(Untitled)

[darbyfield]

The door of Dick Maynard's flat shuts firmly, solidly, irrevocably behind her. Tessa sighs, leans back against it, stares up at the ceiling; her hands are trembling, and she's aware in a very cold way that the feeling sweeping up from the pit of her stomach is halfway between fury and sheer bloody humiliation, and it's a few deep breaths before she

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[sal_romano]

He’s trying, really trying, not to worry too much about the dinosaurs. After a few pointed questions, he’d discovered they were all fenced to one side of the island, and it really was mostly safe to wander around the compound and the surrounding beach. After his first morning at the bakery, he finds his afternoon free, and decides to risk the possibility of the wildlife to get back out to the beach and sketch again

[darbyfield]

American.

And not, when she turns to look at him, exactly like one of the cousins -- he's got a bit of the frozen-in-time aura that a few of them still have, but the posture's entirely off, and he doesn't look like he'd know what to do with a gun if his life depended on it.

Appearances can be deceptive, but he doesn't feel dangerous, for all her nerves are attempting to convince her that anyone in the vicinity of what's just happened is in all probability a threat.

"Do you know, I've got absolutely no idea." She offers him a small, bitter smile. "I seem to have mislaid the entire damn city of London."

[sal_romano]

She might be surprised that at one point, his life had. Years ago, now, and he does his best to forget. Instead, he’s contented himself to live possibly too comfortably, and even after so little time on the Island, he’s already begun to relax into it. There’s a rhythm here, and if he follows it, he doesn’t have to think too much about the whole issue.

He moves closer as she answers, though she looks no more welcoming, and registers surprise briefly at the statement. The island does seem to love that one nationality.

“Oh,” he answers, and realizes she’s new and - is there a protocol? What was he really supposed to do? His moment resolves itself into a smile, a careful one, though kind.

“You’re on Tabula Rasa,” he explains, turning his palms up to indicate a sort of helplessness - and that he wishes he could explain. “If that’s news to you, I can find you someone to explain back at the compound.”

[darbyfield]

Every word in that statement is recognizably English, and it makes no sense whatsoever, although Tessa's ears prick up at the mention of a "Compound"; it seems, at the least, to indicate some form of human habitation.

Some form which happens to be completely foreign to her, but first things first. You deal with what's directly in front of you.

"I think we'd better go back to first principles," she says, forcing herself to stay calm. "Assume I've no idea what you're talking about and go on from there."

[sal_romano]

Oh. Sal looks briefly concerned by her words, but not her on the whole. He hasn't done this before, but he may as well give it a shot. He doesn't think there's any way he can actually make it worse - the reality (or surreality) of the situation already had that well in hand. He's still getting used to it

[darbyfield]

The assumption that one of them -- most likely her -- has gone insane is a tempting one, but hardly the most practical; in the event that she hasn't, assuming so would cut her off from a range of potentially useful options.

And if there's one thing Tessa has always had, it's a rock-hard faith in her own stability.

"I see," she says, and unwraps her scarf; insanity, if it is insanity, is hot. "That seems deeply implausible, but I suppose one has to believe one's eyes, or the whole thing might go philosophical in a hurry."

[sal_romano]

She does at least seem willing to greet the news with practicality. Salvatore might be willing to concede that they had both gone insane, in his current state. He tucks his hands back into his pockets, and shifts patiently.

"It's impossible," he agrees, kindly. "But it happens anyway. I'm not sure if it's reassuring or not, but everyone is here under the same circumstances. Philosophical or not - I'm still sorting that one out, myself."

He smiles, attempting reassurance. "I'm Salvatore, by the way."

[darbyfield]

Two things are very sharply, very suddenly clear: the situation, whatever it is, is quite a bit larger than two people on a beach, and there's no way on God's earth she's going to give him her real name.

Even if he's harmless, she refuses to have her name enter into the conversation among a group of unknown quantities. There's no use in courting more trouble than she absolutely must,.

"Delia Mitchell," she says -- the old cover identity sliding neatly into place. Delia the slightly corrupt bond trader, leftover from a money-laundering investigation eight years ago; at least it's not a stretch. "It's -- a qualified pleasure to meet you, I'm afraid, given the circumstances."

[sal_romano]

It could be argued that any situation was far bigger than the sum of the people involved, but at this particular moment it's better not to focus on it. If he notices any indication that she isn't being entirely truthful, he doesn't remark on it. She's fast enough that there's no hesitation that can't be written off as shock.

"I understand what you mean, Mrs. Mitchell," he says, applying the more cautious title. He doesnt' seem offended in the least. "There are arrangements for newcomers to stay at the compound, until you decide where you'd like to be permanently. I can show you the way, and I'm sure there's someone more qualified to show you around there."