[And come evening, Finch comes walking on in - finding his way back to the boarding house, his usual bag on his shoulder and the scraggly aesthetic he has day in and day out. He sends her a little mental nudge, that he'll be lingering in the common area while waiting for her. Giving sketch eyes to everyone else around him while he waits.]
[ Farrah has been doing less aimless wandering outside now that the hunt was on, finding safety within the boarding house. For someone who had been confined indoors for most of her life and finally had the chance to roam freely, it was torturous to stay within the walls. It was the reason for her hasty agreement for Finch's company, although the guise of caring for his safety wasn't a lie.
He's easy to spot as she goes down the steps, stifling a chuckle at the sight of him. She's mimicking his sketch eyes as she approaches, although it's not quite the same as she fights a smile. ]
Is this your nobody talk to me face? I once referred to you as my little birdie, perhaps it should be my little raincloud instead.
[She approaches and the resting bitch face dissipates, and he laughs at being caught with it. He gives a sheepish scratch to the back of his neck, daring not to blush, but duly taking note of the nickname. Which kinda rings a nice note in his chest?]
Ahh, maybe. I just - it's easier to get shit done if nobody wants to talk to you. But I can't really make excuses about that being just for the hunt. I don't want people to talk to me, like, ever.
If you never talk to anyone, how are you supposed to find those exceptions?
[ Farrah reaches out to touch his arm but hesitates, her fingers hovering in the air before she lets her hand fall back to her side. She glances toward an unoccupied couch, her eyes lingering there for a moment before she nods in its direction for them to go to. Mostly to obstruct the sight of them should Felipe choose to spy. ]
[Pizza making, for example. He smiles, hesitating for that same near-shared second of touch before he moves over toward the couch. He slumps into it, keeping space for her, and lets his bag sit down by his feet after slipping it off.]
[ So I am able to see you're well instead of taking your word for it. She tucks her legs beneath her and drapes an arm casually along the back of the couch, turning to face him with a graceful ease. And then she leans in, as if to gossip: ]
Do you know who holds your name? Do you think they'll seek you out?
[ When they're this close, the smoky, acrid aroma of cigarettes is sharp, almost biting, as it fills her nose. Unfamiliar, yet she’s starting to find a strange comfort in it, a grounding reminder of his presence. What's always familiar is the blood, a constant, coppery undertone that clings to him like a shadow. She doesn't know if she'll ever ask him about it, what he gets up to when she's not around. She's afraid she wouldn't like the answer, and she likes Finch too much to risk finding out.
She hopes nobody is stalking him. ]
No, I don't... My brother is searching for them, but I wish he wouldn't. I hope to speak with them first, to try and reason gently, if I can. [ She sighs, her voice tinged with worry. ] I want to find who I have, though, to soothe their worries should they have them.
[They're lucky, whoever they are. He thinks about asking, but wonders if it'd be rude - he'll try to edge into it nonetheless, because what else do they have to do to fill their time with? He instinctively reaches back to rub at the nape of his neck, where the name on him still lies.]
I couldn't hurt the person I have, even if I wanted to. I know them.
[ Because it is kind, and something decent people should do. She's learned quickly, though, that there are few of them here— were it just the sex, maybe she'd be more accepting of the Rubean belief system, but the violence???????? ]
I've asked around but nobody seems to know who I have, or says they don't, anyway. Charles Wyatt.
cw: references to car crashes, tesla products, pseudo-incest, tl;dr [1/2]
[Do you ever just kind of find yourself floating down a particularly cozy, wonderfully casual conversation - just like, lounging around with the pals on a couch in your dorm's really lazy common room and feeling the vibe? You know, when you could really use a cold beer and some corn chips but only one of those things exists here and it's not in arm's reach but you're kinda happy? You're just minding your own business, chatting up a cutie and out of nowhere you're getting blindsided by the bright LED lights of a shitty Tesla cybertruck whose brakes don't work because they were made of glue and bad ideas.
Yeah, that's kind of what Finch feels like in a twisted, instantaneous moment. One second he's about to make some inane sort of comment about Robin - introduce her a little or say something fun, hopefully not call her his sister out of habit (because he's boned her one too many times to oh so casually do that) because haha, wouldn't that be a funny hole to dig his way out of. No, no, instead he's just kind of blanking both mentally and in expression after she says Charles Wyatt. And it's like he's just heard the name of an old friend, a mortal enemy, someone he buried and tried to forget.
She has his name.
The fact that she has his name doesn't even register the way it would to most people here. They might get on edge, feel suddenly challenged or trigger fight or flight the way Robin seeing her name on his neck did. Uncertainty, distrust. Two things Finch is very immersed in on a good day. But the reason he feels a little queasy all of a sudden is not because he thinks by any stretch of possibility that she will hurt him (or try to) but because she now knows his name. Something he wanted to contain that continues to seep through his fingers like water or sand, spreading into this world all of its own accord.
He swallows hard, heart beating against his rib cage. Would he be in the wrong to just play this off - would anyone know? Does he have the world's best advantage in this stupid game just by fluke? He wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue, and feels safety weighed in one hand and something else, shaky and unknown in the other.]
[ This is one of those times where Finch uses his advantage of natural awkwardness so no one ever knows if something is off. Farrah looks down where the name is written before returning her eyes to him, thumb brushing over her curse mark on her palm as she ponders whether to check.
She doesn't. ]
I hardly think it strange, and it seems quite a leap to make such an assumption.
[ A new word to add to her vocabulary. The answer to this is yes, when necessary, but Finch doesn't need to know that, because right now it is anything but necessary. ]
Unless they gave me just cause otherwise, I would hope to part from them with both our lives intact. Although, if they're a serial killer, that may be difficult, hm?
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I'm checking in on people, but - yeah. I don't mind it though.
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[Mostly, because, he wants to help her stay safe - he doesn't give a shit about himself.]
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He's easy to spot as she goes down the steps, stifling a chuckle at the sight of him. She's mimicking his sketch eyes as she approaches, although it's not quite the same as she fights a smile. ]
Is this your nobody talk to me face? I once referred to you as my little birdie, perhaps it should be my little raincloud instead.
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Ahh, maybe. I just - it's easier to get shit done if nobody wants to talk to you. But I can't really make excuses about that being just for the hunt. I don't want people to talk to me, like, ever.
[...]
Barring some obvious exceptions.
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[ Farrah reaches out to touch his arm but hesitates, her fingers hovering in the air before she lets her hand fall back to her side. She glances toward an unoccupied couch, her eyes lingering there for a moment before she nods in its direction for them to go to. Mostly to obstruct the sight of them should Felipe choose to spy. ]
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[Pizza making, for example. He smiles, hesitating for that same near-shared second of touch before he moves over toward the couch. He slumps into it, keeping space for her, and lets his bag sit down by his feet after slipping it off.]
Today's one of 'em.
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[ So I am able to see you're well instead of taking your word for it. She tucks her legs beneath her and drapes an arm casually along the back of the couch, turning to face him with a graceful ease. And then she leans in, as if to gossip: ]
Do you know who holds your name? Do you think they'll seek you out?
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Nobody's tried me yet, or told me of anyone with my name. It's weird but... who knows? Could be someone stalking me right now. What about you?
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She hopes nobody is stalking him. ]
No, I don't... My brother is searching for them, but I wish he wouldn't. I hope to speak with them first, to try and reason gently, if I can. [ She sighs, her voice tinged with worry. ] I want to find who I have, though, to soothe their worries should they have them.
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[They're lucky, whoever they are. He thinks about asking, but wonders if it'd be rude - he'll try to edge into it nonetheless, because what else do they have to do to fill their time with? He instinctively reaches back to rub at the nape of his neck, where the name on him still lies.]
I couldn't hurt the person I have, even if I wanted to. I know them.
[Is it bad to divulge?]
Robin, if you know her.
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[ Because it is kind, and something decent people should do. She's learned quickly, though, that there are few of them here— were it just the sex, maybe she'd be more accepting of the Rubean belief system, but the violence???????? ]
I've asked around but nobody seems to know who I have, or says they don't, anyway. Charles Wyatt.
cw: references to car crashes, tesla products, pseudo-incest, tl;dr [1/2]
Yeah, that's kind of what Finch feels like in a twisted, instantaneous moment. One second he's about to make some inane sort of comment about Robin - introduce her a little or say something fun, hopefully not call her his sister out of habit (because he's boned her one too many times to oh so casually do that) because haha, wouldn't that be a funny hole to dig his way out of. No, no, instead he's just kind of blanking both mentally and in expression after she says Charles Wyatt. And it's like he's just heard the name of an old friend, a mortal enemy, someone he buried and tried to forget.
She has his name.
The fact that she has his name doesn't even register the way it would to most people here. They might get on edge, feel suddenly challenged or trigger fight or flight the way Robin seeing her name on his neck did. Uncertainty, distrust. Two things Finch is very immersed in on a good day. But the reason he feels a little queasy all of a sudden is not because he thinks by any stretch of possibility that she will hurt him (or try to) but because she now knows his name. Something he wanted to contain that continues to seep through his fingers like water or sand, spreading into this world all of its own accord.
He swallows hard, heart beating against his rib cage. Would he be in the wrong to just play this off - would anyone know? Does he have the world's best advantage in this stupid game just by fluke? He wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue, and feels safety weighed in one hand and something else, shaky and unknown in the other.]
[2/2]
That's a weird name. Bet that guy's a freak.
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She doesn't. ]
I hardly think it strange, and it seems quite a leap to make such an assumption.
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[Haha, ha. He wants to exit this conversation stage left and yet his mouth keeps going.]
You really wouldn't shank him if you found him?
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[ A new word to add to her vocabulary. The answer to this is yes, when necessary, but Finch doesn't need to know that, because right now it is anything but necessary. ]
Unless they gave me just cause otherwise, I would hope to part from them with both our lives intact. Although, if they're a serial killer, that may be difficult, hm?
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[- opportunity to shank, he trails off. He gives a little shrug.]
And if you never find him, isn't that just as good?
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cw: pseudo/incest
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