Topic: The Not-A-Date

Delahada · Date: 2012-09-13 19:51 EST

Wednesday. September 12, 2012.

The Inn was quiet that afternoon, which is something that any Rhy'Dinnian would have instantly been suspicious of right off the bat. Salvador was not surprised to discover, when he came creeping in through the back alley door, that the reason for such silence was because Thorn and Cove were in the middle of making out. Icer was devouring some pastries on one side of the room, but even she wasn't making a whole lot of noise. It turned out that the face-sucking he had walked in on was a farewell, though. Soon enough it was just him, Thorn, and Icer.

Oh. And then Ripper. The xenomorph appeared pretty much out of nowhere and cheerfully said hello. Greetings were exchanged by manner of wiggling fingers, nods, and bland hellos all around. Then everybody settled in to get comfortable. Particularly Sal and Thorn, when he pulled her in against his side and took a moment to just absorb the scent and feel of her while he still could.

Autumn was only ten days away. When the season changed he knew he wasn't going to be able to so casually cuddle up with people like this. Not until it passed and switched itself out for winter. Not without him going mad from the constant struggle to avoid the urge to sink his teeth in a person's flesh and feast on them like a velociraptor to an antelope. Those were the thoughts that inspired the question.

"Thorn."

"Yeah?"

"Will you have dinner with me?"

For some reason, this was a brain-shatteringly unusual inquiry, because while he and Thorn made the arrangements, Ripper and Icer were staring at him as if he had been replaced by a doppleganger. They decided on Saturday evening. Salvador wrote down his home address on a scrap of paper and handed it off to her. Nothing fancy. No formal dinner date or anything. Just a wear whatever the hell you want sort of get-together, no strings attached. At least, that's how he and Thorn understood it. The xenomorph, on the other hand, was openly perplexed.

After quite a long episode of pole-axed staring -- an amazing expression for a creature without eyes to pull off, mind you -- Ripper finally asked, "Sal, what's happened to you?"

He regarded Ripper stoically, and dully asked, "What do you mean?"

"You asked Thorn. On a date. You never ask people on dates."

And here was just another prime example of the sort of people Salvador meant when he mentioned those who just do not at all understand him. People who instead assume to know him. People who only see the rugged, dangerous surface of him and never the tortured soul deep down inside that practically every Linkin Park song ever made was based on. No really. He could honestly be that emo.

"No," he corrected, "I asked her to have dinner with me." The word date had never been mentioned, nor part of the agreement whatsoever. Why did people always assume?

"That's a date," said Ripper.

"Ripper, we've known each other for years," said Thorn. Somehow, this meant the two of them having dinner together could not possibly be a date.

Salvador agreed with Thorn's unspoken implication, and blandly replied to the xenomorph. "If you say so." He didn't think of it as a date either.

Ripper was insistent on the matter, baffled beyond repair. "Why suddenly asking her this? Why don't you just stick 'em like you normally do?"

Oh how little the world actually knew him.

Salvador answered with his usual blunt disregard. "If I wanted to f*ck her, Ripper, I'd ask her over for sex. Not dinner." It was really that simple. That's not to say he didn't find Thorn attractive. That he wouldn't have ripped her clothes off and had his way with her given the opportunity. She just never seemed to be interested in him, in that way, as far as he'd observed.

"But isn't that the traditional human custom?" Ripper asked. "When you invite somebody into your house, and you have certain feelings for them, you want to f*ck them?"

While all the Inn looked on in stunned amazement -- Toby and Bekah and Icer -- Salvador snorted. "I've never been big on 'traditional human customs,' mi amigo. I don't like those stupid games. And I don't know what the hell you mean by 'certain feelings.'" He was frowning at this point. "Thorn's a friend. Would I f*ck her? Sure. If she wanted. But it doesn't have to come to that." And that wasn't at all the reason why he had asked her to share dinner with him.

"But I thought that... You only want to ask her for dinner?"

Salvador considered that perhaps he should elaborate a little, considering the xenomorph was so obviously confused on the matter. "Come the 22nd," he said, "I won't be able to eat real food again until December. That's ten days from now. So yes. I just want to enjoy dinner with someone while I can."

Though Sin absolutely loved to cook for him, it was rare that the sinner would share a meal with him. One that wasn't literally kicking and screaming that is. That was one of the drawbacks to dating a vampire.

Ever curious, like an insatiable child, Ripper asked, "Why won't you be able to eat regular food?"

"Because I won't." That was the best explanation Salvador was able to give. Truthfully, he didn't want to get into the details with the xenomorph. Ripper seemed like a sweet creature and all, odd for his breed, but he had a kind of ridiculous loyalty that didn't make any sense for any person who had known him for all of three months, tops.

"Alright...?" Clearly, Ripper was still puzzled, but thankfully he didn't press the issue. Instead, like a little boy wanting to spend every waking minute with his newest teen idol, he asked, "Can I join you two?"

That question gave Salvador some pause. He near about literally held his breath. He tried to imagine a xenomorph sitting at a table, eating witha fork and a knife, maybe sipping a glass of wine. It just wasn't computing very well. And besides, he kind of wanted to talk to Thorn, alone, away from the walls with ears that was the Red Dragon Inn. "Not this time, Ripper."

"Okay." And praise Jesus that it was as easy as that!

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(Adapted from live play with thanks to The Redneck and Unseen Killer.)

Delahada · Date: 2012-09-14 13:42 EST

Saturday. September 15, 2012.

The address he had given Thorn belonged to a secluded house nestled on cliff along the ocean shoreline. From the road the house looked like a single story affair perched on the cliff overlooking the sea. The structure was set way back on the property, acres away from the main street. A dirt and gravel drive stretched up a slight incline to the front stoop which led up onto a wrap-around porch with pillars supporting an overhang. The door with its bordering windows made the house look like it had a face, with a wide open maw ready to devour even the most cautious of solicitors. That mouth looked out on the world from the west, while behind the house the ocean boiled in the east.

Dogwood trees had been planted in abundance along the property. Their blooms had already been shed from the early spring, but the scent of their rotting flowers still hugged the property with a perpetual aroma. The faint stink of horses and goats trickled in from the barn that squatted a hundred yards nearby. There was also the cloying salt scent of the churning waters just over the rise.

Just because it was a dinner with a man she'd known for years and not exactly a date didn't mean that the redneck was going to show up in the first thing she drug on. Simple and clean, jeans that fit in all the right places, and a black long sleeved, v-necked shirt. Amethyst eyes took in the sights and she breathed deep through her nose to file away the scents too as she followed the drive up to the doors. Ass-length hair left mostly loose, caught in a simple band at the nape of her neck, dancing and swaying. She'd recently remembered what it was like to be a female who was wanted without having to pay for it, and it damn well showed. Knuckles rapped, sharp and strong, against the door when she finally got there accompanied by the soft chime of belled rings. Sal she trusted enough to not need the weapons, the area, she was new to and this seemed a smart choice on her part.

The first to answer the knock on the door was an insistent meowing, which was soon after followed by a muffled voice saying, ?Shut up, you stupid fucking cat. I heard her.? That statement was then followed by a rowling hiss as Salvador shooed the sinner?s obnoxious cat away from the door with a swift kick. A moment later, the door opened without the signature sound of any locks being turned beforehand. Sin and his fae-child lived so secluded and with such strong superiority complexes that they never bothered to lock the doors whether they were home or not. Anyone daring enough to burglarize their house was a fool, and later a dead one.

Salvador himself was dressed in his usual ensemble, though since he was at home there were a few things lacking. The black thigh length coat he always wore, for instance, was nowhere to be seen. There was a row of pegs hanging on the wall behind him for that sort of thing, but his jacket was not there. The shirt he was wearing tonight was plain, as every shirt he ever wore was, and blue. The short sleeves exposed the erratic thin lines of black ink tattooed along his forearms. And as well as the usual loose fit jeans, he was barefoot. ?Thorn,? he said, greeting her somewhat blandly. He turned aside, then, and lifted an arm to silently invite her inside.

In any one else, the bland reception would've been off putting. This was, however, Sal, and bland was sort of his thing most of the time. Or, that was what she'd come to expect from him at any rate. "Sal." Warm and humored, she couldn't pull off bland without a very, very good (or bad) reason behind it, and didn't bother trying. "Y'all's home, it's gorgeous from out here. The grounds, an' ever'thin' make it really damn nice." A home rather than an estate or anything cold and heartless like that. The invitation she took gladly, gratefully yes, dimples flanking the smile that curved nude lips once more as she slid past. Brushed her hand along the air cushion over his arm she'd decided made hugs between them when he wasn't ready for a hug-hug. "Thank you 'gain for invitin' me over." And in, and all of that fun stuff.

Her good cheer could be dreadfully contagious, and when she brought it in with her it forced the shadow of a smile to surface on his face. ?Thank you for coming,? he countered with a little more feeling. Not much, but less dull like how he treats with strangers. Compliments were not really something he handled well, let alone often, so it took him a moment to decide on the best response to hers. The truth was of course the least confrontational path. ?Most of it?s Sin?s. He had to twist my arm to get me to add anything.? Which consisted of two rooms Thorn wasn?t likely to see from here.

"Understandable hon. I don' see you as much of a ..stuff kinda person. Least not, non-weapony stuff." Because it was the truth in her eyes and mind, there was even a chipper little wrinkle at the tip of her nose. She could no more help or stifle the warmth she had in her than she could pull down the moon, and she'd have a more difficult time not sharing that warmth too.

The whole of the house certainly wasn?t what people would have expected from someone like Salvador. He may live with a man he calls his lover, but he had never been born with an inner interior designer or fashionista or anything of the sort. Despite this, the interior of the house was richly decorated, including the foyer where they stood. The scent of long ago burned out Djarum Blacks still stuck to the walls and furniture inside, smothered somewhat by braising chicken wafting out of the kitchen and the perpetual perfume of dogwood blossoms. Salvador had a habit of clipping branches and putting them in vases around the interior of the house, just for the sinner. He lead the way down the short hall that dead-ended at a polished wood bannister overlooking the living room. Two paths lead off to the left and right. Salvador turned to the right and down an adjoining staircase that lead down into the sitting area.

The room was wide open and inviting. Floor to ceiling windows decorated the entire east wall and two thirds of the north and south walls before being cut off by wood paneling. A petrified dogwood sapling encased in bronze decorated one corner of the room, a plaque on the base of the pot it rested in read TOHIAS. Two clawfoot sofas faced each other on either sides of a large Persian rug. A chaise lounge angled away from them so that one could bask in the setting sun as desired. A pair of armchairs were angled toward each other on either side of a round end table.

"It's jus', gorgeous." Lush, to say the least, and no little bit intimidating. So, when she tagged along after him through hall and down stair, she kept her fingers firmly tucked in the back pocket of her jeans. She didn't want to break something that couldn't be replaced. "Som'thin' smells absolutely delicious Sal." The chicken more than the Djarum on her part; she'd quit smoking a while back and it didn't bother her to be without or near the smell. Imp's delight was light and bright in her eyes when they entered the sitting room, light brush of a shoulder against his in passing. She really did assume they were going to be sitting in the chairs tipped so invitingly around the table. "You, fit here I think. The place, the space, all of it, suits you. Same's Sin does." A compliment given freely and easily with no strings attached.

He laughed to her observation, light and breathy. ?I spend a lot of time in here,? he admitted. The vaulted ceilings made it the most comfortable room in the house, if you didn?t count the available places to sit and lounge. Beyond the windows was an immense deck with further lounging areas and a wide staircase leading down to the white sands of the beach. Sliding glass doors that blended into the windows were open, letting in a cool, salty breeze that teased floor to ceiling gauze curtains. He gestured to a room to the left with a sliding panel door that was shut and added, ?When I?m not in the weapons room or weight room.? As an afterthought, he indicated the open doors and also said, ?Or outside.?

Turning to the right, he headed for a for another door with actual hinges, saying, ?Kitchen?s this way.? This was in part for an invitation for her to follow him and check out more of the house while he finished getting their meal together. When he opened the door and stepped through, an invisible cloud of aromas poured out of the kitchen. Apart from the chicken, there was a blend of onion and pepper and paprika scents that spiraled through the air.

She was indeed, taking a long look around, and here where things were more his and not someone else's, she touched. Finger tips and the palms of her hands running along furnishings and fabrics. Getting more of a physical feel than the emotional. She wasn't exactly an empath, but she wasn't completely locked off either. Bits and pieces,traces and hints, she could and did pick up on from time to time. "Lead an' I'll follow sweetheart." At least in part because that smelled really, really damn good and she was dying to see the kitchen. Redneck had a thing for kitchen spaces really she did. Not a fetish-thing, but a really big, strong like thing.

"It's good t' have plenty'a room though. Gives a person chances, options, on what they feel like doin' at any given time."

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(Co-written with the wonderfully talented The Redneck.)

Delahada · Date: 2012-09-14 13:44 EST

Thorn was destined to fall in love with their kitchen, then. For a start, it was enormous. Maybe not quite as expansive as the open living room had been, but large enough for a small team of caterers to work alongside each other without incident. The countertops were all a dark gray, peppered marble; the cabinets a honey oak. State of the art stainless steel appliances -- fridge, dishwasher, oven, stovetop, and microwave -- were nestled neatly into their appropriate places. There was even a large stainless steel industrial sized sink, and a center island that doubled as a breakfast bar. Salvador had already gone through the trouble of setting up two places there, plate and utensils and napkin ready to go.

There was even enough room for a dining table nestled along the right hand wall, though a thin layer of dust on its surface indicated just how often that was used. An open archway lead into a hall on the right as well. One door set into the opposite wall was open, exposing a large walk-in pantry, and beside it was a large metal door that was unmistakably a walk-in freezer. Mysteriously, it was padlocked.

Once in the kitchen, Salvador stepped over to the stove to lift a lid off a large shallow pan. Steam spiraled up and carried with it that strong braised chicken scent. He poked the pieces with a wooden spoon, pushing them around in a simmering broth. ?These should be done,? he mused before setting the lid aside. He flicked off the burner and stepped aside to check on another shallow pan filled with brown rice and bits of pepper and onion. He used a different wooden spoon to push that around, nodded to himself, and flicked off that burner as well.

There was hardly a speck of evidence around to indicate he had put any effort into cooking. Salvador was the kind of guy to clean up as he goes. The chopping block and knives had already been washed, set into the dishwasher rack to dry. The spices had been put away. A half full bottle of white wine, however, was sitting on the counter nearby. He turned, brushed off his hands, and asked, ?What do you want to drink??

She was half in love yes indeed. And the way her eyes blurred and the faint flush of color on her cheeks read as something more private than a trip into a friend's kitchen usually did. But this was Thorn, and gods knew she had some damn odd pockets and shadowed places. Don't mind the way her fingers traced across the counters please, or the soft humming in her throat. Pleasure of any sort, it was something she was remembering, reminding herself, how to indulge in without fear or shame. "You're a damn tidy guy in the kitchen." Considering who she was in a kitchen with most often, there you go there really. The smile was still there, warm and utterly at her ease. "Uhm, wine'd be fine, or soda, I'm not really picky, sweetheart." Tequila, probably wouldn't be a good idea. Mostly because she still had a hard time with turning off the drinking thing. Besides, tequila did weird things to her (well to everyone but she was the only person she could speak for), and tended to either get her in trouble, or just put her happy-ass straight to sleep. "You've been here, livin' here, with Sin a while?" She knew they'd been together for a long time, just not exactly how long.

Of course, first he chuckled. He was well aware of how contradictory peoples? first impressions of him could be. Neat and tidy wasn?t something anyone ever expected out of Salvador Delahada, what with his aversion to soap and grungy style of dress. Thorn might have had a heart attack to learn he?d actually washed his hands, with soap, before making their dinner tonight.

The question she asked put him only somewhat ill at ease. His personal life with Sin wasn?t something he talked about with people often, if at all. So while he moved away from the stove and its bounty, he rubbed the back of his neck to think on just how long it had been. ?A year or two,? he decided, opening a cabinet to take down a wine glass. ?He had an apartment before this. I lived with him there. Then he got it in his head to build us a house, and here it is.? He shrugged as he went to open the wine cooler. Yes. They even had a wine cooler in their kitchen. Most of it he used for cooking, not really being much of a wine drinker himself, but Sin liked his extravagances. He took out a bottle of California Cabernet Sauvignon and filled the glass a little less than halfway before handing it to her.

His hesitation, she read it for what it was and bowed her head a touch. Shoulders rounded slightly and she averted her gaze in a rather well put, and not toadying form of a physical apology. "I got nosy, 'm sorry. Jus' couldn't remember how long the two of you'd been together is all. An', this place has the feel of bein' a home so I didn't know.." Shoulders rolled and lifted in an easy enough shrug that wiped away that apology's presence. Not the sincerity of it, hopefully, but the traces of it from her skin.

She actually would've been slightly surprised, but not to the point of a heart attack. Who better than the redneck to know the pockets a person kept of themselves, for themself from others? As often as she'd seen him with filthy fingers and nails, she's seen him clean and freshly showered-ish too. Blood splattered, hungry and pissy. She accepted Sal as he was, a whole being no matter what he may feel from time to time. Because Thorn expected to be accepted as whole and complete, therefore to be fair, she had to do the same for others. At least when she could. Sometimes, it was a difficult thing to pull off really. Just as she knew it was dificult for people to accept her as she was. She tended to change, so damn often and be so damn confusing. "I didn' mean t' pry babe, promise." Reassuring, hopefully, and the glass of wine he offered, she took gladly, readily, for a testing, tasting sip that did not end with her spitting. But a long, comfortably pleased, "mm." Tasty yes.

?Ah.? He displayed no sign of having taken offense. The particular bottle of wine he poured from had been used before. He set it and the replacement stopper aside on the counter and walked around to pick the plates up off the island. He was thinking as he brought them back over to the stove and began dishing up their meal. Maybe in another life he could have been a professional chef, what with the care he took for the presentation. ?I met him seven years ago, but we?ve only been . . . together . . . six.? It wasn?t easy to characterize he and Sin?s relationship, so he chose to use the sinner?s own words to elaborate as to why he didn?t like that word ?together? so much. ?Ours is a strange relationship.? And even quoting that brought a fond little smile to his face.

In another life, anyone could be anything. In Rhy'din, a person could make themselves pretty much what they wanted, or needed to be. At least, that's what she felt. That's what she'd done. Jumped up white trash from California, to Thorn in Rhy'din. It'd been an interesting, and painful journey all in all though. That little smile, she couldn't help but reach out a finger tip to touch the outside corner of. "And it works, so damn well for the two of you." It did, it was obvious and beautiful. Then again, Thorn found any relationship that made the people in it happy and balanced, to be beautiful thing. It was just the way she was built. Redneck had a lot of happily-ever-afters in her for everyone else.

Like an embarrassed teenager, he tipped his head away, completely incapable of obliterating the expression. If he were more pallid, perhaps more of a blush would have shown. It was the sort of reaction in which one would expect him to say ?aww, stop it,? but he did not. Instead, he agreed by saying, ?It works.?

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(Co-written with the wonderfully talented The Redneck.)

Delahada · Date: 2012-09-14 13:45 EST

On each plate he placed a leg, a wing, and a thigh, making it a mostly dark meat selection. He spooned the brown rice, onion, and pepper mix onto the plate beside the pieces and then drizzled a generous portion of the broth the chicken had been sitting in over the whole. The only thing he skipped on was the garnish. On his way back around the island to their seats, he waxed a little nostalgic. ?He?s the only one who?s ever fully understood me. The first one to ask me questions instead of assume to already know.? He set the plates down on their mats and pulled out one of the stools with a low sweeping gesture to indicate: dinner is served, madame.

And all of that, had her already soft expression softening even more. Dark meat was the tastier meat on a bird honestly. "This smells, and looks, so frickin' good Sal." Honest and open appreciation in all of her when she settled her denim licked ass on the stool he gestured her toward. "When you find that someone, the one who asks and wants to know instead of just guessing and assuming, they're the ones to keep." As long as you could yes indeed. "In any way you can, for as long as you can." Her opinion, her experiences. She hadn't found that many who were interested enough in her to ask. At least not as anything other than friends.

Before settling on the stool beside her, he crossed back to take down a glass and fill it with water from the door of the fridge. Yes. They had just that kind of fancy. He only smiled at her compliment, trying not too very hard to hide it. ?My father taught me to cook,? he mused quietly. Though just that slight change in subject was enough to make him somber again, so he switched right back the moment he settled on the seat at her side. ?I fell in love with Sin the very first time I met him. I wanted him for the longest time. It?s funny, because a year before then I would?ve laughed and told you I didn?t believe in that love at first sight shit.? He picked up his knife and fork to start cutting into the chicken, around the bones. He was in polite company, so for a change he was going to use some goddamn table manners.

Goddamn table manners were set by the person who owned the table. Didn't he know that? Instead of asking about his father, because the mood changed so quickly and darkly with the mention of him, she listened as he spoke of Sin. And Thorn, when she actually listened and cared, had a way of seeming as though she as absorbing everything someone was saying, of taking it in and keeping it somewhere warm and safe until it was needed again. "It does sound like shit doesn't it? Oh, I knew from the first I saw him." At the last there she'd affected some silly woman's voice and mannerisms, something that just didn't go that well on the too competent redneck. "But, it's real, and it's sometimes the strongest love there is. The kind you can savor every moment of because you know, from the jump, that it's there." Thorn's table manners, were nearly impeccable. No elbows on the table, no grind or scrape of fork or knife over plate, not even a touch of tooth to fork. She'd been taught, very well yes.

Maybe he misunderstood her, about knowing from the first she saw him. But this is how he translated her meaning: ?Sin has a way of making people fall in love with him right from the start, no?? And it wasn?t a trait of the sinner?s that Salvador disliked. In fact, he sounded as fond of that aspect of Sin as anything else. The small smile he showed only backed up the sentiment. Between sentences, he scooped up bits of chicken and rice together to eat. He was certainly not the everything must not be touching sort when it came to his food.

Yeah, he'd misunderstood her. And she was laughing, hushed and soft, for it. "No honey, I'm not in love with Sin." That was something she had to make sure he understood. Especially given the way she could be, the way she was, when her heart was in someone's hands and she had something of her own. "But yeah, there sure as hell is som'thin' 'bout him that draws a person in. You're kinda the same way, jus' rougher about it." And that wasn't a complaint or a knock either. If he hadn't noticed yet, if someone was too smooth in their offer, she completely missed it. Point in fact, she'd taken both of his offers as off handed, half jests on his part. Compliments rather than what they had been. Just enough food on her fork for a half mouthful, never more and sometimes quite a bit less, she had no issue with her food touching. Nor did she have issues with showing her appreciation for the flavors in happy-yummy-redneck-girly sounds, They were quiet though, and not meant to be obnoxious.

This time when he laughed there was a bit more to it than the simple breathy chuff that was more common of him. He did not at all believe her that he was the least bit immediately likeable. Perhaps if he read any of the tabloids, however, he?d see a completely different perspective from his fanbase. ?Ah, no,? he said, humorously disagreeing. ?People only like me because of Sin.? That?s how he saw things anyway. He was the tagalong, the loyal dog who was always at the sinner?s side. He never once believed that people like Fio or Ali or hell even Thorn would have ever given him the time of day if not for Sinjin Fai.

Head tipped to the right, she smirked good naturedly at him. "I liked you, least a little bit, before you got with Sin." Had to be pointed out really. She'd met him before Sin, at least once or twice. And though he didn't voice the tag-along dog feelings, some of them could be seen, read there. And the smirk changed into that soft smile once again. Speared a bit of chicken with her fork to circle at him, semi-pointing without actually pointing. "Y' know, for the longest time, the only reason I didn't touch you was 'cause I'd seen you nut up before, knew 'bout the spikes an' all that. Wasn't sure if I'd live through a hug." Because he wasn't nearly as cuddly as she was. Not many people were in all honesty. The lack was definitely in the redneck. "Then, I wasn't sure if I should think about it 'cause'a Sin. An' there was that chick, uhm, Val." Been a long time really.

?Val,? he repeated quietly, and there his eyes glazed over in that pure sign of introspection. Oh, Val. Thorn had really known him that long? God, but that was ages. An entire lifetime for Salvador, truthfully. Thinking of her was almost as bad as thinking of his father. Just another person whose absence put a hole in his heart. He broke out of the nostalgic spell with a slight shake of his head, a slow blink, and a quiet smile. ?I don?t like it when people touch me because I can read them. See where they?ve been. Sometimes pick up their memories without even meaning to,? he explained, shifting subject yet again.

To elaborate, instead of scooping up more rice and chicken, he held the fork up in front of him, tines pointed at the ceiling. ?Like this fork,? he said, rubbing his thumb along the handle. ?Right away I can see myself taking that last bite I did. Then if I concentrate--? Rusty eyes glittered as if a fire were sparking to life in his irises. ?--I can see back to when I took it out of the drawer, and before then to when it last went through the dishwasher, and back and back to the day it was made.? He set the fork down with a heavy-lidded blink, rubbed his face with his fingertips, and then rubbed his palm on his thigh, as if his whole hand had started tingling in just those few short seconds, and somehow he?d become contaminated. ?And it?ll stick with me,? he added in conclusion. ?I?ll remember everything about that fork forever, as if its memories were my own.?

Yeah, she'd known him that long, and was wincing again for further adding another memory of discomfort to his plate tonight. And once again fell into that way of listening she had. "You're kinda like a reader, an' it's always on. Can't shut it off, you can kinda fuzz it, but not drown it out completely. An' that friggin' sucks." Really, it sucked a lot in her book. She was very happy not knowing where people and things had been just before coming to her. She was, let's be honest, a lot more vulnerable than most people realized on a lot of levels. "I don' think I'd be able t' handle it honestly."

His chuckle that time was more of the breathy chuff of amusement that was much more like him. A sly smile curled up one side of his mouth. ?A few times I haven?t handled it well at all. Had to have-- I guess you could say I had my brain cleaned. By another fae.? The word ?fae? didn?t settle well with him. Just one little word was laced with tons of dislike. ?She took out what wasn?t mine. Not something I want to have done again.? The less he had to deal with fae, the better. ?So that?s why I avoid touching people.? Which, if she thought about, made the times he did make physical contact with people something rare and special.

She came to that conclusion, yes, and it showed in the curve of her lips and soft shine in her eyes. A demonstrative person she was, Thorn was about touch and being touched, in case he hadn't noticed that yet. "Brain bleach is usually best applied by the person who owns the brain, not someone else. 'Cause then, you know where it should be poured." This, to Thorn, made a lot of sense. Might not to anyone else, but. She had more than her fair share of secrets in her head, and neither needed, nor wanted, anyone else getting in there to have their way with them. "Makes sense babe. Me, I can't seem to stop sometimes. Have to reach out, have to have my hand or fingers on someone. It kinda centers me, an' helps me remember I'm wanted, that I'm not some tag-along worm ridden puppy." Her own feelings, her own worries, she had them and rarely openly shared them.

This time his laugh was abrupt, but still mostly air. Only a single, short and huffing bark of amusement. ?Ah, mi amiga hermosa.? He put a pause to his eating to reach aside and put his hand to her wrist. A brief touch with a momentary squeeze to reassure her as he said, ?You are wanted.? In so, so many ways. His smile was warm, this time, at least as far as appearances were concerned, because the rest of Salvador was always corpse cold by touch. He withdrew his hand, picked back up the fork, and resumed eating with that affectionate expression stuck on his face.

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(Co-written with the wonderfully talented The Redneck.)