Mavis has tidied her room up a bit. Not too much, but an effort was made and the tiny bed has the blankets straightened out. Most of her clothes are stuffed into her army duffel bag propped up in a corner and its overflowing, actually, with more clothes stacked on top. The furnishings in here are sparse and it seems Mavis has been using her steamtrunk as a table as it's set in front of the only chair, which is over by the window to benefit from the best lighting during daytime hours. There's an empty soda can setting on top of the closed lid of the steamtrunk and a half-eaten pack of Starbursts. The chair's angled toward the small television.
As for Mavis? She's sitting IN that chair and picking up the pack of Starbursts, thumbing a candy into her hand and then unwrapping it-- a yellow one-- to put into her mouth and chew-chew..chewchewchew--chew.
Oh and the TV's on. She's watching Scooby Doo reruns.
There comes a gentle rapping on the door. Amity has arrived to keep her appointment, having changed out of her work clothes--she wears an over sized baby blue knit sweater that practically hangs off her frame, almost a short dress over a pair of what seem to be black yoga pants. She reaches up to adjust her glasses as she waits for the door to be answered--and when it is, she smiles. It's not her customer service smile, of course, but it is perhaps a bit brighter than Mavis has seen from her.
"...I hope I'm not late," she says with obvious good humor. "The traffic getting down here from the staff room was simply awful."
Mavis is chewing her way through an orange Starburst when there's a knock on the door. Her attention pulls away from the TV, showing commercials right now, and she gets up to open it. She pulls the door open after gulping down the candy in her mouth.
"Hey! Sorry, it ain't much to look at and there's not many places to sit down... or eat," now that she was thinking of it, "but the service is really nice." Mavis smiles as she teases, pulling the door open wider to admit Amity. "Late? Nahh. You didn't miss much, Daphne is about to solve and recap the whole mystery."
She has already changed into what she calls her "jammies", some loose-fitting, cottony bottoms in camo-blue and blue tank-top with a faded teddy bear head on the chest. The dusky-skinned artist walks across the room, all of three paces, leaving Amity to close the door behind her and flops onto the tiny, rickety bed. It creaks in protest at the elbow she catches herself on and Mavis immediately paws her phone up off of the blanket. She already has the pizza app opened up when she unlocks her screen. The remote left over on her steamtrunk is indicated with a swipe of her hand through the air and she says, "Pick something to watch, might be some movies coming on. I figure you know these channels better than I do." Mavis pokes at her phone screen, does some swiping with her finger while staring at it as if the secrets to the universe were within that tiny, handheld device. She asks the important question: "What kinda pizza do you want?"
"Oh, I missed the trap. That's the best part." Amity's smile stays on her face as she slips into the hotel room and closes the door behind her. She follows Mavis' example and plops down to sit on the edge of the bed, which squeaks again, unhappy that a second person would dare place their weight upon it. She drops her bag off to one side and snatches up the remote control to begin flicking through cable channels. She glances back to Mavis as she examines the app for the pizza place.
"Something vegetarian, if that's okay? I... don't really eat much meat." Which is true. She has her reasons for it. She flicks through the channels and settles on a channel that seems to be marathoning through the Terminator films. Nice. She leans back to watch, all smiles. They seem to be midway through the first movie and Amity is beaming.
"Oh, I haven't seen this since I was a kid--my parents were /really/ mad when they found out I'd seen an R-rated flick without their permission."
"Phew," goes Mavis with a mischievous glance up from her cellphone. "For a second there, when you didn't correct me for giving Daphne credit for solving the mystery, I was worried I might be having pizza with someone with no CULTURE." She shakes her head and skims over the vegetarian pizza options, contemplating toppings and possibilities, until finally handing Amity the phone. "Here, pick your own kill." She doesn't seem to mind Amity being on the mattress with her so much as the bedframe does, although she's draped sideways across the foot of the narrow bed. Noticing what's on the TV, Mavis hums in approval, "Ooh..! Nice one, I freaking loved these movies growing up." She turns her head to Amity, taking her eyes off of the tiny, boxy television. "Which one'd you go see?"
"Hey, I know my way around Scooby Doo," thankfully it's been around since literally before she was born so there's a little bit of pop culture she DOES know. She takes the phone and begins looking through the toppings on offer, letting out a faint 'hmm?' at Mavis' question before it begins to catch up to her. "Oh! Uh. It was this one," she says, gesturing to the TV. "...I watched it at a friend's house, you know? We were having a sleepover." And not because she was fourteen in 1984. Definitely not. She begins to put together her pizza, then offers it over to Mavis for her perusal. Be cool, Amity.
"Olive, mushroom, onion, tomato, green peppers, extra garlic. How's that sound?" Was that lie convincing enough? She sure hopes so.
Mavis twists around to put both of her elbows on the mattress, knees draped off the side of the bed. She's smiling at Amity in an amicable way while her friend picks out pizza toppings on her phone. In this day and age, handing your phone to someone was a pRiviLEgE. Her smile wilts a little at the corners, though, when Amity hums-- "Hmm?"-- at her then supplies that answer about seeing the movie at her friend's house. The way Amity had said it... well, it sounded like she'd gone to the movies and purchased a ticket, yanno?
Her hazel eyes, dark under the dim, electric bulb installed in the light fixture, stare at Amity for perhaps a second or two longer than what might be normal before glancing down at the phone held out to her. Whatever! Seemed childish to cast suspicion over something so... abstract. Mavis plucks the phone out of Amity's hand and the dial on her smile turns back up to it's usual kilowatt, although it's not quite the same. "Sounds good! Don't judge me, but I'm going to add a dessert." Mavis flops over with her back to Amity, propped on one elbow again while pondering what else to drop in the pizza app's shopping cart to meet the minimum sum total for delivery.
"Wanna share chocolate lava cakes? One order is two; I usually eat it all myself," she chatters then glances back over her shoulder, "Pepsi okay?"
It's almost impossible for her to miss the brief change in Mavis' mood. Amity tries to suppress the chill feeling that she's fucked it up with no chance to recover. Just take a breath--you're having dinner with a friend. It's fine. It's /fine/. She looks back at Mavis and smiles--it's nothing to worry about. It's not going to come up again, right? Right. The mention of dessert perks her up a bit, undoubtedly glad that the subject has passed them by.
Mavis casually puts the little hiccup behind them. After all, she has no proof and people just sound crazy when they start making unfounded accusations. It is entirely probable that there are unknowns about her new friend surrounding that time of her life that Amity just doesn't want to talk about; everyone has baggage. That baggage usually isn't being abducted by supernatural beings, but hey, Amity didn't have much to worry about with Mavis if she watched her words. Then again, not having much to worry about is what contributed to Amity's slip-up...
"Ookaa-" she goes, stretching the two syllables, "-aaayyy annnd...!" Mavis does some swiping on her phone then triumphantly taps the screen. "- Now! It's ordered. There. We won't die of starvation." Phew! Good thing, too, because Mavis is so famished that she lolls over onto her back with her body still half-draped off the side of the bed. Her fingers knit over her stomach and she peers at Amity like someone who has a question. A moment later, she asks, "You ever been to the paintball range?"
Mavis' open curiosity and cheery attitude are just... really nice to be around? Amity's lips quirk upwards again, though as is typical her expressions seem just a little muted and restrained. Held back by something. She leans forward as Arnold guns someone down on the TV screen and rests her chin in her hands as she peers down at Mavis. This openness and happiness are so infectious! It's nice. Really nice.
"Huraah for not starving," she says and flashes a thumbs up. As Mavis looks at her, she waits for what surely must be a question--and there it is! She shakes her head in response and adds a bit of a shrug on top of it. "I haven't. I'm not really much for that kind of thing--mostly just don't have the time, I guess?"
"Oh," is all she says, sounding a little thoughtful and distant. Mavis' hazel eyes stare up at the ceiling. She gnaws her bottom lip, queuing up her next musing and this time it isn't a question. "I guess you prob'ly haven't met the owner then," she murmurs, thinking aloud. The junk artist glances at Amity rather than at the gunfire on the television. She had seen these movies at least a few dozen times on a portable DVD-player that traveled with her across the United States throughout her childhood.
She suddenly sits up, bare feet and toes allllmost touching the floor. She a little bit short, okay? And she's also managing to block out the view of the tiny TV screen.
"It's just..." Mavis pauses, not sure how to quantify that nagging, restless "voice" in the back of her head. "She was different, is all." Yeah, one could say that about November. For starters. Mavis laughs, tense about something she couldn't put a finger on. "The paintball biz' must be hella lucrative. This chick has a body mods, those things don't come cheap," she explains, rationalizing these notions to herself by using Amity as a soundboard. "And, gees, I wonder why she's not modeling? Her hair has to be extensions, right? It's sooo lllonng." Mavis tumbles back onto the bed and kicks her leg out to indicate how lllonng November's hair really is by poking an index finger to her mid-calf. "It's all of the way down to," point-poke-point, "HERE!"
"I might have, but I don't really know." A lie. An easy lie. She knows November, remembers the name that was mentioned earlier. just the name itself makes her feel the keen-edged knife of anxiety slide between her ribs once again. She hadn't wanted these two parts of her life to intersect and yet... it seemed to be impossible that they did not. But... November wouldn't hurt anyone. Not on purpose. Right? She has to believe that. A breath.
"What's her name?" She asks, unable to suppress the smile that comes to her face as Mavis describes the woman in her own way. The long hair, the bodymods... well, it all sounds like November, that's for sure. Amity has seen the woman's mask once or twice and it is a gorgeous mask, really. Barely less gorgeous than the awful mien she truly possesses. "Who knows why she isn't, Mav? We all end up in these little places for our own reasons, don't we?" She watches the gesture to describe the length of the hair. "God, I don't know how she manages it. I'd go crazy with hair that long, really."
Mavis doesn't pick up on this little, white lie. Amity didn't stall on the railroads, so-to-speak, with this one and the artist is too wrapped up in her own recollections of her brief encounter with November. Her pajama-clad leg lowers and she becomes engrossed in thought. One look at Mavis' face and someone might guess she's solving some complicated equation or plotting her next move in a close game of chess, but she's hung up on the memory of the pen November had handed her to sign some paperwork.
Yep. She can't stop thinking about that pen. Just a pen, a normal pen, but something had seemed so strange about it that Mavis didn't want to take the writing utensil after it had briefly been notched behind November's ear. It's not disgust that put her off... But, she just felt like she shouldn't?
There's a vacant, distant look set in her eyes then artist blinks, coming "back" to the here and now when she realizes Amity is talking to her. She hums, startled, "Huh?" Then goes, "Oh. November, she said. What a weird name, too, right? Sorry, I'm not.. gushing about my new boss or anything," Mavis remarks with a self-conscious laugh. "And, yeah, I guess you're right. I just.." Have never met anyone like November before. "Never mind," she says, shrugging about it all, "What brought you here, anyway?"
The way Mavis sounds so /distracted/ by November makes Amity's heart sink in her chest. Can she have nothing good in her life that is not touched by the Fae? No matter that November is not technically a true Gentry, it feels much the same. If November can get her tendrils into Mavis, what will happen to her? Will she be drawn into this world of magic? Will her dreams be reaped of Glamour? Amity's face betrays none of this emotion, only a small smile or shrug as she listens to the distracted Mavis. Despite herself, Amity feels her mood souring. This was supposed to be a fun night with a new friend and instead she finds herself beginning to sink into the mire of anxiety and sullenness.
"Oh, no. It's--it's fine." That white lie might be a bit easier to spot, considering the brief quaver in Amity's voice, but she tries to breeze past it to continue the conversation. She doesn't want to linger on November. Doesn't want to think of how scared she had been sitting in the woman's presence. "Oh, I cam here to get away from the city. I was in Hartford, you know, down in Connecticut and I just felt like I needed to get away from it all. And then I got the job here and decided to say 'fuck it' and come out to Vermont. That's all."
Mavis shoots Amity a worried glance, anxious that her girlish babbling about her BOSS was being taken the wrong way. She still wasn't clear on that whole dinner thing. Was that a date? Was THIS a date? Her tawny-brown cheeks take on a ruddier tint of scarlet while Mavis listens to Amity as her insecurities scream that she'd somehow said the wrong thing. Shit, maybe Amity was right to make some assumptions, Mavis didn't know how else to explain what she'd felt in that office. Whatever it was, she'd better put a lid on it for $15 an hour. She was practically rich! Or would be.
"Oh yeah," Mavis remarks, laughing as she recalls, "I think you said something about that. Sorry, thought there was just, y'know, more to it than that. Messy break-up, falling out with the family, fleeing criminal arrest."
There's a knock on the door and in the next split-second Mavis declaring, "Pizza's here!" and is leaping onto her feet to run over and answer the door.
"Kinda, I guess. More like... too many bad memories in Hartford." Amity hopes it can be left at that and the sudden arrival of the pizza saves her from any further babbling on her part. Her own feelings on the date or not-date or whatever the fuck this is are much the same as Mavis'. But, you know, that would require them to fucking talk about it instead of avoid the subject.
"Oh, thank God. I'm /starving/." She swings her feet off the edge of the bed and sits expectantly as Mavis gets the pizza. She smiles, tries to shake off the awkward sensations dogging her. "It smells so goooooood!"
Mavis handled the pizza deliver driver with expert efficiency. She signs her name, generously tips, takes the boxes of food then balances them on one arm, grabs the handle of the bag with their Pepsi in it from the deliver driver, bids the driver a cheery farewell, and closes the hotel door with her hip. She walks back over to the bed, depositing her bounty and opens the lid of the pizza box.
"Behold," she announces ceremoniously and takes a moment of prayerful, reverent silence, then says, "Dig in! I'm going to find some cups! And scoot over, string bean, so's I can sit there." She points at the spot next to Amity, which would put them both in pizza grabbing range and TV viewing vantage. Mavis doesn't actually GO anywhere to get the cups... She just grabs the little cups that are stocked in every hotel room, individually wrapped in plastic.
"String bean? You're one to talk!" Amity sticks her tongue out with more than a little effort. But it feels good to let herself be silly, even if it takes /effort/ to do it. She scoots over, sitting cross legged, and reaches out for a slice of delicious, delicious pizza. Withdrawing the slice onto a paper plate that helpfully came with the pizza, she begins to chow down.
"Oh my God." Nom nom nom. "This is so good. I was so hungry after work..." Seriously this might be the best pizza she's ever had. The brief moment of uncertain anxiety is left behind as she enjoys the cheery moment.
"Hey, I'm pretty sure I weigh more than you, plus yer taller." Only by two inches, but that jump from 5'4 to 5'6 was a significant one! Mavis rolls her hazel eyes and playfully scoffs, "While you're here, mebbe I could get you to change that stupid-watt lightbulb to something that's see-a-wattage."
Mavis tosses a cup harmlessly at Amity then slots in beside her friend on the bed then pulls her legs up Indian-style. Her cup is set between her legs, empty for now, because pizza takes priority. She grabs a slice of pizza, cheese stringing as it's lifted from the box, and takes a huge bite out of the triangular point. Belatedly, Mavis grabs a paper plate to lower her pizza slice down onto to avoid losing any of it and... sleeping on it later.
"Mhm-hum!" she agrees with Amity around a mouthful, then her eyes take a shine to the television screen in front of them with the Bad Terminator totally pwning the good guys. Mavis zones into the movie for a total of two slices, then turns her head to grin at Amity. "Thanks for coming over," she blurts that as soon as the thought pops into her head. "I like to think I'm some kinda loner, that's supposed to be edGy, but... I'm used to having people around, y'know? Roommates, coworkers, fellow thespians, my mom." She shrugs, trailing off and feeling awkward then looks back at the TV screen with it's flashy, moving colors.
"I'm a bit the opposite," Amity admits. "I'm very... well, I have to seem outgoing for my job but it's actually kind of hard for me to socialize. And I know, I asked you to grab dinner but... I'm not usually so like, forward." She takes another bite of pizza and chews thoughtfully, still working on her first slice.
"But yeah, like. It's no big to come over. I like hanging out with you. You're rad." She stretches and sits back. "You're the first friend I've made here, believe it or not."
Mavis rolls her eyes and grins her goofy smile, millimeter-gapped front teeth made prominent by the broad stretch of her lips. She doesn't have the heart to tell Amity that her impressions of her on first blush didn't measure the concierge up to be the outgoing sort. She wonders if there's a single outgoing bone in Amity's body and Mavis tilts her head, toning her smile down lest it give her away, and tucks some black strands behind her ear.
"All right, I'll give you points for asking me out," she pauses, licks her lips with uncertainty, "for dinner. But, c'mon, it's ME." She frowns at Amity, concerned. "I can't be your only goddamn friend, Amity. Gees, don't say that." She sets her plate down on her lap and clutches her tanktop over her heart. "So fucking sad.. Hey, screw this noise. Let's go out. Please?" A wide, eager look manifests in Mavis' eyes and she moshes against Amity's side. "Pleaseplease-please--pleaseplease-pleeeasssee? C'mon-we'll-be-good-not-drink-too-much-andit'llbe FUN!"
Amity sinks a little, her cheeks growing pink at the mention of the fact that she asked Mavis out. For dinner. She still wasn't sure if she had asked the girl out or out-out and wasn't sure how to deal with the uncertain space there. She sighed, rubbed a hand across her face after a brief moment.
"I just... I don't talk to people outside of work much, okay?" She feels like she HAS to do something here to justify herself. She sits back, leaning on her hands and turning uncomfortable feelings over in her head. Then Mavis is begging her to go /out/ and her head is spinning a little. "Go out? Go out where?" She's not sure what Mavis means by out. It's confusing. "... I've never really gone. Out. To like a bar or something." God, she must sound lame.
Mavis was hoping for some kind of inkling or indication one way or the other on that whole out vs. out-out thing and Amity gives her some clues to work with. It's hardly concrete evidence, but Mavis files these little details away just in case they're relevant later and Amity's little mood earlier about the subject of November comes into a clearer focus. Or so Mavis thinks, anyways. It's not like she could possibly deduce right here and now that she was lied to her entire life by her mom, the person she was closest to.
But nevermind alladat! Her distractible, human mind is zeroed in on one thing and one thing only. "Yes!" Mavis chirps, loudly and right next to Amity's ear. "Out to like a bar or something," she parrots back, albeit with more enthusiasm than Amity had said it. "That'd be perfect, I saw this cool place called The Alchemist.. Alchemancy? Whatever, it was in town. I saw it the other day when I was putting my resume out there into the aether, wanted to go inside, but... Ugh, I don't want to be lame and go alone or be that sad chick who's asking all her co-workers to come hang out." November pops into her head again, specifically that memory etching of her handing Mavis a clipboard and plain ole pen. Mavis blinks her hazel eyes and gives herself a small shake. She latches onto Amity's arm. "C'mon. Please? What's it gonna hurt? One little night.."
The name of the bar rings a bellin Amity's head. The Alchemist. Hadn't that girl, Poppy worked there? She had seemed nice. Maybe... maybe that could be okay. She gave a little smile, taut and uncertain though she was, then nodded. "Sure. Why not? It's just one night, after all." Just one night out. They'll have like, a beer or two and then she can get out of there, away from the people and the noise and all the eyes on her. She shifts, moving to swing her feet over the edge of the squeaky bed.
"You want to go, so let's do it." She looks back at Mavis, smiling. She wants to make this woman happy and if going and grabbing a beer will do that, then she's not going to argue.
Mavis' jaw drops when Amity gets up out of the bed and she leans on her two hands in the empty spot her friend had once occupied. She gasps then squees out a shrill note of glee so high and sharp that it's a good thing those cups she'd fetched aren't fancy-schmancy wine glasses or they'd have shattered. The artist scrambles to the edge of the bed (which is, like... right there, because it's teensy bed) and gets her feet under her on the floor. She bounces on the spot, makes a step for the door then brings herself back.
"Wait! Clothes. Right, I can't go out like this," she says with a laugh and opening her arms to look down at herself wearing her cozy pajamas. "Gimme, like... ten minutes! Tops," she promises then lays siege to the duffel bag in the corner crammed with her clothes. When she starts changing, Mavis puts her back to Amity and pulls her tanktop off. A long, pale surgical scar marches up her spine. She nonchalantly strips down to mismatched bra and panties, if Amity fancied her well... and if not then... well, no big deal! The bra is a bright, neon yellow and pushy-up/functional and her panties are plain cotton dyed a royal purple. Probably nothing she ever wore matched, but fortunately denim goes with just about anything. It doesn't take long for her to pull on pants, another tanktop, her hoodie, mismatched socks for her boots with the mismatchy shoelaces, and quickly run a comb through her hair.
"Six minutes!" Mavis announces, proud of herself, after checking her phone. "Here, I'll order an Uber, I signed up for this promo thing and got a discount til the 1st," she explains, shooting Amity a warning look not to protest because of shoddy financial state. It was HER business and, besides, Mavis was employed now. "That way you don't have to DD. Not sure how booze sits with ya, bean, and we can't BOTH be out a car."
Mavis' jaw drops when Amity gets up out of the bed and she leans on her two hands in the empty spot her friend had once occupied. She gasps then squees out a shrill note of glee so high and sharp that it's a good thing those cups she'd fetched aren't fancy-schmancy wine glasses or they'd have shattered. The artist scrambles to the edge of the bed (which is, like... right there, because it's teensy bed) and gets her feet under her on the floor. She bounces on the spot, makes a step for the door then brings herself back.
"Wait! Clothes. Right, I can't go out like this," she says with a laugh and opening her arms to look down at herself wearing her cozy pajamas. "Gimme, like... ten minutes! Tops," she promises then lays siege to the duffel bag in the corner crammed with her clothes. When she starts changing, Mavis puts her back to Amity and pulls her tanktop off. A long, pale surgical scar marches up her spine. She nonchalantly strips down to mismatched bra and panties, if Amity fancied her well... and if not then... well, no big deal! The bra is a bright, neon yellow and pushy-up/functional and her panties are plain cotton dyed a royal purple. Probably nothing she ever wore matched, but fortunately denim goes with just about anything. It doesn't take long for her to pull on pants, another tanktop, her hoodie, mismatched socks for her boots with the mismatchy shoelaces, and quickly run a comb through her hair.
"Six minutes!" Mavis announces, proud of herself, after checking her phone. "Here, I'll order an Uber, I signed up for this promo thing and got a discount til the 1st," she explains, shooting Amity a warning look not to protest because of shoddy financial state. It was HER business and, besides, Mavis was employed now. "That way you don't have to DD. Plus, drinking and driving is kinda... not cool. Not sure how booze sits with ya, bean, and we can't BOTH be out a car."
Amity grabs up her purse from the floor and loops the bag over one shoulder, crossing her arms as she waits for Mavis to get ready. She's standing there, watching, until it becomes apparent that no, Mavis /isn't/ going to duck into the bathroom to change. Her pale cheeks are burning pink in an instant and she can't quite make herself look away from the stretch of the other woman's back. It's pretty, as far as backs go. But then, Amity kind of things everything about Mavis is pretty? At last she manages to turn around, berating herself for taking her time with giving her friend privacy. Creep. She stares at the door out into the hall, fingers drumming against one arm as she waits for Mavis to finish. Poor Amity doesn't turn around until Mavis announces her finish time and gives a little smile in reply. Her hands shift, resting on her narrow hips.
"Look, even if I argue you aren't going to listen, so fine. And congratulations on your new changing speed record, you goofball." It's affectionate, though, and she steps forward to reach for the doorknob. "Let's get going before I think any better of this idea."
Fast Forwarding to Alchemy! Neither of them got the name right.
While the bar might not be that busy on a Monday night it is, probably, for the best as the pair, Amity and Mavis, walk in. Mavis gawks at the lighting, decor, stage, and everything in-betweeen while craning her head around in a dazzled, wide-eyed human fashion. The artist isn't exactly dressed for a night on the town, clad in a hoodie, jeans, and sturdy boots (can't forget the mismatched shoelaces) but she's here and HAPPY to have Amity along. Mavis scoops Amity's arm nearest her into her clutch, hugging it while they walk, which is a little complicated but Mavis is sure-footed and agile and... hyper enough to manage shuffling without tangling their ankles. She makes an 'O' with her lips then goes, "WoooOoww." And, thankfully, let's Amity go. "Okay, this place is cool."
Amity is definitely not dressed for this, considering her over large sweater and leggings--clothes she meant to go home in or wear while she had pizza with Mavis at the most. She sinks a little closer to Mavis as her arm is clutched, seeking omfort in the other's nearness. She is definitely not very sure about this whole thing, though she has to admit the decor is pretty impressive. And Mavis' intense fascination is pretty cute. It takes until this moment for the fact that Mavis is holding on to her to catch up. She turns much pinker in the face, but nods in agreement. "It's definitely impressive."
Aaaaaaand here is where I lost the log. Sorry! Amity and Mavis drank a little, danced a little, and no one died.
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