immerse herself in that feeling. She could stay for a bit, Mavis supposes.
She starts by clearing the air. "Sorry about telling to to stuff a sock in it back at the restaurant," she tells Amity, sheepishly. "I just didn't want Mister Logan hearing about it, I get the feeling that man doesn't forget anything he has heard."
"It's alright," Amity replies as she ducks further into her space, all the way back to the bedroom. A few moments later she emerges having changed into what are presumably, bedtime clothes which include cozy flannel set of pajamas. Dang. Cute. She re-crosses her space to sink onto the couch next to Mavis, shrugs a little. "The house is your business and if you don't want me to talk about it, I won't. Promise. And yes... yes Mister Logan did strike me as that sort of man, unfortunately." Hmm. Amity strokes her chin, absently considering. "Mostly I just worry about how much you're paying for the hotel even by the week..."
Mavis leans where she sits on the couch to peer after Amity as she walks off. A couple of minutes later, the hotel clerk reappears dressed in her pajamas. The artist grins, scoffs out a little laugh about something and shakes her head. Okay, Amity looked adorable in that and Mavis is happy to have the blonde join her on the couch. She leans forward when Amity sits down to pull her hoodie up and over her head. With the material bunched around her head, Mavis' voice is muffled as she says, "It's all right- mnph- and you're not wrong."
There! Mavis gets the hoodie off, stripping her down to a Tabasco red t-shirt with... a bottle of Tabasco hotsauce on the front of it. Go figure.
"And, if anyone would know how much the hotel's costing me," she admits to Amity with a shrug, "then it's definitely the cute clerk who runs my credit card."
"Do you want me to make you anything? I have tea. And coffee," Amity offers almost as an afterthought. Manners, Millikan. You need to remember your manners. She watches Mavis, eyes focused on the artist as she speaks. And while she pulls her sweatshirt off because honestly that's pretty cute in a weird way. Why she thinks that, she doesn't know. Amity stretches, sleepy. "...I don't like admitting that much to a guest. I'm supposed to keep your information contained. Safe." A faint sigh as she exhales. "But. I do know that it's expensive. By the time you get to three weeks you might as well be renting your own apartment."
She'd had plenty of time in the back of the Uber with Amity to think about the things Carter Logan had said to them over seafood. On one hand, Mavis resented the man for alluding to the chemistry between them, but, on the other, he'd tapped into exactly what Mavis herself had been wondering every since Amity asked her to dinner on day numero uno. Her head turns and she studies Amity's face, the soft lines of it and the big, owlish glasses she wears over striking blue eyes. Those eyes seemed sad sometimes when Mavis looked at her, but she couldn't suss out the source of that sorrow.
"Nah, I'm full," she tells Amity. "That was a filling stew." Like any good stew ought to be. "And I'm good, just kinda want to sit here." With you. But she doesn't say that. Mavis carefully trying to parse her emotions, trying to filter through the influence of that strong stout she'd drank and the poisonous words Mister Logan had put in her head. They'd be easier to shake off if she hadn't thought the same things herself, from time to time. Mavis sighs to Amity, "Yeah, to be honest, I really am going to move in this week but figured if I get the gas and water on then I can do without electric for a little while." Who needs lights, right?
"That's fine," Amity says. "I just thought I should ask." Normally, Amity might not do what she's about to do. It's the lingering buzz of the alcohol or the annoyance at Carter or the protective instinct that made her want to make sure that none of those Gentry-in-waiting could get their claws into this innocent girl or all of that or maybe even something else. She glances towards Mavis, those big, piercing blue eyes (so deep and full of an unspoken, unnamed hurt) meet the rich, honey-tinted brown of Mavis' own gaze. "...You can stay here, if you like. As long as it's only for a couple weeks or so, it should be fine. I don't want you living in that house," alone, "without any power or light. It would be awful. Especially since it's starting to get darker earlier with autumn well underway." She wants Mavis closer to her. She isn't sure how else to describe that, isn't sure if she's allowed to feel that way. Everything she's read says it's like normal, now, but there's still a healthy dose of nerves.
Mavis has her hoodie spread over her lap, but she's warm which is why she took it off in the first place. She moves the hoodie to the couch cushion to the other side of her where Amity isn't sitting and then slumps back against the sofa. The dusky-skinned artist peeks out of the corner of her eye at Amity to spy her profile then pretend like she wasn't peeking when the blonde notices her. Mavis just smiles in a warm, guileless way back at her. Maybe NOW is when she should make her move, lean over and cup the other woman's face and press their lips together. 1..2! Wait a minute. Her eyes blink, because Mavis' ears aren't sure she'd heard Amity right and she forgets what she'd been ABOUT to hazard and blurts, instead, "What? I mean... here?"
She flushes and wrestles with a few emotions at once. Pride was the easiest to handle, this time, because Amity had a point and she wasn't looking forwards to a week of trying to steal phone charges at opportune moments. The guilt is rougher to battle down, because Mavis still isn't sure where it's coming from. "I wouldn't need more than a couple of weeks," she assures Amity, chewing her bottom lip and already thinking of the money should would save. "I was going to renew my stay at the hotel tomorrow but... if you're sure-- wait-- did you have this idea BEFORE or AFTER that stout?" This was important.
Thank God for alcohol because otherwise Amity wouldn't be able to be this honest. Her face has turned mostly pink and red by now and she glances away, her eyes looking down to her own lap where her fingers tangle together. She doesn't quite know what to do yet! She does need to answer, though. "Before. The stout just--it made me feel like I should ask instead of just keep it locked up in my head." Yeah, she's twenty-six(ish) and spent a decade in Arcadia but she doesn't consciously remember any of it. So, some days she feels remarkably like that unprepared teenager who got snatched away in 1984. "But. Yeah. I want you to be safe. And have someplace warm you can go after work. I have a spare key. It wouldn't be a bother..."
Mavis tips her head back and laughs softly, although heartfelt, as Amity worries about her. "Safe?" She echoes back with a perplexed shake of her mortal head. "Don't you think you're worrying too much? It's just electricity, people got by without it for centuries." Of course, those years weren't 2019 where it's practically essential in the United States to have a cellphone and it's every American's duty to keep those batteries charged. She laughs again and touches her own chest, turning her hips and thighs on the sofa to angle toward Amity. "_I_ won't be a bother, I promise. I'll even pitch in with chores," she adds, glimpsing around and... not spotting a single speck of dust. "Er, well, you seem to have all of that covered. I can, uh," she breaks off, glancing up, feels her ears get hot, "sleep out here. At least you've got a comfy sofa."
'I can sleep out here,' Mavis says. For some reason, Amity feels a sharp pang of disappointment at this proclamation. She doesn't show it, keeping only to the simple, muted display that Mavis is probably pretty used to by now. Amity shrugs. Crosses her arms as Mavis angles herself more properly and it becomes harder to ignore how pretty this girl is. "Yeah, ah. I can get you some blankets and pillows and stuff. Just as long as you're comfortable and all that..." She wants to offer her bed--they're just friends. That's normal! The words don't come though.
She'd been watching Amity carefully after calling the couch. Mavis was growing more and more used to her friend's stoic reactions, but she's picking up mixed signals. The guarded voice could mean disappointment, the crossed arms suggested Amity was feeling defensive, but about what? Mavis shrugs and kicks out her legs, crossing them at the ankles. She says a little too casually and with a side-peek at Amity, "I mean, if your bed's big enough and you don't MIND that I talk in my sleep sometimes-" She pauses and bites the corner of her lip, feeling like her rapidly beating heart was going to break out of her chest. Sloooowww down, Mavis. Get in the far right lane.
If Amity weren't so /good/ at not showing what she's thinking or feeling, she might have squealed or given herself away. Instead, Mavis gets a little widening of the eyes. Amity reaches up and adjusts the lay of her glasses. Deep breaths. Except if she takes deep breaths, she's showing that something is getting to her with enough of an impact that it bothers her. How the hell does she deal with this?
"I--It's big enough to share, yes."
She supposed they weren't going to talk about anything Carter Logan had said to them, but Mavis can't help but recall his astute observations. Mingled in with those mortal recollections are the impressions she'd gleaned from Amity during that meal. She recalls how close Amity had gotten to her, how much she hadn't minded, and a handful of other charged moments. If Mister Logan, a stranger, saw this, too, then surely it wasn't all a fancy. No, it wasn't a fancy at all. Mavis knew this and when she admits that, she knows that she'd known all along and any delay of the truth was just a clever lie she had told herself. At last, Mavis finds the rotten core of the guilt that has been plaguing her.
Mavis notes all of Amity's reactions, not sure what her friend's hiding or if she's hiding anything at all. She asks, uncertainly, "You don't mind sharing? The couch is fine, really." Normally, this is where a human would make an excuse, but Mavis doesn't. Truthfully, she wanted to lay on Amity's sheets next to her friend. What kind of human admits THAT?
"No, um. I've shared beds before. It's fine." Totally fine and normal to share beds with friends. She remembers a sleepover where she did that, in the ancient days of yore. Remembers the weird fluttery feeling that had come with laying next to her friend, listening to her breathing. She twists her hands together in her lap, an outward sign of anxiety.
"I would rather make sure you're comfortable,' her voice softens. Still aloof and a bit distant but perhaps more like that scared girl she'd been all that time ago. "In fact, I'd rather share if it makes you... happy."
That's not creepy or anything, Amity...
Mavis curiously watches her friend/new roommate(?) and her honey-brown eyes dip down the Amity's lap where she twists her hands. She slides her gaze back up to the blonde's face, peering into the blue eyes behind her glasses with uncertainty. Something Amity says makes Mavis think better of this idea-- 'if it makes you... happy'-- but it's too late to back-pedal now. Wasn't it? Mavis believes so.
"Happy?" she incredulously parrots back. "Amity, of _course_ I am happy, you dork! It's not about that, though." Mavis tilts her head and moves her own hands to her lap in a way that mirrors Amity's own worried posture. That wriggle worm of guilt was back. "What do YOU want? Fuck what I want, you're already doing me a tremendous help letting me stay here and..." She glances down, tucking her chin close to her chest, and peers up at Amity beneath dark, long lashes. "Honestly, you're the only person I would have accepted that help from." She finishes with an earnest, "Thank you, Amity," and reaches over to collect her friend's hands to give them a warm, gentle squeeze.
Amity's breath catches in her throat as she feels Mavis' warm hands grasp hers. Her own skin, while not cold is cooler than Mavis's. Maybe it's just poor circulation? She's hesitant, quiet, and then her hands turn a little so she can return the gesture and grip the other woman's hands. Her cheeks are a bright, flushed pink. She exhales, takes in another breath. What /does/ she want? Thinking about what SHE wants is so hard. It makes her head hurt, makes that screwed up twist of guilt and anxiety and fear plunge deeper into her gut. She's not supposed to want things.
"I..." Words. What are words? "I want to... share the bed." She says in a quiet voice. "I want that." She sounds scared, like voicing her own wants or needs or desires might cause her to catch fire or keel over dead. She's staring down at Mavis, heart twinging as she looks at those beautiful brown eyes. "That's. What I want. Especially if you want it, too."
The mortal doesn't think too much about how the hands she holds are chilly. Cold hands, warm heart, right? Or poor circulation. Something like that, probably. Mavis gives her fingers a squeeze when she begins to articulate, struggles, and finally manages to state what she actually WANTS. The dusky-skinned artist smiles wryly and tilts her head back to arch a brow at Amity.
"There," she says, "that wasn't so hard." It certainly seemed like it was, though, and Mavis makes light of it on purpose. These things weren't as difficult as Amity made them so far be it from her to make them more of a struggle. Her thumbs, both banded with rings, brush over the backs of Amity's knuckles. She lets go, pulls her hands back to her lap, like a secret is being passed between them, Mavis shares to her friend. "I would like that, too, but I had to make sure," she says, casually, like nothing awkward or nerve-wracking was being talked about. "Just had to make sure that I wasn't.. overstepping or anything. I worry, you know?"
The mortal doesn't think too much about how the hands she holds are chilly. Cold hands, warm heart, right? Or poor circulation. Something like that, probably. Mavis gives her fingers a squeeze when she begins to articulate, struggles, and finally manages to state what she actually WANTS. The dusky-skinned artist smiles wryly and tilts her head back to arch a brow at Amity.
"There," she says, "that wasn't so hard." It certainly seemed like it was, though, and Mavis makes light of it on purpose. These things weren't as difficult as Amity made them so far be it from her to make them more of a struggle. Her thumbs, both banded with rings, brush over the backs of Amity's knuckles. She lets go, pulls her hands back to her lap, like a secret is being passed between them, Mavis shares to her friend. "I would like that, too, but I had to make sure," she says, casually, like nothing awkward or nerve-wracking was being talked about, "that I wasn't.. overstepping or anything. I worry, you know?"
"Not... not so hard," Amity repeats, her expression unreadable for the moment. A small smile tweaks her lips and she looks down at her hands, trying to reclaim the feeling of missing warmth now that Mavis has tugged her hands away again. She looks up again and tries to form another sentence. "You're not. But--but I appreciate you checking. I'm not used to people checking what I want like that." There's another moment of silence as she tries to wrap her head around something to say to keep the conversation going.
"And I like you." A lot. A lot, a lot. God, she feels like a teenager. Maybe she is still a teenager or might as well be with the missing gap of time between 1984 and and 2017. "You're..." The words are struggle to get out. "You're very nice and very pretty and so /kind/ and thoughtful."
She should be flattered by those sincere words, but Mavis bites her bottom lip and looks uncomfortable for just a moment. The artist shrugs her slim shoulders and tells in a small, quiet voice, "I'm glad that you think so." The artist turns her head to better glimpse Amity. Her expression is... pensive. Mavis was thinking, those gears in that pretty, mortal head of hers turning, turning, turning back to a few minutes ago when her hands had wanted to be ON the woman next to her. She leans closer to Amity, bridging half of the distance between them. Her gaze sweeps down to linger at Amity's mouth and Mavis bites her own bottom lip then looks back up.
Mavis blinks and asks, swallowing first, "Is it okay if I use your shower?"
Amity wants to reach out and close that distance. She, like Mavis just a few moments before, badly wants to close the distance between them. Wants to touch Mavis, feel her warmth again. Maybe even kiss her. She doesn't, though. It's too much for Amity to dare, at least for the moment. The question is /normal/ but it still manages to catch Amity off-guard. Those big blue eyes blink for a moment behind her glasses, giving her an even more owlish look.
"...Oh. Well. Yes, of course! Um... I can get you something to change into? I don't know how well it'll fit, though." She's clicked back into service mode, just like that.
Phew. Good save, Mavis. She needed some time to _think_ without Amity so damned near and distracting and a shower was as good an excuse as any to seize a moment for an impromptu regrouping.
The artist beams a smile of relief, regains enough of her equilibrium to raise both brows and tease Amity with, "Sure, if you got something that'll fit me." Mavis pushes herself up off of the sofa and onto her feet, moving to put her hands into hoodie pockets that were sewed into the hoodie she'd shucked off and left on the couch. She smoothes her shirt, instead, and peers around like a stranger in a strange house looking for the bathroom, waiting for directions.
"This way?" Mavis guesses, having been in houses for most of her life and feeling qualified in her guess. She scoots off that-a-ways when Amity confirms or corrects her.
"You're quite right," Amity says and gets to her feet. "Feel free to use the towel in there. I'll grab you some clothes..." Once Mavis has been seen safely off to the shower, she scoots into her bedroom to try and find something for the other woman to wear. It proves a bit of a challenge, considering the, uh, differences in how the pair are built but she manages to shake out something--clean underthings, a pair of stretchy leggings and a billowy nightshirt that's big on Amity but probably fits Mavis just fine. She leaves these things folded neatly by the bathroom door and retreats to the kitchen to make tea clad in her own pajamas and an added dressing gown.
Once alone in the bathroom, Mavis stands and faces the mirror. She stares into the familiar eyes that stare steadily back at her then shakes her head. The dusky-skinned artist shakes her head, grips the sides of the sink in her hands, and mutters, "What are you doing, Mavis?" She peers back up again into the mirror, waiting for an answer, and doesn't get one.
A couple of minutes go by with Mavis locked up inside of the bathroom and then the water comes on. Whether it's because she was being conscientious of Amity's water bill or Mavis just takes brief showers, the bathroom door opens. The artist's black hair drips and is slicked to her head, finger-combed, and tucked behind her ears. "Amity?" She calls out then adds, a second later, "Oh, never mind! I found the clothes." There's the sound of the bathroom door closing again. Mavis pulls on the unfamiliar clothes, satisfied with Amity's work. She's a little, uhh, surprised, however, that Amity had leant her some "underthings" to wear for the night, buuuut Mavis opts not to wear her friend's-- ahem-- "underthings". No one ever died from going commando til the AM when they could go home and put their own clothes on, after all. And, fuck it, the "girls" had been crammed into the cups of her bra all day long and Mavis didn't want to put it back on now that she was all pretty and clean.
She meets Amity in the kitchen with her arms looped under the stack of her dirty clothes. Mavis spots what her friend's doing and goes, "Ohh, you're making tea?" Then says with a lift of her laundry, "Where should I put these? Uhh.. I didn't want to wear your /personal/ items so I just left those in the bathroom?" Yeahhh. Mavis winces a little. "So.. Tea?"
Once alone in the bathroom, Mavis stands and faces the mirror. She stares into the familiar eyes that stare steadily back at her then shakes her head. The dusky-skinned grips the sides of the sink in her hands, and mutters, "What are you doing, Mavis?" She peers back up again into the mirror, waiting for an answer, and doesn't get one.
A couple of minutes go by with Mavis locked up inside of the bathroom and then the water comes on. Whether it's because she was being conscientious of Amity's water bill or Mavis just takes brief showers, the bathroom door opens. The artist's black hair drips and is slicked to her head, finger-combed, and tucked behind her ears. "Amity?" She calls out then adds, a second later, "Oh, never mind! I found the clothes." There's the sound of the bathroom door closing again. Mavis pulls on the unfamiliar clothes, satisfied with Amity's work. She's a little, uhh, surprised, however, that Amity had leant her some "underthings" to wear for the night, buuuut Mavis opts not to wear her friend's-- ahem-- "underthings". No one ever died from going commando til the AM when they could go home and put their own clothes on, after all. And, fuck it, the "girls" had been crammed into the cups of her bra all day long and Mavis didn't want to put it back on now that she was all pretty and clean.
She meets Amity in the kitchen with her arms looped under the stack of her dirty clothes. Mavis spots what her friend's doing and goes, "Ohh, you're making tea?" Then says with a lift of her laundry, "Where should I put these? Uhh.. I didn't want to wear your /personal/ items so I just left those in the bathroom?" Yeahhh. Mavis winces a little. "So.. Tea?"
Amity does her best to keep herself busy in the kitchen. Really, she's making tea to keep her hands busy because, uh... she doesn't have a TV or anything else to park in front of. She hears the bathroom door open, close, then open again. She turns as Mavis returns, gesturing towards the little tea pot that's waiting along with a pair of mugs.
"It's just a little rose tea. Nothing with caffeine..." She trails off and her cheeks turn pink almost immediately at Mavis' words. Also, Mavis with still damp hair and dressed for bed is still like, really cute. Really. Really cute. "Oh! I... I must have been on auto-pilot." Or just way too polite. "I... That's fine..." She was used to just... fetching whole outfits that her brain had just done it without her thinking it strange. Ugh. "Would you like some tea?" Let's move on from that whole thing, shall we?
"The tea sure smells good" she notes, slipping further into the kitchen on her bare feet and Mavis is possibly MORE comfortable inside of Amity's clothing than Amity was. Well, most of Amity's clothes, anyway. Her assumption about Amity fetching her "underthings" is simply, "I just figured that you were brought up reee-eally conservative or something." Mavis' smile appears, revealing the sliver-gap between her incisors and the tip of her tongue playfully bitten between the neat, white rows of her top and bottom teeth. She was just teasing Amity a little and, maybe, probing some too about her friend's upbringing. The more ya know, right?
The artist leans against the counter, tries not to yawn. "That stout and stew," she tiredly says, "has me whooped. And that guy in the suit, he's.. he's something," Mavis admits in a low voice. She wasn't sure how to explain what she was feeling. It was something like jetleg, as if her body hadn't caught up to the timezone she was in after spending an hour or so in the Twilight Zone. "Mind if I duck out on the nightcap?"
Oh, Mavis. Amity understands that feeling very well. She busies herself with pouring a mug of tea for herself as she listens to Mavis speak, using her busy hands to ponder how best to answer that question. Turns back to Mavis with a smile.
"Something like that, yeah..." Her smiles never quite light up her whole face, never quite reach her eyes the same way that Mavis' do and Amity envies that. She wants to protect it, too. She wraps her fingers around her tea and nods in agreement.
"He's something. Very... intense. Overwhelming even. And of course. I like to drink something warm before bed, so... I'm just going to slip into bed with my Kindle and the tea. You're welcome to sit with me or go to sleep if you like. No pressure," she adds as she breezes out of the kitchen, nodding for Mavis to follow her. Normal. This is normal. She /likes/ normal.
"I'm still kind of getting used to living on my own, honestly." That's true, too. "But I like having company, too."
Thank goodness. Mavis wasn't sure how she was going to down an entire cup of hot tea before nodding off in it. She'd felt refreshed just out of the shower, although her mind was still cluttered with apprehension. The artist had managed to buy herself some time, because she had almost let her recklessness take over.
"I'm prolly going to K.O., but you're not going to bother me," she assures, chuckling. Mavis slept like the dead.
|
