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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 18, 2010 23:45:58 GMT -8
Ash didn't really notice that Michael wasn't answering her questions, too bubbly at the idea of having a tea party with an actual guest (Bo-Bo didn't count or so she'd been told.) Once they reached the stairs Ashlin released his hand as she bounced up the steps. "Its a little messy, I have to warn you." She was mildly embarrassed but not too so. "I haven't quite had a chance to finish unpacking yet."
Opening the door she threw out her arms to present her small apartment, as if to say 'Ta-Da!' There were boxes, half full or unopened scattered around the floor, and a squishy old coach in a strange shade of light blue sat to one side. There was some welding gear leaning against the couch, and some more sitting in the box next to it. One could half see the kitchen through open doorway, and it was slightly more organized than the living room.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 19, 2010 1:20:00 GMT -8
He relaxed a bit when she let go of his hand - quietly shadowing her as she climbed the stairs. He shook his head dismissively when she said the place was messy...but when he saw the state of the room, he stopped short a little. Oh dear. It...was...rather out of order, wasn't it? But, really, it wasn't his place. He tried to pay it no mind, managing a flimsy smile as he walked further into the room. Ignoring the boxes on the floor. Ignoring the books his foot bumped into. Ignoring the - the box was going to tear if she wasn't careful - NO, no, it wasn't his concern, stop doing this, Michael, it's not a big deal -
"I see that you are...still...organizing," he stammered, eyes flicking around, "...So the state of the room is...unsurprising."
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 19, 2010 1:39:55 GMT -8
"I've been spending so much time painting I've had so little time to unpack." She explained with a nod, not quite noticing the way Michael was twitching. "Any tea preferences?" She asked as she made her way toward the kitchen. Trying her best to be a proper hostess she told him kindly, and gesturing toward the couch "Please make yourself comfortable, I'll just be a bit."
Humming lightly she started going about grabbing the sandwich and putting the tea water on. It was so nice to have someone to talk to for once. Well she talked to Bo-Bo but she'd been told (mostly by the doctors, but she didn't listen to the doctors because they were bad and gave her medicine she didn't need, she didn't need it, but the would never listen-- she wasn't crazy, she wasn't!) that she shouldn't do that and so it probably didn't really count. Besides it wasn't like he could say anything back to her (and she knew that, she really, really did.) Ashlin wondered if she should make Michael a regular sandwich or if perhaps he might like to try one of her peanut butter and peeps (green of course.) She supposed she could make him one, and if he didn't like it she could make him something else. That decided she continued her work happily, just waiting for the tea kettle to sound.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 19, 2010 2:12:14 GMT -8
He shook his head in response to the tea query (as a rule, he enjoyed most any kind of tea), and he opened his mouth to attempt to respond to her other comment...but before he could get the words out, she was out of the room and telling him to make himself comfortable. He stood for a moment, before he seated himself on the couch, looking around at the room...and before he could help himself, he found himself starting to nudge things about. Before long, he had gotten back up and was bustling about, skillfully and carefully shifting things. There was a bookcase, those books could go in there instead of on the floor - those boxes weren't open as of yet, they could be stacked out of the way - that box was nearly empty, why, he could just take out the last bits and put it in another one, there's some bulk gone....
By the time she went back into her living room, Ashlin would find it a great deal...cleaner than it had been.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 19, 2010 12:33:37 GMT -8
The tray Ashlin carried back with her was a rather interesting sight. She'd found a lovely teapot that looked like a purple octopus at a flea market when she'd been in high school, and it had become her favorite (she had various teapots, some might call it a collection) since then. The little teacups did not match each other but were both all together rather pretty. Once a more traditional looking china type, white with a pretty blue design, and the other covered in green and blue polka dots. "I hope you're not alergic to peanut . . . butter. . ." Ash trailed off mid sentence as she reentered the room, tray in hand.
Blinking she took in the sight of her living room, and how long had she actually been gone she wondered. It hadn't seemed like that long to her. Blinking owlishly she looked at Michael, head tilted to the side slightly. "You. . . cleaned?" Was that normal? Her mother's guests never cleaned but then again her mother never got many guests either, and they'd been old friends. Perhaps it was traditional of new acquaintances? Maybe to foster good will? It seemed a rather kind gesture after all. She would have to keep that in mind next time she went to someone's home.
"Oh. Well. Thank you." That was the proper response wasn't it? She hoped it was.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 19, 2010 13:53:54 GMT -8
Michael stopped dead in his tracks when Ash returned to the room - halfway through moving another box. Rather awkwardly, he realized how he must look...and so he set it down, straightening up to stand at attention with his hands behind his back. His cheeks reddened again, his brow furrowed a little and his manner sheepish.
"Ah - yes - I took the liberty...it's...rather a...habit for me, you see." He cleared his throat a little, shuffling over to the couch she had indicated before and rather awkwardly seating himself. It was occurring to him slowly that he had never once actually been anyone's guest before - he was so used to being the servant or the host, he didn't know how to relax in the company of others. This fact was rather reflected in the slight confusion on his handsome face, his manner of sitting entirely too straight-backed and prim for the plush couch.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 19, 2010 14:09:38 GMT -8
Placing the tray down on the small coffee table in front of the squishy old couch Ash began to pour the tea. "You take a bit of sugar in your tea right?" she asked, trying to remember what he'd had when he was last here. "I made sandwiches as well; peanut butter and peeps. You have to use the green ones of course." Leaning in slightly she told him, rather conspiratorially "The yellow chicks can't be trusted." Leaning away she hand Michael his tea, and pushed a plate closer to his side of the coffee table. Turning to sit on the couch so that she was facing Michael she assured him "If you don't like it I can make you something else of course." She did hope he liked it though, her parents never wanted to try them. She thought once that her dad had, but he'd only pretended to eat the sandwich, she'd found the dog munching on it later. Sipping her own tea (lemon, hint of sugar) in the polka dotted cup she stared at Michael expectantly.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 19, 2010 22:32:21 GMT -8
Michael looked rather...comical as he sat on the very soft couch, wobbling a little since he wouldn't seem to relax his posture. He nodded to her as she correctly remembered how he took his tea...and then, there she was, explaining the sandwiches she had made. Altogether, he was less puzzled by the fact that she was serving him a peanut butter and Peeps sandwich, and more puzzled by the rather serious way she explained that the yellow Peeps were not to be trusted. Was this true? He didn't really...eat Peeps as a general rule. Was there a mass recall on the yellow ones? Something in the dye?
Huh.
...And then he was being stared at. Politely, he took a bite of the sandwich, chewing for a moment before giving a little nod of approval. It wasn't bad at all, really - peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches tended to be good, anyhow, and the sugar just added an extra sort of crunch.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 20, 2010 23:30:13 GMT -8
Beaming at him, Ashlin took another sip of her tea. Humming happily, she really did love good tea, it was a wonderful way to relax. It seemed even better when one got to share it with company. "So you wanted to ask me something?" Ashlin prompted tilting her head slightly, leaning into the couch. She liked this couch, she'd bought it at a thrift store, and it smelled like lavender. Her grandma had always smelled like lavender.
And chocolate chip cookies.
Chocolate chip cookies were her favorite. You had to eat chocolate chip cookies when they were fresh, and sort of melty or the lost their magic though, it was very important. It was always very messy though but that was half the fun, and Michael had a very white suit. She wondered how he managed to keep it so clean, it was rather impressive actually. She usually didn't like white much but it wasn't so bad for a suit, and he had a red tie so that made it alright she supposed. And maybe 'cause it wasn't sterile white, it was sort of cream white, and she hadn't realized there were so many shades of white before but there were and maybe some whites weren't so bad. She liked purple best though, her favorite hat was purple, and so was lavender.
She loved the smell of lavender.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 21, 2010 2:48:30 GMT -8
Oblivious to her train of thought, Michael set the sandwich down for the moment, taking up the teacup instead to wash down the peanut butter before he spoke. With some frustration, he noticed that his hands were still unsteady, shaking around the cup...he pretended as best he could not to notice, taking a calm sip of his tea before setting it down.
"Ah...yes, if you wouldn't mind explaining...today and yesterday have been quite...draining." He picked up the journal (he had set it on the arm of the couch when he had begun cleaning), turning through the pages until he had found one that he had marked - oddly enough, with what appeared to be a raven's feather and a slip of folded paper. Setting the feather aside, he continued, running his fingers along the page. "...This...painkilling salve seems like something to learn...from what I can read, it is for treating...burns." His stormy eyes stayed down on the page as he spoke...he still wasn't used to someone knowing about his scars. "...But I had a little trouble understanding the directions...I tried to transcribe it, but...if you could...make some corrections?"
Turning the paper over, he revealed some of yesterday's work - his best effort at writing a recipe out of Ashlin's more abstract directions and notes, his handwriting...strangely shaky and jittery. It was only half-written, with notes written small in the margins...clearly, he had had a bit of trouble decoding some of the drawings, and the notes he had made were comical. 'Which plant?' 'Dried herbs crushed or ground?' 'Drawing of zebra?'
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 22, 2010 14:51:29 GMT -8
Scooting over to get a better look at the page, she hummed lightly. "Yes, this one's for pain reliving. Actually, well, its best for fresh burns, but," she leaned over a bit to flip forward a few pages. "this one is- its good for scars." she told him softly, not quite looking at him but peeking up at him through her bangs. Ash understood that his scars were likely a sore topic for him. She might not understand people too well, but she understood that somethings hurt to talk about. She knew that very well. "Its a sandalwood paste, with rose water see?" she pointed the initial description, next to a picture of what was suppose to be a red panda. "You leave it on over night, and wash it off in the morning." She moved back slightly to let him look over the page. She felt inexplicably nervous about explaining all this, and began playing with her necklace, finding it suddenly fascinating.
This was all very new for her; having quests, just sitting and having a conversation with someone in her home. Home, was this place already starting to become home to her? She worried that perhaps she was speaking too soon, she'd only met Michael and Mr.Stewart so far after all. What if it was no different from her hometown. What if people thought her as crazy here as they had in high school. 'No, no' she told herself angrily 'I won't do this to myself, it doesn't matter if they think I'm crazy, I;m used to it.' And that was the saddest part, she was terribly used to it all. But at the very least here she had two people who she knew would treat her like a person instead of insane.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 22, 2010 23:30:55 GMT -8
This was...an awkward conversation for Michael. He watched as she turned the pages, listening to her explanation with polite little nods. A treatment for scars - that was good. But there was...a slight snag with the treatment method. He picked up his teacup for a moment, sipping from it to buy a moment of thought. How much should he say?
...But then...she was trying to help him. Unless he wanted to go to the hospital, he had to let her know...just a bit more. His hand was shaking quite a bit as he set the cup down, the china clattering briefly against the table. When he began to speak, it was slowly, cautiously...eyes down on the page.
"...Leaving a paste on might be...inconvenient," he mumbled, eyes flicking towards her a bit. "...I...I haven't quite...elaborated...upon the...extent." He was feeling her out - how much did she want to help him? Would she keep it a secret if she knew how bad it was? He had to believe that if she disliked hospitals, too, she would understand...but still he was hesitating.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 22, 2010 23:50:22 GMT -8
She looked up at the sound of the china clattering, and noticed the slight shaking of his hands. Looking at him in concern, she was not at all comforted by his words. 'The extent?' she thought worriedly, what did that-- did his scars. . .how far did his scars go? It was the first time it had occurred to her since Michael had shown her his wrist the other day. Biting her lip she wondered what exactly she should say, she felt a little choked up actually, just imagining how many scars Michael would have to have for leaving the salve on over night to be inconvenient.
Finally gather her thoughts she asked softly, cocern lacing her voice "What kind--that is, is there any kind, any method of treatment that you think would be more convenient?" She had always been so terrible at masking her emotions, had always worn them plain on her sleeve. It was part of what had made her such an appealing target for bullies. They got a sick satisfaction out of seeing how much thier words made her hurt.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 23, 2010 1:21:09 GMT -8
Michael watched her for a moment - studying her reaction. She looked...worried. About him. Her voice was full of concern, her eyes echoing the sincerity...she truly seemed to want to help him. He thought in silence for a moment, unanswering. What SHOULD he tell her? Ashlin didn't seem the type to go running off at the mouth with a secret; she didn't seem as if she would be disgusted, either. One could almost see the gears turning in his head, stormy gaze lowering for a moment...before a look of resolution replaced the uncertainty.
Silently, he stood, straight-backed as ever as he paced forward into the room somewhat. He began very slowly to remove his suit jacket, his back facing her so that she would not see the way his fingers fumbled with the buttons of the double-breasted coat. As it slid away from his shoulders, she would see what appeared to be a short sword in a wine red sheath, strapped to his back against his white shirt - suggesting he was a bodyguard as much as he was an aide.
Turning towards her, he carefully laid his jacket over the arm of the couch, not quite looking at her just yet - and his shaking hands moved to slacken his tie, undoing the top three buttons of his crisp, clean dress shirt. As he did, he began to reveal what he meant by the extent of the damage...just below his sternum, the same scars that she had seen before snaked downward and outward below the line of the fabric, dark and mottled in contrast with his pale skin. Still without words, he undid the buttons at his wrists, rolling his sleeves up towards his elbows.
Both arms carried the same deep scarring, beginning just inches above his wrists and running all the way up to where they disappeared beneath his sleeves. He felt that showing this much would allow her to fill in the blanks...to realize why it was that he covered up so. What he didn't quite realize was how much worse the scars looked than when last he had shown her a couple of days ago...they all looked aggravated, mottled purples and reds that had gone quite dark in places. They looked...painful.
Michael finally looked at her, holding his arms up for her to see, his eyes filled with nervousness at laying himself bare in this fashion.
"...There's...a lot to treat....as you can see..." His voice shook slightly - with his guard down, he looked so tired, so....frail in contrast to his ordinary steadfast manner. "...So...I was hoping you could tell me...?"
This said, he nearly held his breath as he waited for her reaction.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 23, 2010 9:13:13 GMT -8
A strange mix of nervousness and confusion sat in the pit of her stomach as Michael began to remove his jacket. Ash was distracted by the sword Michael had apparently been carrying (did he always wear that, she wondered), but only until she realized he was taking off his shirt. When she caught the first glimpse of his scars, she felt her eyes widen. Biting back a gasp her hand flew to cover her mouth. The more he revealed, the more horrified Ashlin grew; not of him, but for him. What had he been through she wondered, tears starting to gather, though she tried to blink them away. How much pain did he have to live with everyday?
The thought left her feeling sick to her stomach, made worse by the fact that she quite liked Michael. She wanted to hug him but realized it likely woundn't be welcomed at the moment. He seemed a very kind person, and he actually treated her like a person; he was her friend. She couldn't stop herself from crying now, her friend had to live with so much pain, and he--
And he was asking for her help. Feeling a sudden determination break through the overwhelming sadness, and concern that had gripped her, she felt resolved. She was still crying, but she tried to wipe away her tears, before fisting her hands at her side. "I'll find something." she told him, her voice shaking slightly, but with concern and determination obvious to hear. "Even if there isn't anything in my books that'll work. I promise, I'll find something." She wouldn't let him down, she wouldn't let her friend down.
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