Sure enough, the door opens as if they're entering the front foyer of Clark's house. He glances around the entrance way and then stops to listen
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"What?" Clark turns around to find out what she's talking about and then... turns right back again.
"Uh. Yeah. Stay here." With that, he jogs upstairs and returns a few minutes later with a large plaid shirt and some smaller sized jeans. Somehow, he manages to pas them to her without actually looking at her.
"Shirt's mine; jeans are my mom's. They should fit, for now."
"Thanks," she says, with a grin he probably can't see, and dresses herself hastily. "Yeah, I tend to forget that particular part of going on vacation until it hits me."
There's something unduly adorable about the way she's drowning in all that plaid, smiling apologetically.
"It's all right. No harm done," he smiles back, finally facing her now that she's dressed.
"I should probably give you a quick tour before I abandon you for a shower." He starts off toward the kitchen, expecting she'll follow.
"Well, this is the kitchen, obviously. Dining room, sitting room," Clark points them all out in turn, waiting for Eights to take some time to look around, if she wants.
It's a farmhouse. A cute little farmhouse. She could fit it into her basement with room to spare. She's perfectly content to find a comfy place to curl up and do nothing while Clark is in the shower.
(Unlike certain previous unexpected female houseguests, she has no desire to interrupt him therein.)
Clark wanders further into the kitchen and picks a note off the fridge.
"Yeah, mom's in Topeka for a few days. That's good." He motions toward the sitting room. "Have a seat, or help yourself to whatever's here. We're usually pretty well stocked. I'll just be a few minutes."
He takes a few steps toward the stairs leading to the upper level from the kitchen and then turns around again. "Oh. If a golden retriever accosts you, he's just being friendly. Promise."
Eights had fallen asleep on the couch, but she awakens to the sound of his descent down the stairs, and by the time he asks after her well-being she's bright-eyed again, if a little mussed.
"I'm great," she says cheerily, making her best effort to politely not stare at the attractive spectacle he makes. "Shower's done you some good, I see."
Eights lets forth a rueful smile. "I'm that transparent, am I? Yeah, I think I should probably get some sleep. But if I'm in your room, where the fuck are you?"
Under ordinary circumstances she's assume the answer was 'also in my room', but she's learned to adjust herself to Clark's way of thinking at least somewhat.
"I'll seriously be sleeping on the couch. I've done it before."
He leads Eights up the stairs and down a narrow hallway. His room is at the far end; it's dark - thanks to the plaid curtains - but overall cozy. And crowded.
"Here you go. Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to have to head outside to get some work done, but I won't be far."
The listening catches her eye, and she's about to speak as she walks through the door...
...but then she walks through the door, and that bothersome rule about taking dead objects to a live world catches up with her.
"Um." She looks down at herself ruefully. "Can I borrow a shirt or something?"
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"Uh. Yeah. Stay here." With that, he jogs upstairs and returns a few minutes later with a large plaid shirt and some smaller sized jeans. Somehow, he manages to pas them to her without actually looking at her.
"Shirt's mine; jeans are my mom's. They should fit, for now."
Reply
There's something unduly adorable about the way she's drowning in all that plaid, smiling apologetically.
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"I should probably give you a quick tour before I abandon you for a shower." He starts off toward the kitchen, expecting she'll follow.
"Well, this is the kitchen, obviously. Dining room, sitting room," Clark points them all out in turn, waiting for Eights to take some time to look around, if she wants.
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It's a farmhouse. A cute little farmhouse. She could fit it into her basement with room to spare. She's perfectly content to find a comfy place to curl up and do nothing while Clark is in the shower.
(Unlike certain previous unexpected female houseguests, she has no desire to interrupt him therein.)
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"Yeah, mom's in Topeka for a few days. That's good." He motions toward the sitting room. "Have a seat, or help yourself to whatever's here. We're usually pretty well stocked. I'll just be a few minutes."
He takes a few steps toward the stairs leading to the upper level from the kitchen and then turns around again. "Oh. If a golden retriever accosts you, he's just being friendly. Promise."
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(She never wants anyone to worry about her. She never believes herself worth worrying about, really.)
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Should Eights get bored, there is a TV. It's nowhere near as high tech as anything Eights herself would own, but it serves.
About a half an hour later, Clark returns, hair still a little damp and dressed in a clean pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt.
"How you doing?"
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"I'm great," she says cheerily, making her best effort to politely not stare at the attractive spectacle he makes. "Shower's done you some good, I see."
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He furrows his brow looking down at her.
"You know, if you're tired you can sleep, but you should go upstairs. You'll be in my room."
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Under ordinary circumstances she's assume the answer was 'also in my room', but she's learned to adjust herself to Clark's way of thinking at least somewhat.
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"Come on, I'll show you upstairs," he says, holding out a hand to help her off the couch.
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"Thanks. No, seriously, where'll you be? I don't fancy kicking you out of your own bed."
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He leads Eights up the stairs and down a narrow hallway. His room is at the far end; it's dark - thanks to the plaid curtains - but overall cozy. And crowded.
"Here you go. Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to have to head outside to get some work done, but I won't be far."
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