(Untitled)

[outta_texas]

Tyra's sitting at the table in the rec-room and she's actually reading. A book. A real book. Tyra Collette's never been much of a reader, but then she woke up in her new place and there was a shiny silver case next to her head with a label with her name on it

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[a_sport]

Calvin set down a mighty stack of books in other languages beside her, and a moment later was plopping down next to her. It had been a long few days, on top of a long week, in what was shaping up to be a long month. Every day, he was waiting for news that someone else had disappeared, another one of his friends had gone away. But Tyra was here, so he gave her a small smile.

"Afternoon."

[outta_texas]

Tyra doesn't look up from the page that she's looking at that talks about cutting layers, but she does smile when she hears his voice.

"Hey, you," she says, turning a page. "How're you doin'?"

[a_sport]

At the sight of her being engrossed in her book, he smiled warmly. Then, so not to distract her b y pestering her, he opened Foucault's Pendulum in its original Italian. It was taking him a lot longer to read than normal and probably too ambitious, but he was getting there.

"Alright. Want nothing more in the world than an afternoon of peaceful reading."

[outta_texas]

"You think you can read while I cut your hair?" says Tyra, glancing up at him with a speculative eyebrow raised and a smile on her face.

[no_emptynest]

With a cup of tea warming her hands, Ruth came into the rec room from the kitchen, smelling of lavender and jasmine and honeysuckle, the faint perfumes of her hand lotion tickling her nose. She'd found the cedar chest at the foot of her bed that morning. It was filled with lotions and perfumes and scrubs and creams and gels, frilly but still tasteful nightgowns and robes and underthings. She didn't know what in the world she needed with a bunch of flowery scents and impractical silks when she was living outdoors in the sand, but the chest was engraved with her name and it seemed silly to let it go to waste.

Maybe she'd find someone else who'd get more use out of it.

"Oh, hello, Tyra."

[outta_texas]

Tyra looks up from the book she's reading, and smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Oh, hey, Miss Fisher. You smell great...That is you, right?"

[no_emptynest]

Laughing as she lowered herself down into a nearby chair, she nodded, "I'm afraid it might be a little much."

There was an underlying hint of muskiness, a warmth that she normally wouldn't have chosen for herself.

[outta_texas]

"Nawh," says Tyra, shaking her head. "It's lovely." An idea starts forming, and Tyra raises an eyebrow.

"Hey. Miss Fisher. How'd you like a bit of pamperin'?"