[ Where Sal roams around the kitchen and then stays on her feet, Anathema's like a still and quiet pool at the center of the kitchen. Normally she can be such a dervish of multi-tasking activity herself; today's an exception. At the other woman's question, though, she doesn't hide her laugh. ]
It's not chloroform. Er, which is a kind of knock-out chemical. It takes maybe about ten, fifteen minutes? But that's still quick enough— you should have a lie down on my bed upstairs, you know. Take a nap, rest up. I need to take a shower anyhow.
[ Then, a moment later, realising how that might have sounded, she clears her throat. ]
There's plenty of room for two to nap. You wouldn't be putting me out any. And I'd feel better knowing you're letting that cut heal up.
[Honestly, if it was anyone else making this suggestion, well—Sal wouldn't even have stuck around long enough for them to ask it. She's really got to take a long, deliberate drink from the mug to keep herself from laughing, however. For the sake of everyone in the room, she's able to rein in her own awfulness.
It gives her time to think too. She could just fly up and nap on a rooftop, probably. She doesn't need to stay here at all of she doesn't want to.
Even so...]
Do you have a shirt I can borrow?
[It sounds like a yes, with the way she puts the empty cup back down gently on the table. Sal's not looking her in the eye anymore, but she's not leaving either. She wouldn't be able to tell anyone for who's sake she thinks she's doing this for, so she just lets it be instead.]
I don't want to make a mess.
[She makes a gesture to the scratched up holes. For Sal, it's the most sensitive she knows how to be, trying in her own way to distract from other awkwardness.]
I do. I don't always dress like this, believe it or not. [ A vague wave to her own now-grubby and dusty dress, heavy with sand and grit. With a thoughtful click of her tongue: ] Ugh. I should do a load of laundry anyway. I can get you a shirt and we can toss all of our stuff in the wash at once.
[ Starting to sound a little more brisk now, again, as she starts organising the world back into its to-do lists, items to tackle, next steps. Despite the fact that she only just sat down, Anathema's back on her feet again, carrying her mug and starting to head upstairs. ]
Thanks for— picking me up. It'd have taken me ages to get home by myself.
[Seems like a strange thing to thank her for, in Sal's opinion.]
I wanted to do it. And besides, automobiles are mostly shit. Nothing wrong with a good, reliable bird to take you where you need to go.
[Following along up the stairs, listening to Anathema start to create a chore list, Sal feels more certain about her decision to stay. She's at least strong enough to carry her if the other woman pushes too hard and manages to doze off on her feet.]
You want...help or something? I can do it while you're in the shower, at least.
[Sal has exactly zero experience in domestic chore sharing habits but what the fuck, laundry isn't difficult to figure out.]
Come on, you're the guest here. [ She's led the way to her bedroom, setting her mug on her dresser and pulling out the bag of laundry, then rummaging for a spare oversized shirt, which she tosses to Sal. The bedroom's a once-generic space that's been made more personal: a knitted throw blanket slung onto the bed, a stack of books piled on the desk beside a laptop, a phrenology skull on the mantle, a scattering of eclectic thrift shop finds. Anathema cares very much about making her surroundings nice, coordinated, even if it's temporary, like her cottage at Tadfield. Or here. ]
But if you really are set on being useful, then feel free to take a crack at the laundry — the machine's downstairs, next to the kitchen — and then just make yourself comfortable. And I'll be right back.
[ A wave of her hand towards the bed, with its stack of pillows and the throw, and then Anathema scoops up a towel and departs.
It's a mark of trust, just depositing Sal in her home and letting her have free rein of it — there's no end of drawers and books to poke through, a tarot spread sitting abandoned on the desk. But Anathema believes rather firmly in her gauge of other people; she's seen the other woman's aura, after all. And so she trusts her. ]
[Sal doesn't say anything as Anathema leaves the room, already reaching dutifully for the bag of laundry. She changes shirts with quick precision and throws hers in with the rest of the bag. The quiet wraps around her as she pads back downstairs, finding what she needs in the laundry room and works on starting the load up.
It's probably the first true peace she's found since the whole storm started.
When she's back in Anathema's bedroom, she does stand for a moment and take a look around. There's that feeling again, as if she shouldn't root around and break anything. The strange sacredness in another's personal living space. There's a candle on the table, so instead of keeping the light on, she waves a hand and a tiny flame begins to burn on the wick instead.
A faint sound of running water from the other room can be heard as she takes time in turning the bed down. Her gun holster is left on the floor, nearby but out of sight. And when she finally settles herself down under the covers, it's as Anathema guessed. There's room enough for two women without it becoming too uncomfortable.
She tries lying on her side, but with the bandages, ends up settling on her back. With one arm up, under her head, it leaves Anathema the lion's share of space. When the magic finally begins to kick in, and the world begins to sink away, a realization dawns on her. With every tiny gesture she's made since the beginning to now, Sal has made the decision to put her trust in this person.
More than that, she's trusting Anathema not to hurt her.]
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no subject
[ Where Sal roams around the kitchen and then stays on her feet, Anathema's like a still and quiet pool at the center of the kitchen. Normally she can be such a dervish of multi-tasking activity herself; today's an exception. At the other woman's question, though, she doesn't hide her laugh. ]
It's not chloroform. Er, which is a kind of knock-out chemical. It takes maybe about ten, fifteen minutes? But that's still quick enough— you should have a lie down on my bed upstairs, you know. Take a nap, rest up. I need to take a shower anyhow.
[ Then, a moment later, realising how that might have sounded, she clears her throat. ]
There's plenty of room for two to nap. You wouldn't be putting me out any. And I'd feel better knowing you're letting that cut heal up.
no subject
It gives her time to think too. She could just fly up and nap on a rooftop, probably. She doesn't need to stay here at all of she doesn't want to.
Even so...]
Do you have a shirt I can borrow?
[It sounds like a yes, with the way she puts the empty cup back down gently on the table. Sal's not looking her in the eye anymore, but she's not leaving either. She wouldn't be able to tell anyone for who's sake she thinks she's doing this for, so she just lets it be instead.]
I don't want to make a mess.
[She makes a gesture to the scratched up holes. For Sal, it's the most sensitive she knows how to be, trying in her own way to distract from other awkwardness.]
no subject
[ Starting to sound a little more brisk now, again, as she starts organising the world back into its to-do lists, items to tackle, next steps. Despite the fact that she only just sat down, Anathema's back on her feet again, carrying her mug and starting to head upstairs. ]
Thanks for— picking me up. It'd have taken me ages to get home by myself.
no subject
I wanted to do it. And besides, automobiles are mostly shit. Nothing wrong with a good, reliable bird to take you where you need to go.
[Following along up the stairs, listening to Anathema start to create a chore list, Sal feels more certain about her decision to stay. She's at least strong enough to carry her if the other woman pushes too hard and manages to doze off on her feet.]
You want...help or something? I can do it while you're in the shower, at least.
[Sal has exactly zero experience in domestic chore sharing habits but what the fuck, laundry isn't difficult to figure out.]
yourssss to wrap?
But if you really are set on being useful, then feel free to take a crack at the laundry — the machine's downstairs, next to the kitchen — and then just make yourself comfortable. And I'll be right back.
[ A wave of her hand towards the bed, with its stack of pillows and the throw, and then Anathema scoops up a towel and departs.
It's a mark of trust, just depositing Sal in her home and letting her have free rein of it — there's no end of drawers and books to poke through, a tarot spread sitting abandoned on the desk. But Anathema believes rather firmly in her gauge of other people; she's seen the other woman's aura, after all. And so she trusts her. ]
closed for snuggles.
It's probably the first true peace she's found since the whole storm started.
When she's back in Anathema's bedroom, she does stand for a moment and take a look around. There's that feeling again, as if she shouldn't root around and break anything. The strange sacredness in another's personal living space. There's a candle on the table, so instead of keeping the light on, she waves a hand and a tiny flame begins to burn on the wick instead.
A faint sound of running water from the other room can be heard as she takes time in turning the bed down. Her gun holster is left on the floor, nearby but out of sight. And when she finally settles herself down under the covers, it's as Anathema guessed. There's room enough for two women without it becoming too uncomfortable.
She tries lying on her side, but with the bandages, ends up settling on her back. With one arm up, under her head, it leaves Anathema the lion's share of space. When the magic finally begins to kick in, and the world begins to sink away, a realization dawns on her. With every tiny gesture she's made since the beginning to now, Sal has made the decision to put her trust in this person.
More than that, she's trusting Anathema not to hurt her.]