[gathering post]

[notamod_box]

The strangest thing for many about the phonebox was the number of rooms, myriad in their uses and types, seemingly in unending supply. There were people here too, sometimes no more than voices around a corner or down the hall. Sometimes sitting in the chair near the fire that likely hadn't been there earlier. There was even talk of an entire

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[madeofblood]

Jessica's not sure how she got here or how to get out, but after the initial confusion, she's not sure if she minds either. The door she came through wouldn't open again, so she started walking, looking around. It seems like this place, whatever it is, goes on forever, but she doesn't have to worry about wandering into the sunlight just now either.

Making her way down a hall, she turns the corner into a room, twisting her hands together. Settling down at a seat at the bar, she turns to look to her side. "Mind tellin' me where we are?"

[its_a_gerund]

"American," he turned to the redhead with a smile, tilting his glass of beer in an almost toast that didn't quite make up for the wry twist of his lips. Amercian girls - for all Dakin had met few in his life - tended to be two things. Easy and unintelligent. The latter interested him not at all but the former could be interesting, at least for a short while. "You're not in Kansas anymore, for one."

[madeofblood]

"I never was in Kansas," Jessica points out, though the reference isn't lost on her. There's something about the way he pegs her as American right off the bat, like it means something, that makes her uncertain, makes her want to bare her fangs, but she doesn't. He might just be trying to be nice and this place is still awful public anyway. "So that's not much of an answer."

[its_a_gerund]

"I never thought Kansas sounded a very nice place," he admitted as he leaned toward the girl. "Tornadoes, all of that."

Were he honest, he'd admit he knew little about America outside of what he'd learned at school. The occasional belligerent drunk or tourist family tracing British roots was about all of it outside of the media. "I can't tell you what I don't know, can I?"

[madeofblood]

"So you're as clueless as I am," she says, but there's a lightness in her tone, teasing, as she leans her chin against her shoulder. She's not entirely sure how to do all this, talking to boys, flirting, skirting the line between making friends and finding dinner, all too aware of the line of his throat as she talks. All the same, she's a quick learner, always has been. "Been here long?"

[its_a_gerund]

"Looks that way," he allowed that sort of teasing, in fact part of him welcomed it. There was something curious about it, or so he thought. "Weeks now. Better than Sheffield, so I thought I'd stay."

Not that he could have left even if he'd wanted.

[madeofblood]

"Oh, is that so?" Jessica props one elbow up on the counter and leans her cheek against her palm. Her mama always said not to, that it wasn't ladylike, but she really doesn't give a fuck anymore and she sure as hell isn't a lady. If she were, she wouldn't be sitting here smiling like this, knees swaying side to side. "Just figured you'd stick around? That mean y' know how t' get outta here?"

She doesn't think he does, but there's no harm in asking.

[its_a_gerund]

Not ladylike is exactly the type of thing that Dakin liked, at least to a point. He's not exactly the gentleman type, for all that he's spent nineteen years perfecting suave and charming. "The two times the door opened, it wasn't home," he admitted, turning to face her with said charming grin, "once New York in the 70's, and the other time I don't even know where."

[madeofblood]

"What?" Jessica laughs, shaking her head. "Go on an' pull the other one. Ya can't just open a door an' step into the 1970s." True, she opened a door and wound up here, but there's only so far her credulity will carry her, no matter how cute a guy is.

[its_a_gerund]

"What year are you from?" Dakin is already fishing his wallet outside of his pocket, the cigarettes landing on the counter first. From the well-worn leather foldover comes his school ID and drivers permit, "1981, Sheffield. I met a man who barely born then the other day."

[madeofblood]

"Oh, come one, do I look that stupid?" Jessica reaches over to look at the ID, though she has no way of knowing if it's fake or not, and shakes her head, holding it back out to him. "It's 2009, mister, an' you can fake an ID. I wasn't born in 1981."

[its_a_gerund]

"You do a lot of ID faking?" His eyebrow rose as he took it back with two fingers. Dakin was amused, more because of her determination to not be fooled by him. "Ask all the people here where they're from. When they're from. It makes about as much sense."

[madeofblood]

"Never have," Jessica replies, prim in the face of such an accusation, though it's more because she's never had a chance than because she wouldn't. Of course, now it doesn't matter so much. "An' nothin' makes any sense here, I guess, so I can give y' that much. So you're Stuart Dakin, then."

[its_a_gerund]

"Dskin will do," he offered his hand back to her after tucking his wallet away. She's holding his interest, which is something. Too many don't. "Do you have a name, or shall I call you the Belle of the Future?"

[madeofblood]

Jessica looking down to the side with a soft laugh. "Oh, I'm no belle," she says, glancing up through her lashes as she reaches to shake his hand. She's not genteel enough to be a belle, Southern or no. A Scarlett, maybe. "Jessica."

[its_a_gerund]

"I don't know," he was working the charm, his mouth still pulled up on the one side as he looked her over again. "You look fairly belle-like to me, Jessica. But what would I know? I'm just some Brit."