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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 23, 2011 23:57:42 GMT -8
Wes seemed a little bit uncomfortable with her watching him, though he'd expected it. He kept tipping and looking through the books, but he probably only saw half of them; his eyes were looking towards Charlotte the other half of the time.
"That sounds better," he said with a smile and a nod. "Not quite so desperate; better even for a friendless loner such as yourself." The last line was dripping in sarcasm, and it was clear that he wasn't really referring to Charlotte.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 24, 2011 0:49:16 GMT -8
Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a mean laugh, just... surprised and a little wry. It was ironic, given her train of thought throughout this whole conversation. Apparently they were a little more alike than expected. She looked away from him, studying the bookshelf across from her instead.
“Do you think I’m honestly all that much more bounteous in the friends department?” she asked. “I’ve talked to more people in the past few days than I think I have since arriving in town a couple months ago. Barring the required interactions for purchasing groceries and such.”
She scrubbed her free hand through her hair.
“I generally don’t go in for the whole friend thing. I can do making acquaintances. But give me a quiet place to perch and a good book and I’m happy. Making friends is... not something I do.”
She frowned thoughtfully. “David is... an exception. He... We have a history.” She paused then, considering what to say next. She hadn’t actually told anyone about her mother’s murder... well, ever. Why was she considering telling Wes, of all people? “He was the agent in charge of investigating my mother’s murder.” She glanced over at him and half-shrugeed. “So he gets a pass when it comes to my innate avoidance of making friends.”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 24, 2011 21:27:51 GMT -8
Wes was somewhat more comfortable with her looking away, and turned a bit to look at her as she spoke.
He stayed quiet, and seemed rather blank. Everything she said struck home. "... You can have groceries delivered, you know. Cut out that pesky face-to-face interaction," he said with a shrug. It was the first response he could think of. "Honestly, the only reason I came out of isolation was that I had this mental image of a bunch of farmers with shotguns and pitchforks driving out the hermit with a shady past and no alibi."
He tapped his fingers on the tops of some books, then added, a little less plainly, "But you seem to be doing it now. So, does that make me a special exception?" He smirked, but there has a spark of something genuine behind it.
On the subject of the agent, though, it went away, and he looked down. "Oh. I'm kind of relieved to hear that he does something more useful than stalking vaguely suspicious guys he notices in diners," he said with a halfhearted smirk that he dropped for the next statement. "Seems like mothers are in short supply. Sorry."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 24, 2011 22:02:52 GMT -8
“I... didn’t actually think of that,” Charlotte replied, somewhat amusedly chagrined. It was rather an obvious solution wasn’t it. She grinned. “That’s a fairly good reason to come out of isolation, I guess. Avoiding angry mobs is always preferable. Otherwise you end up hiding in a burning windmill.”
She looked at him then, returning his smirk with a friendly smirk of her own. “I think it does.”
Laughing softly, she went back to reading the book spines on the other book shelf across the way. “I guess that’s what FBI agents on vacation do to keep their skills honed? I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Hopefully I can get him to back off. Actually treat his vacation like a vacation.” She offered him a smile. “It’s okay. I appreciate the sentiment, though. Thank you.”
She felt oddly... vulnerable, telling Wes about her mother’s murder. He was the first person she’d ever actually told about it. David already knew, so it wasn’t necessary. And there hadn’t been anyone else that she’d thought to reveal it to.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 24, 2011 23:08:47 GMT -8
"Are you calling me a monster?" Wes asked, arching his brow playfully.
She looked over at him, and, though it looked like he almost did, he didn't look away immediately. He didn't respond, but he seemed to be appraising her honesty. Their eyes came close to meeting.
"I guess, but I'd prefer that they do it in a way that doesn't take a year off my life due to stress," he said, sounding a bit annoyed, teeth bared. He toned it down when she smiled at him, but looked away again. "Why thank me? It's a hell of a lot harder to lose your mom than to tell someone 'sorry.'"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 24, 2011 23:23:30 GMT -8
Charlotte grinned at him, eyes sparkling in amusement.
“Not at all. It’s just percentages. When angry mobs are involved it’s usually either an old castle or a burning windmill. I figure in Greenvale... the windmill might be a little more likely. There seems to be a distinct lack of castles,” she answered, her tone as playful as his arching his eyebrow had been.
She ducked her head. How do I explain this...
“I... You’re the first person I’ve told. I’m not quite sure...” she trailed off for a moment. “It’s new territory.” It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it would have to do.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 26, 2011 0:01:22 GMT -8
Wes grinned back, then subconsciously ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. This aspect of their 'relationship' - the banter - was much more enjoyable to him than... well, anything else about it. She didn't get upset when he made a comment, and that was what he liked.
"I guess that's true. But there really aren't any windmills that you could feasibly run up around here, either. Just useless metal frame things. Unless you'd settle for a non-wind-powered mill," he said, lightly tapping his lip with his index finger.
He didn't seem so grave about the other subject this time. "Huh. Another reason for me to feel special, I guess..? Really, there's not usually a good reason to bring up your dead mother, unless you're begging for sympathy. I avoid that myself." He bit his lip. "You're not taking advantage. I guess I respect that."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 26, 2011 1:58:45 GMT -8
Charlotte would have agreed with Wes, had she known. Her words a moment ago about ‘sarcasm and interesting conversation’ had only been partially a joke. After all, a good bit of banter was harder to find than one might expect.
She frowned mock-thoughtfully.
“I don’t know... That might fit the technical aspect of the windmill... but not the spirit. And I think it might be woefully unimpressive. If you’re going out via angry, pitchfork wielding mob it ought to be impressive.”
“I suppose,” she replied with a shrug and lopsided smile. Then she made a face. “I hate that. And generally... I try to avoid sympathy entirely. It usually shifts into pity, or something less... honest than simple, plain sympathy. And I had enough of that in the months after it happened.” And she had. Between the shitty treatment of the local law enforcement, and the ‘sympathy’ from people that had known her mother she had been only too glad to sell the house and leave. The only bright spot in everything had been David, even through the soul-wrenching grief.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 26, 2011 21:33:04 GMT -8
"I don't know..." Wes rubbed his chin. "I just imagined an old-fashioned chase through the woods at night. They'd run after me with torches and pitchforks, and I'd reach the end and have to decide between being killed by the angry mob or jumping off a cliff into the lake. I'd jump, and they'd never find the body." He nodded. "I have this all planned out, see."
He decided to go back to looking through books; as they talked about her mother, he was getting more and more spirited. Not in a way that was cheerful, but a way that was bitter.
"The thing is, most people don't have a damn clue how you're feeling and don't really care enough to figure it out, so they just say, 'that must be awful, I'm so sorry.' What they pretend to think about anything couldn't matter less. It doesn't help. They just want to feel better about themselves."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 28, 2011 21:23:33 GMT -8
Charlotte nodded.
“You can’t go wrong with an old fashioned chase through the woods at night. It’s a classic. And it’s always good to be prepared about such things.” She laughed. “A sequel hook, very nice.”
She hadn’t returned her gaze to him again just yet. She was listening to him, instead. He seemed more at ease when her eyes weren't on him. Her response was also tinged with bitterness.
“One of the many reasons why most people suck.”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 29, 2011 1:57:31 GMT -8
Wes was more comfortable with her looking away. He didn't have a problem with a conversation where they never looked at each other, even if it meant that he couldn't get a good read on her... Because it meant that she couldn't get a good read on him. He didn't care that she could see him; what he was afraid of was her understanding him.
"Ah, a sequel?" he whined in response. "No, just an ambiguous ending. I wouldn't want to have a sequel. A sequel means that I'd have to deal with another horrible situation. With any luck, I'll just be such an unlikable character that nobody wants one."
Though they still weren't looking at each other, Wes nodded at her last comment with emphatic agreement. "Very true. And that's why I hadn't talked to anyone, you see."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 29, 2011 2:25:28 GMT -8
Charlotte didn’t have a problem having a conversation without actually looking at the person she was conversing with. It was a small matter, and if it made him a little bit more comfortable, well, she could do that. At least try.
She did look at him then, though, smirking slightly.
“You’d be surprised.” Her smirk widened. “And then you have something like four sequels. Ending in one awful direct-to-video monstrosity.” It was rather amusing mental imagery, she had to admit. Wes would be such an irritable, sarcastic, and SILENT main character. With birds of prey as his animal companions. The sudden image of Wes as something resembling Snow White, only with hawks instead of other innocent and friendly woodland creatures very nearly made her laugh out loud.
She nodded thoughtfully. They really did have more in common than she had ever expected. Not that she'd ever actually TELL him that. It was weird enough knowing it herself.
“Makes sense. I suppose I’ve been doing the same. But that’s one of the perks of travelling constantly. Very little human conversation.” She made a soft, amused sound. “At least until I got here. Holy hell, did not expect that.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “So, what changed? What made you start going out and risking the whole ‘other people may talk to me’ thing?”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 30, 2011 23:20:32 GMT -8
Wes noticed that she looked at him again. He continued looking through the books, but still gave an exaggerated cringe at her comment.
"God. Hopefully by the third I'm demanding too much pay and get replaced by a cheaper actor." He rolled his eyes.
He answered her question more nonchalantly. "Like I said, I thought that the town might pin the murder on me since they never even saw my face." He bit his lip, then again spoke through his teeth. "I wanted to show that I don't have anything to hide."
He glanced over at her. "What was it that you didn't expect?"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 30, 2011 23:51:46 GMT -8
Charlotte laughed quietly at his reply.
“The replacing is bound to happen anyway. By the time the direct-to-video sequel rolls around there’s not usually anyone from the original in it. ‘Tis the way of things.”
She nodded, absentmindedly starting up the odd rhythmic tapping against the bookshelf again.
“There shouldn’t have been any reason for them to do that anyway. Not going out isn’t a symbol of murderous intent. And if anyone actually thinks that then they’re more idiotic than I thought. But people see what they want... so it was an understandable response.”
She was utterly surprised when he glanced over at her, and almost shifted her gaze back to the books on the bookshelf before she stopped herself. She offered him a small, lopsided smile.
“The people,” Charlotte told him. “I arrived in town, and all of a sudden there were these people trying to TALK to me. And acting all... all FRIENDLY.” She gestured vaguely with her free hand, and it was obvious that if she hadn’t been holding the book she’d be talking with both hands. “It didn’t even seem to be an act, either. And even if THAT made sense... the concern that came later made no sense. Real, GENUINE concern.”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 31, 2011 0:21:44 GMT -8
Wes grinned. "And in that case, it's really not my problem anymore. Except that maybe my character has become a huge joke and I have to go into hiding." He paused thoughtfully. "Hm... that's oddly circular."
"Of course it isn't. It's just that it made me an easy target. No alibi, no character witnesses. Just this weird stranger with bad roots." He sighed. He was starting to wonder why he was sharing so much with her.
He smirked at her, then looked back at the books.
"They are outgoing, aren't they? Last night a guy in a bar told me his life story after I told him to piss off. And he didn't even seem drunk." He hadn't entirely understood what she'd said. "I'd watch out for concern. It's usually just a lead-in for more fake sympathy."
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