[for Sookie]

[whatdiesinside]

He's got it figured that he's been here a week, though he hasn't gone so far as to tally the days in a fucking bible.  A week in fucking dreamland, six days hovering around Eugene, wondering how he ever managed to walk away; two days without cigarettes; five days of rain.

Five days of trying to sleep through the sound of it on the roof, five days of

Comments

[justsookie]

Rainy seasons are not at all a novel concept to Sookie. What Louisiana fails to get in snow, it makes up for in downpours, the levels of the marshes rising until they're practically impossible to muck through- and frankly, most people don't even bother trying, especially when it's warm enough out for leeches to be a problem. After two months of practically endless sunshine on the island, however, she has to admit that the rain's taken her by surprise, and the slippery terrain of Tabula Rasa has her spending most days in the Compound, only heading back to her hut when absolutely necessary. Fortunately, she's petite and blonde enough to get away with sleeping on the rec room couch without people kicking her out. Most days, anyway

[whatdiesinside]

Going stir crazy in the barracks doesn't mean he's out here for company, and he knew better than to expect some kind of solitude in a place this small with the weather this bad--still, he thought he'd have a moment to himself before he has to pull it together and look for something to do with his hands now that his pockets are soaked shut and his cigarettes are gone

[justsookie]

The terse and defensive tone of the young man only earns him an arched brow from Sookie and a slight recoil- if nothing else, it reminds her of Jason on a difficult day, the sort that they never seem to have on the island anymore, now that they've both learned once again to appreciate each other's presence. With this stranger, though, Sookie can't afford half the patience that she normally does for her brother. "I was just tryin' to be helpful," she mutters, raising both hands and taking a couple of steps back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Still, her eyes linger over the young man's frame, over the large eyes that have him looking more like a boy than anything else, a boy playing at being a man with the clothes he has on. She can't be mad at that, not yet, with so little provocation.

"Bon Temps, Louisiana," she replies, tilting her head with a shrug of the shoulder. "You've got a Cajun accent, yourself- ever been?"

[whatdiesinside]

"That sounds made up." He sucks the back of his teeth and tastes the rain, the cold of it and it really is fucking freezing, standing in the vented air in his soaked clothes. He's going to catch a cold and won't that be the dumbest shit, sneezing and shaking in the tropics. "Maybe it's a new place, fuck if I know anymore; I'm from Jackson."

The towel is just soaking up the water from his shirt at this point, becoming another clammy fold against his neck and he pulls it away, rubs his arms with the drier edges and folds it up against his chest like something he can use to fend people off but doesn't really know what the fuck to do with. "If you've got some attachment to this exchange you can follow me down to the laundry; I don't really care to freeze my ass off standin' here."

[justsookie]

It's funny, how the smallest of remarks can throw Sookie off. Maybe it's because silence is the most intriguing, of all behaviors others present her with. The lack of knowledge makes her want to know more, the blank slate is one which is always given the benefit of the doubt. But with this young man in front of her, not quite mouthing off but certainly not using language that she finds respectful, all Sookie can do is shrug and shake her head. If he'd been silent, if he had just chosen to mosey along to the clothes box, she would have followed to make sure he found something warm enough to keep him from catching a cold.

But if he's so very intent on taking care of himself, she's not going to get in the way of that.

"No particular attachment," Sookie replies with a tilt of her head, too stubborn, too easily offended. "You go right on ahead; I won't keep you."

[whatdiesinside]

A little smile catches on his features and holds, even as he snorts and shakes his head. "There's the nicest thing I've heard all week," he tells her, glad he hasn't found another stranger out to doggedly pursue idle prattle out of him.

And really, what's she going to do down there--hold his wet skivvies while he gets a dry pair?

It isn't until he's leaving the towel on a silent dryer and peeling his shirt off to settle on top of it that he realizes he never got her name. It isn't until he's pulling a new pair of jeans over his clammy legs that he decides he might give a shit, in spite of all the more pressing things he has to give a shit about. Cigarettes, some fucking breakfast before they put out everything for dinner. Following the fresh smells of it back up the stairs, feet quiet in a pair of socks and soggy boots carried in his hand, he feels more like a fucking human being when he finds her in the kitchen. "Never did get your name," he observes, strewing the muddy leather carelessly on a table, "or thank you for the

[justsookie]

It isn't until Sookie's pulled a fresh mango pie out of the kitchen- largely an experiment with fruit that she doesn't get a ton of back in Bon Temps- that she realizes the voice in the kitchen is addressing her in specific. Placated by the polite and kinder tone, she pushes the oven shut and carries the pie to the counter, careful to keep from burning herself with the aid of an oven mitt. Once the pie's on the tiles, all set to cool, Sookie leans over the counter to look the young man up and down, slightly approving of his dryer and cleaner state and brushing down her apron idly, subconsciously trying to decide how exactly she's supposed to treat him now. Nicely, she supposes.

But he doesn't like to be doted on, at least not in a way that makes him feel like a 'child,' even though to Sookie's eyes, that's more or less what he is, especially when he protests. Can she still offer him a piece of pie? Or is that too motherly, too?

Men"You're welcome for the towel, though it's really one of the Compound's, so you're better off sendin'

[whatdiesinside]

A laugh creaks out of him, not meanly but with genuine amusement, "Now that really sounds made up." Teeth licked behind his smile, he tests it all out at once, "Sookie Stackhouse from Bon Temps, Jesus. They could name dolls after you." He draws an appraising eye over, looking from the side with his head tilted away: she's certainly pretty enough for mass production.

Head still tilted, eyes still on her, he stops teasing her long enough to answer the question. "I'm Merriell Shelton," and maybe he shouldn't laugh when everybody he gives a damn about calls him Snafu, but at least that's just a nickname.

[justsookie]

Lingering on the tip of her tongue is a fiery retort, one that wants to argue that names, after all, do originate in the minds of people and are made up- and who is he to find Bon Temps weird when the translation is one that anyone would want to be able to apply to their town? A good time. Like Belle Rose for a beautiful rose, Terrebonne Parish for good ground, or even the much more self-explanatory Paradis. But the quip doesn't seem to be ill-intentioned, and what it does pull out of Sookie is the never before considered fact that maybe she, just like Angel and Buffy, is some type of fictional character in some other world as well, and for a moment she feels that gnawing unease that all of her life may just serve as entertainment for others in a world far from her own. Though, she has to say that Bon Temps sounds a mite more reasonable than Sunnydale

[whatdiesinside]

"Oh don't worry, I like them too," he says of her eyes, tonguing an incisor and letting no subtlety cloud the way he gives it another couple beats before he actually looks up, into them. And he does like them well enough, he decides, making a point to study her face with the same intent, the same long stare understanding the slant of them, the color, the lines of the sharp skull he knows lurks under all that soft skin. When you spend four years seeing the same fucking faces day in and out, wary of learning the new ones, it's surprisingly nice to find one that is fresh and relatively safe.

A petite blond woman should be the safest thing he could find, but he's seen too many things turned inside out and made dangerous, he tracks her with his eyes and doesn't let himself settle in too much at the table for reasons as simple as her soft lines and her home town he's never fucking heard of. "I don't know," he answers, "how good are you at making it?"

[justsookie]

"...you can't be serious," Sookie breathes, shaking her head at Merriell's blatant stare, feeling stripped down to her knickers. Her brows are furrowed slightly, naturally brown eyes darker and observant, as his same gaze travels up to her face to settle like silk- he's done this before, she guesses, maybe to girls more easily charmed than herself. And maybe it's the fact that all of it feels similar to being sized up by patrons at Merlotte's, but her first reaction is just to dig her heels into the floor and stay put, setting herself up for a challenge

[whatdiesinside]

"Well if you're offerin' I won't say no," he concedes, picking at the sleeve of his shirt. He'll have to go back down and try to dig out a poncho: it's a strange singular kind of Hell not to have anything in his pockets, nothing to fidget with, nothing to do but keep watching her.

That it bothers her isn't any problem of his, there's a lot worse to endure in the world than being looked over, but--you can learn a lot about a person just watching them, just how they react to being watched, and Snafu isn't sure he wants to know. If he follows the way her hair moves for too long, it'll stick in his head, he'll recall it and maybe start to give a shit.

Turning his head back to his hands, folded on the table in front of his boots, he asks, "What'd you do in Bon Temps?" Maybe this too is telling, but it's the kind of detail he can better forget, ignore completely.

[justsookie]

"As long as you don't think you're doin' me a favor by havin' my pie," Sookie shrugs with a sway back and forth of her head. "There was this one guy who kept on talkin' as though havin' a slice was like the biggest honor anyone could do me; it was ridiculous." Fanning at the pie with a small towel, she touches the rim of the pie crust curiously with an index finger, pulling it back and satisfied with its temperature. As much as she complains, the thought of Stephen Colbert just brings an amused smirk to her face as she grabs a knife to cut through the pie, lifting the largest slice and setting it down on a plate, licking off her thumb afterward

[whatdiesinside]

The only favor he could see in such an act is suffering through the slice if it turns out to be terrible, to spare her feelings that come off her with a certain kind of static. Snafu can almost hear the radio-crackle in them, can imagine the way they irritate then fade into the background if he ignores it. She needn't worry about it, though: "I ain't one to do favors, especially if no one's askin'." Especially if it's something that trivial

[justsookie]

Although there's no concrete reason for it, Sookie believes him. She believes the fact that he's not one to do favors- not because he looks unkind or uncompromising. No, nothing like that. Instead, it's the ease with which he does everything, the lack of extraneous movement of the sort that Sookie deals in against her will. The only thing indulgent aspect to this man at all is the way he moves slow and sweet as molasses- at least, when he's not soaked to the bone- like a man who suddenly has all the time in the world.

Curiously, she watches as he chews on her pie with a thoughtful sort of look, causing her stomach to tighten as Sookie marvels at the way she suddenly cares what a stranger thinks about her baking. With some reluctance, she pulls the smallest piece of pie from the rest and sets it on her plate, tempted to take a bite. Before she can, though, he speaks again with that effortless smile, catching her attention

[whatdiesinside]

It doesn't occur to Snafu that she's waiting on some kind of judgment, that she really gives a shit about his opinion on anything--though it'd certainly please him to think so. That he's still picking at the slice should be sign enough that it doesn't taste like shit, just soft flake crust and an odd sort of citrus. Odd, but not special, and if she's eating it she doesn't need him to tell her what it's like