[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

[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.

He sets his fork down as if to give attention to his answer, nearly folds his hands together, aborts, picks up the fork again. He'd rather have a cigarette but at least he can hold the utensil, put something in his mouth and chew on his thoughts, because it is still raining out there, there is still a familiar layer of mud on his boots and he still fucking hates this question.

Hates it even more in her voice, another picture-pretty piece of home he can't quite enjoy, like pie with fruit he doesn't fucking recognize. I come from Bon Temps, what time do you fucking come from? The fork clicks against his plate again and he stares at it, then draws his gaze back up along the table, along her thin wrist to her elbow, to her shoulder, follow the pale hair back to her face. "I disappeared in nineteen-forty-six," he says nice and flat, with a truth to the words that gives even him a pause, a shiver like rainwater running cold down his back. Eugene can fucking verify that one for her.

[justsookie]

On Sookie's end, thoughts are very rarely given to the matter of consequences. It's all action, instead, stepping forward with both feet, charging ahead until she's realized that she's stepped in mud or tripped over details she isn't meant to see in the first place. Sometimes, it's anger that gets the better of her, blazing with a force that cuts through everything else, that hardly diminishes until something catches in her throat and the oxygen's cut off altogether. Other times, it's simply instinct that pulls her forward, the hand that curves around the back of someone's neck just to get a clearer picture of their thoughts. Unsurprisingly, this is one of those times, though she regrets it soon afterward- it's too much, too soon, all about someone who's a stranger. Talking might not help him. Talking might be the only thing that does.

But she doesn't know which it is, and so all she can do is blink blankly for a few moments, as though running through the options that breeze in front of her eyes. Sookie presses her lips together, keeping eye contact but doing little else. Trying to show, for what it's worth, that a different era and mentality isn't something that she'll shy from.

"I'm sorry," she finally manages, quiet. Even. At that point, her gaze does lower, to the tines of her fork pressing against the pie crust.

[whatdiesinside]

Sorry for what, he doesn't ask. Maybe 'cause he knows, maybe 'cause spitting the question at her won't ever be enough to get the ire it invokes out into the air. Hell, spitting on her might not even do that, his stomach jumped to his throat and ready for it, full of acid and he feels a little like--like fucking panicking.

It's always hard, when the pretty harmless ones go and do something that fucking stupid, drive the wedge of experience harder between them, but not so hard that he doesn't want to do something, anything to hurt her and drive it back out. Better she hate him than sit there and pity him for something she doesn't have a fucking clue about. All sympathy and no guilt, not even a shred of the shit he carries on his back.

One hand sliding gently under the plate, he reaches for his boots with the other and lifts both with him as he stands up out of his chair. There's mud lingering on the table and then, then he turns over the plate and dumps the rest of the pie slice next to it. "Be sorry about that," he says, surprised and a little pleased at how even his voice stays, "tastes like shit." Boots in hand, he sets his shoulders and turns away from her and the mess, stalking out of the kitchen to go find that poncho.

What he wouldn't give for a fucking cigarette right now.

[justsookie]

For a while she simply stands there, stands as she sees Merriell walk out of the kitchen and disappear from her peripheral view, cheeks burning with indignation and shame both, perhaps more the latter than the former. Even as it becomes increasingly clear that she's seen so little, that her view of the world has hardly had time to expand at all, she hates not being given the chance to understand. Hates doors being slammed in her face, like she's some clueless blonde, a small child, because there's a part of Sookie that's sure that she could step up to the plate. Could understand, pull her end of the weight. Hands balled into fists, she stands there with her feet rooted to the ground just a while longer, eyes closing as she takes a deep breath, then steps forward to start cleaning up the mess.

"You don't have to be such an a-hole about it," she mutters under her breath, scooping as much of the mess as she can onto the plate, dumping the contents into the trash and placing the dirty plate into the sink. The table gets a furious wiping down, the plates are scrubbed with all the strength that she can pull in, before Sookie's hands grip the edge of the sink and she leans over, just slightly, to take a deep breath. Shaking her hands off, she wipes them off on her apron before covering the pie and pushing it to the edge of the counter.

Shaking everything off with a decided roll of her shoulders, Sookie simply makes her way to the bookshelf, pulling off the first volume she can reach and curling up in the corner of the couch, letting the pages fall open over her lap.

If one apology is enough to set him off, she isn't going to offer a second.