[Noah St Cloud]

Tawny’s hands withdrew from his. She cleared her throat in a way that felt faintly familiar and he felt his stomach dip again. She didn’t like it. It was boring. He was boring. He’d chosen wrong.

She asked him why he hadn’t played in the water and he found he didn’t know. Maybe he'd thought he would lose track of Dylan if he went to inspect the waves more closely. Maybe he wasn’t interested in playing around with Dylan’s friends. Or maybe it was still ingrained in him at that point to stand on the sidelines, to stay out of the way. Maybe he thought getting too close would ruin it.

“It would have been cold!” he laughed, not letting any of his thoughts slip onto his expression. He leant his cheek in his hand and sighed airily, brow lifted as he gazed at her. “There wasn’t anyone there that I was willing to risk frostbite for. I might’ve if you were there, but that’s mainly because I’d be impressed you were willing to step foot in water.”

Teasing was good. Teasing would endear him to her again. She’d been interested in him before, when that was all he was doing on the walk back to his house. It was seriousness that she didn’t like – suggestions of exclusivity, warnings about bad memories and being careful, showing memories where he did nothing but look at a pretty scene.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting when he’d shown her that. Probably the usual praise and gushing someone would make after asking him to see photos of a trip he’d been on. It was usually so easy to make people want him, but maybe actually caring about the outcome – about what she thought about him – was driving him into corners. Forcing him to make the wrong choices.

He thought they could be happy. He wanted them to be – like they were at the start. Before her power had complicated things. Made him realise how alive and precious she was.

He just needed to be better. Care less, try more.

He lifted his cheek off his palm and let his head fall back, slumping in his seat slightly as he briefly closed his eyes. “Ugh, fine,” he groaned playfully. He rolled his head forward again to meet her gaze, smiling. “Maybe that memory was a little lame. I was put on the spot, okay? I panicked. Let me blame the hangover.” He let his hand fall palm up on the table again and wiggled his fingers. Her gift was safely curled up in his brain; he could feel the featherlight pressure of it. “Show me how it’s done, then. Show me something that’s not just ‘very pretty’ and I will bow to the master of this game.”

Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

[nospaces]

I KNOW THAT I DRIFT OFF TOO MUCH

dreaming about a warm touch; i keep holding back my tears

[break]

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Noah retorted the water would have been cold and Tawny gave a faint, harmless roll of her eyes at his tease. When he tossed his head back, sounding jokingly dejected, she lifted her brow in surprise and let a grin pull across her face. Had he expected her to keel over in awe? Shed a tear at the beauty of the night? "The memory was fine!" She assured, voice half a laugh as she poked about her remaining eggs. She gave a tiny shake of her head, shoulders shucking with lingering amusement, and bent a knee close to her so she could plant a foot on her seat. "It was a good memory." She raised her eyes to him, smile tucking as she lowered her voice to something more sincere. "It's just..." her gaze flitted from his face to the open air beyond him and she searched for a fitting finish, nose eventually scrunching as she lifted a shoulder and looked back at him. "Not something I usually have to comment on. That's all."[break][break]

Sifting through memories and taking dives into peoples' pasts — it was always a very secret thing. No one knew that she'd done it and she couldn't just speak to them about what she'd seen. She had to give reports in her job, of course, but that was all very factual and thorough. Pointed and with purpose and given to someone else than whose life she'd momentarily invaded upon. This — being guided to a memory with no ulterior motive, doing it as a leisurely thing just to share an experience with someone — wasn't something she was used to. Maybe she should have been a little more enthusiastic for his sake. It was new to him, after all, where she'd been doing it her whole life.[break][break]

Tawny lowered her fork and crossed her arms around her bent leg, humming thoughtfully as she leaned forward to tuck her chin atop her knee. She studied Noah across from her, wondering what she might show him. The thought occurred to her that she might blindside him with the day they'd met — the look of him as he'd terrified her, crowded her, and cooed his reassurances — but it was something she immediately disregarded. Not only did she think it wouldn't go well but it was also something she didn't particularly desire to recall in vivid detail. At the present moment or maybe ever.[break][break]

Nothing popped to mind. Her gaze lowered to his waiting hand and she absently lifted one of her own to tuck the edge of a thumbnail between her teeth, worrying just barely at it as she thought. She couldn't think of anything that he might like to see. Nothing flashy and beautiful like the blue lights on the sea. She could show him warm nights spent on grassy knolls with her nephew, peeking through telescopes and pointing out constellations. The finished mural she and Matty had painted across the entire wall of his first apartment during college. When she'd busted out her front tooth when taking an anxious dive off a dance stage.[break][break]

But nothing seemed fitting or particularly exciting. Anything of note that sprang to mind, anything interesting that happened in her life, was tied up around other people. People Noah might not care about. And people some small, quiet part of her still cautioned that she probably shouldn't point out as being important to her. [break][break]

Finally, she settled on a safe memory. Making cookies with her father in the kitchen. She'd been a child. Maybe six or seven. With the decision in mind, she tried to picture the memory as fully as she could.[break][break]

After years of talking through experiences with her patients and then watching the memories herself, Tawny knew that remembering was different than memory itself. It was rare that someone recalled something exactly how it had happened. Details were forgotten. Scenes colored and washed over by nostalgia. There could be holes and lapses that the imagination filled with fabrication. Sometimes people tended to recall hurtful things as being less harsh in retrospect. They downplayed the severe and dressed the mundane in grandeur. Occasionally, they even deluded themselves — forced themselves to believe things had been different or chose to remember bits and pieces while they willfully forgot others.[break][break]

But Tawny never saw all that — she saw only the truth. What had really happened. And sometimes it felt a bit like she never got the full picture. Especially since she could only look upon a scene as herself, unable to truly understand what the person had been feeling even as she looked through their eyes. Only so much could be assumed or read in their reactions.[break][break]

She imagined she was too young to remember her selected scene perfectly and that her child's brain made it all feel far grander and warmer than it actually was. But it was also something she had seen through her father's eyes often enough to get the more concrete details right. Bright sunlight slanted through sheer, white curtains across a (slightly dingy) linoleum floor. The yellow, floral wallpaper and white-tiled backsplash of their kitchen and its plain, white countertops stained with a couple rings of cherry Kool-Aid. Cooper and Elise had refurbished the entire kitchen when they inherited the house and things were much nicer and newer now — darker, more modern, with oaky woods and marble — but Tawny still sometimes missed the bright, lived-in yellow that'd been the kitchen of her childhood. [break][break]

She knew what she had looked like. Gap-toothed and big-eared, with a toothy beam pulled wide across her baby-fat cheeks. Unbrushed hair pulled in tight pig-tails with long, curling wisps scattered like bangs across her forehead and down her temples. Tongue poked from her lips in concentration as she worked. Beaming up at her father from her step-ladder, shouting wildly and spreading sticky, batter-coated fingers with a giggle. He was always watching her, when she was and when she wasn't looking. His gaze would always mosey back from the mess on the countertop to her, as if already waiting to meet her excited gaze when she next turned it to him.[break][break]

But she found it harder to remember what he looked like. She only had her own memory to rely on for that. There'd been no mirror in the kitchen. No shiny pots to catch the reflection of him in those memories of his. And she herself had been very young. Hadn't known then how much she would want to remember the set of his face and how it brightened when she looked at him. Maybe she'd have looked longer, more often, would have really committed each bit of it to mind, if she did. [break][break]

Tawny blinked slowly and finally lifted her eyes back to Noah's face. She took a breath and slipped her hand into his open palm, trying to recall the scene as perfectly as she could manage, using bits of both Franklin's and her own recollection. She supposed there was nothing particularly special about it that would make it stand out from any other time they cooked or baked together in the kitchen. Birdsong through the dining room's patio door, opened to allow a breeze through its screen. The persistent bark of a dog in a neighboring yard. The lumpiness of the dough as she plopped and shaped the cookies on the cooking sheet and the feel of her stubborn pout when her father's hands followed her own, pressing her haphazard creations into tighter balls. The anniversary watch across his wrist, gifted by his late wife and broken; stuck permanently at a little past noon.[break][break]

She nodded at him, mouth tugging uncertainly to one side of her face.

[break]

but if there ain't no magic here[break]i would love to disappear

Tag: Noah St Cloud [break]
Sorry this is a mess, but YOLO! [break]
Give me a nudge for changes or if you need more.

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[Noah St Cloud]

(OOC: this do be needlessly long and messy lol RIP me)


It seemed to work. The awkwardness, the lack of interest he’d identified (or perhaps imagined) sweeping away as Tawny laughed at him. She assured him that he hadn’t chosen badly, that she simply wasn’t used to commenting on people’s memories in such a way, and as she did he dropped his gaze to his plate and nodded along, smiling, almost lightheaded with relief though he tried his best not to show it. Tried to look like he was finding her reassurance (which he desperately soaked up) funny instead.

He was overreacting again. Drawing parallels to the past where there were none. He’d blame that on the hangover, too.

Once again determined to appreciate everything she’d made for him, he continued eating and found it was far easier to swallow when there wasn’t so much dread caught in his throat. On her part, Tawny had paused her breakfast. She watched him and he watched her, his brow raised and an expectant lift to his lips as he waited for her to make a decision. Her gaze flit down to his hand and she lifted her own to bite at her thumbnail.

She was really thinking about it – what she might show him. And Noah wished he could read minds. Wished he could reach across to her without facing any repercussions, to dive straight into the memories she was considering at that moment.

Eventually she closed the gap between their hands instead, the touch of her skin bringing that inviting buzz of her past along with it. But he held her gift back, waiting until he had her permission, especially considering the uncertainty that edged her features. Was she nervous? About what he might think? Or was it the memory itself that caused her expression?

She gave him a nod, and he let the memory in.

The sweet smell of cookie batter hit him first and he was suddenly looking down at a bowl full of it. The room he found himself in – a kitchen – was by no means perfect and wouldn't typically be featured in a renovation or real estate brochure, yet within it the whole world seemed to be warm and yellow. Made of sunlight. So different to the cool tones of his own childhood home with the inherent chilliness to it all. The sterility…

The barest of breezes fluttered sheer white curtains. Birds sang peacefully in direct contradiction to the distant barking of a dog, proving it was a safe place, as surely they would scared into silence if it wasn't.

Tawny herself was at a kitchen counter, babbling and shouting excitably after taking mixture from the bowl and plopping it on a baking sheet, occasionally bouncing which made the step-ladder she stood upon rattle. She turned her head quickly and he caught the wild swing of a pigtail in his (her) periphery.

Her dad was there. A dash of flour on his shirt. A kind face made even more so by the obvious love and adoration in his gaze which was already waiting to greet her whenever she turned to look at him. He was grinning, appearing a bit as though he was trying not to burst into full-blown laughter, and he reached around her to reshape the blobs she’d chucked down onto the sheet into something more uniform to each other. The sunlight made the broken watch on his wrist glint.

Seeing him again, Noah recalled the first time he’d swam through Tawny’s memories. Her father had been a constant presence throughout, unconditional support, someone who was always there with open arms. But he also remembered seeing him older, far more lined and grey than in the memory he witnessed now. He'd been sat in a hospital bed with eyes that shifted from indifferent to confused, from disoriented to scared as he called for help. Noah remembered Tawny’s sobs and blurred vision as she backed away…

He pulled back to the present when it felt like Tawny’s gift might tug him elsewhere, because as much as he wanted to look, they'd agreed to having this experiment of showing specific memories first. Tawny remained where he'd left her, of course, still sat across the table from him with that somewhat uncertain look on her face. He didn’t let go of her hand.

“I like yours more than mine,” Noah began, his voice as soft as his smile. “I like your dad. He’s… good. All parents should be like that.” He hesitated, looking down to where his thumb absentmindedly stroked against her. “I never did anything like that with mine.”

Inwardly he cringed, immediately regretting having said that aloud. It felt a bit like he was fishing for sympathy. Attempting to make the conversation about him when really he’d just thought he should try being more honest, try sharing a little bit more of himself. He realised too late that it was unnecessary; she’d probably already seen (or would see, someday) snippets of what his parents were like, or she could at least make assumptions about what they weren’t like due to their absence in scenarios where they usually should be.

He gave her hand a squeeze and pulled his own away, swiftly moving on to steer the conversation back to her dad.

“I saw him the first time I used your gift, too.” His smile tugged a fraction wider. “I saw him a lot. My favourite was when… I think you were playing volleyball? And he was just going absolutely berserk in the crowd.” He chuckled, giving a small shake of his head. “I don’t think I’d ever seen someone that excited to be pitchside. It was awesome.”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Only a moment passed between her slipping her fingers into his palm, and Noah dropping his gaze to their joined hands. He approved of her selected memory in a soft tone while he soothed a thumb above her knuckles. At his comment about having no memories like that with his father, she fought the urge to tip her head invitingly. To quirk a brow expectantly and wait for him to "go on".

But Noah shifted the topic back to Tawny's own father, withdrawing his hand from hers as he did so, and she got the impression that the redirection was very intentional.

"Yeah," she let her own lips quirk into something soft and fond, following his additional comments on Franklin with a quick, quiet hum while she pulled back her hand to reclaim her fork. "He was quite the cheerleader. Like... for everything, not just volleyball games." Leaning more comfortably into the leg folded up in her chair, she dropped her eye to her plate and poked about her breakfast leisurely. She stabbed at her remaining piece of toast and lifted it to take a small bite. As she chewed, her eyes sifted back up to him and she tipped her head consideringly. Once she swallowed, she gave a lazy bend of her wrist to move her fork in a contemplative circle.

"I think how we turn out as adults is owed quite largely to who our parents were," she started, pausing to slide her tongue over her teeth and blink thoughtfully at him; searching for any subtle indication of strained exasperation or boredom at the topic. While Noah had never seemed less than eager to "discuss" anything, it... was early. And he was hungover. "How they treated us as kids. What they did too much of, what they did too little of. How they disciplined us. What they were too strict on, too lax on. That kinda thing." She let her eye fall back to her plate as she continued, shaking off the toast and nudging at the rest of the food absently.

"A lot of peoples' issues, their insecurities... at least... you know, the big ones... I think most of them..." her face gave a subtle scrunch and she poked a pair of blueberries evenly onto her fork. "You can find some interaction in their past with their parents, or their guardians, whatever... a respected adult figure... and say, 'Yeah'," lifting the fork to her lips, she paused to glance at him. "'This is where that started.'"

"Maybe that's obvious, though," she shrugged, popped the fruit in her mouth, and then lowered her fork to the tabletop. Drawing up her other leg in her seat, she wrapped her arms around her shins and placed her chin atop her knees, eyes narrowing as she fixed her gaze on Noah across from her. "What do you think your most cherished memories are? Mine... nowadays... are probably stuff like that. With my Dad. But what about you? What is something, or somethings, you wish you could live again or never want to forget?"

---

Noah St Cloud
Just as a note, (unless Noah was too drunk to remember) he learned both of Tawny's parents passed on during their game of "two truths, one lie". Give me a nudge for any changes.

[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: Ah my memory fails me once again lmao (the irony), sorry! I’ve gone back and edited it (and need to reread our threads again x3)


Her smile was decidedly fond, and it occurred to Noah that it might be nice for someone (her) to look like that while talking about him.

Yet he knew that was a misguided idea; inappropriate and incredibly selfish. They were talking about her deceased father for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t make it about himself. He shouldn’t want… what? To be grieved? Missed?

Still, there was that whole ‘leaving Tawny everything in the will’ idea he’d had the night before. Maybe if he did die, and did that, she would look like that while talking about him. With a touch of bemusement mixed in as she chuckled and told others that she wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it, but it had helped her out in a lot of ways.

No further comments or stories about her father came, and he didn’t press for them, content to eat with her in silence until he eventually felt her eyes on him again. He lifted his own to meet them, tipping his head curiously after her initial statement about parents shaping their children.

She continued, and he gave the occasional nod to show his agreement. The way his parents had ‘raised’ him had informed his values and personality, in the sense that he didn’t want to be the same as them – had done (and continued to do) certain things just to spite them, and later to spite the memory of them. And he supposed he’d grown to be self-sufficient, because of their choices and that of the rest of his family. Never truly needing company. Not needing anyone.

He wondered what that meant for Tawny. Comparing what he knew about her early years with what he knew about his own, the assumption might be that she would like someone to depend on. Someone solid and there. But he also remembered what she’d said the night before, about wanting to look after herself when she was down.

Had she always been like that? Hiding from the father that loved her so much and always supported her? Or had the avoidance came later, after his death, when perhaps she felt that no one could comfort her like he had?

And why was she saying this to Noah now? It may have simply crossed her mind as they’d been talking about her dad, yet Noah wondered if she was trying to say something to him that he wasn’t quite getting. Something more meaningful and pointed, that he couldn’t dig out from under its face value.

He sipped at his coffee. Maybe some more caffeine would oil the cogs in his brain.

There was only the slightest of pauses before Tawny shrugged, concluding that maybe her line of thought was obvious, and he just smiled at her with a small shake of his head and a leap to his brow, trying to say without words ‘it’s not, I like it, go on’.

Yet then she was telling him that her most cherished memories were those with her dad, which was understandable. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about what moments they were, if she would like to show him, when she asked what moments he would like to live again or remember forever.

He stayed quiet for a moment, eating as he tried to think, tried to dredge up any memory that he felt significantly enthused about.

There was that storm he’d created. The clouds so black that they almost looked like rips in time, a peek at the night sky where it was supposed to be day. But would he go back to it? Would he want to stand there again, tearing that life to shreds? He’d enjoyed destroying that house, imagining the pain and fear the inhabitants would have experienced before their imminent deaths, but the aftermath had felt better. The catharsis of having the closest thing he’d get to revenge. Of never having to see them again. Of knowing they weren’t out there in the world, being happy or even just 'okay'. Of it being over.

No. He wouldn’t want to sit in either of those moments. The first would come with concerns that he’d mess it up during the repeat, that he'd change what had happened. The second moment had been far too short, almost immediately clogged with thoughts of alibis and funerals and what if not everyone was inside and someone had escaped? Even in death his family had caused problems and tension.

Sharing all that with Tawny was out of the question anyway. At that stage in their relationship, at least…

As he thought it, his interactions with Tawny came to mind as a possible answer to her question. Their initial conversations at his house, the previous night on her couch… But he was sure that was just the alcohol combined with the freshness of the memory and a hazy screen of lust that made him think that way. And again, she likely wouldn't want to hear that so soon in their knowing of each other.

It struck him that he might need to lie. Either come up with some fairytale picture or simply assign more meaning to a random memory than it truly had. To make him seem more interesting. Like he had depth. He huffed a soft chuckle and shook his head again. Fabricating a story would quickly be sussed out when he couldn’t show it to her, and it never really lasted long when he pretended to like something more than he actually did.

“Honestly? Nothing’s ever been that special to me,” he confessed, hesitating when he realised how that might sound but continuing anyway. Unable to stop himself. “There are no shining moments. Nothing where I think ‘Yeah, I’d do anything to relive that again, to talk to that person again.’ Everything just… is. I live it, it’s either good or bad while it’s happening, I move on. My past doesn’t need me and I don’t need it.”

If he’d heard someone else say that, he’d have said to them: ‘God, you must be fun at parties.’ He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Okay, maybe that was more melodramatic than intended. What I mean is: there’s been plenty of good times and pretty sights but, nothing that I’d pray to revisit.” He faltered, realising she might misunderstand that, too. He didn't think her wish to preserve her moments with her father was silly, and didn't want her to believe he thought it was. On the contrary: her wish made sense. Her answer was likely a common one, a shared human experience that many could relate to. He was the odd one out. He’d never cared for someone – or been cared for – that deeply before. He’d never cared at all. He supposed he was lucky.

“I’m more interested in my ‘now’, but I’m also interested in other people’s pasts. Seeing what you’ve been up to. What you’d want to go back to.” He softened his smile. “I’m sure I’d want to go back if I lost someone I loved. I… don’t know what it’s like to miss something.” He paused, lowering his gaze to blink down thoughtfully at his last bit of toast. “Except rain.”

Which was, of course, in no way comparable to what Tawny must feel.

“But anyway, yeah, I agree with you; in the ol’ nature versus nurture debate, I’d say nurture takes home the prizemoney.” He never thought of himself as being anything like either of his parents. Not even a middle ground; a collection of traits found somewhere in between them. Nor was he anything like his siblings. Or cousins. Or grandparents. He opened his mouth, ready to say more, only to stop himself short. To simply nod instead. “Definitely.” He’d already spoken a lot.

Suddenly he found himself with an empty plate. It made his stomach flip again, heavy as it was with all that he’d eaten. As much as he wanted to stay there in Tawny’s golden kitchen, to ask her about herself and her world and to see it for himself, he told himself that he should leave. She would tire of him soon enough, if she hadn’t already. The same way he grew restless when having company in his own home, or when someone was trying too obviously to get to know him. It was better to leave before he knew he was unwanted. Before she confirmed it with her eyes, her body language, her words, her silences.

“That was so good,” he beamed at her, laying his cutlery neatly on his plate. “Thank you.” Perhaps if he left now, he could leave her wanting more of him.

“Since you cooked, I’ll do the dishes.” He glanced over the half-wall, trying to get a look at the appliances in her kitchen. “Unless there’s a dishwasher I should load this in?”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah answered that there were no special instances that he held especially dear and Tawny blinked at him levelly over her knees. Her first thought was that it must be a lie — how was that possible? Even in the worst of lives, there was bound to be some shining moment. One that leaped to mind immediately. One that could be instinctively reached for in moments when it was needed. It was more likely it was simply private — cherished things he held too close to himself to share with someone else. And she couldn't fault him for that. Not when she, herself, wasn't often readily sharing.

But as he continued and elaborated, sounding a little too hesitant and quiet to be dishonest, she tucked her face more concealingly into her legs and let her eye sift from his face consideringly.

He snorted and Tawny's gaze flit briefly up to catch the roll of his eyes before pulling once more into the air beyond him. She half-expected him to redirect further — make some joke to dismiss the whole thing and deflect. Perhaps to reassure her, or himself, that what he said or admitted shouldn't be taken severely and didn't mean anything. To stop her from trying to read into it, as if he expected or knew she would. And she supposed he did know that. They'd both shown their tendencies in more than one instance now.

But Noah continued again, not in a voice that was sardonic or even dismissive of what he said. He spoke softly, admitting that there was nothing he dwelled on, he wasn't interested in his past, and that — he had nothing to miss. He "didn't know" what that was like. Tawny found that vaguely sad. Her mind returned to his cautions and warnings of what she might see in his head — fights and violence. Of his regaling stories of borrowing gifts like eating sweaters and donning blowfish quills. "Good times and pretty sights", he'd said. Things he might enjoy, perhaps, but that he wouldn't "pray to revisit".

Then... what would constitute as something memorable and cherished to him? What could he enjoy enough to miss? What did he strive to fill his life with, if not experiences he could look back on in years and wish to do over again?

Her eyes raised back to him, searching. She wanted to ask. Wanted to know. Wanted to know if even he knew. She lifted her chin to her knees, head tilting curiously. But then he was beaming. Tucking his fork and knife neatly over his plate. And it occurred to her, that he was preparing to leave. And she felt herself, with only a little reluctance, relinquish her curiosity. For the time being, at least. Maybe it wasn't the right place, after all. The right time. He'd shown up at her door, drunk and lustful. She'd fumbled the morning and gotten weird. And, though it seemed they'd managed some sort of... recovery... maybe this was all asking a little too much of him.

"Suppose I'm just... predisposed to lingering in the past," Tawny replied finally, lifting her head from her knees and letting a faint smile tug at her lips. One that she hoped, when coupled with the steady way she let her eyes hold his, spoke that she wasn't dismissing all that he'd said. That she'd listened and heard. Was grateful for the give. Was interested. And that she was only allowing the redirect because it seemed to be what he wanted. "Comes with the territory, I guess." She reached for her coffee, smile tugging faintly wider at his thanks for breakfast.

It was toast, eggs, and some fruit. Not exactly a culinary feat. Feeling warmly amused, she nodded and lifted her mug to take a long, indulgent drink; making a disagreeing noise into it a moment later when he offered to clean up. Swallowing hastily, she shook her head side-to-side and lowered her feet back to the floor. "It's only a couple of things, I think I can handle it," as if to make the point non-negotiable, she reached out to pluck his utensils and bowl onto her own plate and then gathered his beneath hers. Then she stood and, with a sly, sneaking grin, added, "Perhaps we can revisit your interest in the dishwasher next time."

It was a bad joke — she didn't have a dishwasher, she was the dishwasher — and perhaps an unfair tease as well. She really couldn't guess how she'd respond if Noah reached out to her again. Or showed up at her door unannounced, sober or otherwise. Once she'd been given the time to dwell on how the night and morning had gone, to replay their conversations in her head a million times over, and let it all make her heavy and weird, perhaps she'd feel differently.

But probably not, she acknowledged silently.

With a departing wink, she stepped to the kitchen to deposit their dishes into the sink. There was the skittering of tiny nails on the linoleum as the ferrets tumbled over one another into the room, perhaps somewhat expectant of the chicken feet still on the counter. She glanced down as Lark lifted to plant his forepaws on her shin, long body reaching and little snout wriggling fiercely as he bobbed his head on the air. She scooted him gently away and moved back into the living room, brightening her face into something decidedly energetic as she planted her fists on her hips.

"Now... if you're trying to get out of here, I suppose it's time for a little... coaching." Her mouth curled into a wry smile that was as joking as it was truly warning. "Some Leaving Tawny's Apartment 101." She smacked her lips and stepped to her coffee table to pick up the wallet that Lark had nicked from Noah's pocket the night before.

"Foremost and perhaps most importantly — if a child talks to you, do not engage." If he thought it was too early for them to be in the hall, he'd be wrong. She spun around and stepped close to hold the wallet out to him. "It doesn't matter if they're crying or if they 'need help' with something —" she pulled it back when he reached and lifted her brow, as if to emphasize how important it was that he be paying attention; how crucial her next words were. "Just keep walking."

"It's a ploy. They're devious, every single one of them. And they just want something from you. If you so much as make eye contact, they will risk their mother's wrath by following you down the stairs, even though they know they're not supposed to. And you know who Mama will be most mad at? Yeah, that's right, you. So... just trust me..."

With the wallet out of her hands and Noah still seated before her, Tawny found her gaze wandering his face. Her mind returned briefly to the night before. But the quick reflection — and the fleeting idea of how easy it might be to crowd him once more — didn't threaten any wicked gleam to her eyes. The humorous glint in them only softened as she breathed a sigh through her nose and lifted a hand to his shoulder. The thought occurred to her that she might lower herself into his lap anyway — seat herself on one thigh with her legs thrown over the other while she draped an arm across his shoulders. She'd continue her lessons with his arms circled around her, trading easy smiles that only grew increasingly sly when there was nothing more to be said.

She smiled thinly, watching her fingers as she sifted them into the hair at his neck. Then, returning to task, her gaze lifted again to his eyes, bright once more with nothing but jokingingly-severe caution. "Also — my nosy neighbor across the hall. No doubt she clocked your arrival last night and is waiting to get a good look at you in the mail room." Likely she'd been there for a couple of hours already, thumbing through the same couple of envelopes as if she'd only just pulled them from her box. Eager to get a good look and make a swift judgement on anyone who came and went. "She's ancient. But still spry. I wouldn't recommend eye contact with her either." Her mouth tucked further and she breathed a chuckle. "In fact, maybe just don't look at anyone and I think you... might... make it out."

Noah St Cloud
Give me a nudge for any changes!

[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: sorry this is so long – I haven’t written a word in almost a month and then suddenly there’s this huge wall of text lmaoo let me know if there’s anything you’d like changed!


He released a humoured breath just shy of a laugh, nodding to show his agreement. Of course she would have an interest in the past. Even without the obvious factor of her gift, her line of work was centred around it; helping people to heal from their childhoods or whatever else had shaped them to seek therapy.

The thought gave him pause. Despite the remaining touch of paranoia that his answer had disappointed her – that it was weird and highlighted his lack of normalcy, his unsuitability for, well, he wasn’t quite sure what – Tawny seemed content enough. Smiling and holding his gaze. So there was a chance she might even like it, in some way. Or at least, a possibility she was unphased by such a claim due to hearing similar dramatics from her clients.

Comparing himself to them threatened to plunge him into uncertainty once more. It wasn’t a wonderful feeling to think he might be stirring the same type of curiosity a patient would, but… any interest in him was better than no interest, right? He could work with it? Mold it into the type of intrigue he really wanted?

His head tipped and he had to stop himself from shaking it, lest his audience ask what thoughts had made him do so. He was overthinking again. The important thing was that he hadn’t blundered as much as he had in the false security of her bed. She seemed nowhere near as panicked.

To make things as equal between them as possible (or just to be a polite houseguest), he really did want to help her clean up their breakfast. But Tawny turned down his offer and he made his own disagreeing noise as she stole his plate and utensils, only to falter when she shot a quip about her dishwasher with a grin that was closer to a smirk. He snorted. Parted his lips as he tried to think of something witty to respond with. But he found he was too hungover (or perhaps too preoccupied with the glowing warmth her words gave him) to get his thoughts in order. He simply sat there obediently with a stupid grin on his face, staring after her while she took their dishes to the sink.

She returned with the promise to teach him ‘Leaving Tawny’s Apartment 101’, and while such a statement initially brought amusement to his features, the expression swiftly slipped into a grimace at the idea of some random child talking to him. Tawny had nothing to worry about there; he couldn’t be paid to ‘engage’ with a kid when he was completely healthy and sober, let alone when he was feeling the aftereffects of a night out.

She came close and held out his wallet, but pulled it back before he could take it, her brow raised as she stressed just how important it was to ignore the kids in the hall. The severity of it made him laugh, delight rippling through him again. It was almost as if she was briefing him for a risky Blackstorm job.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” he chuckled after she warned him of the mothers. Yet it made his stomach feel strange again, like it had when she’d been crying in his home and he’d gone to get her the nice tissues. It didn’t sit well with him to think of some entitled, bitter harpies yelling at her for their own failings, for their own bratty kids whom they kicked out into the hall and failed to teach about ‘stranger danger’. Worse was the thought that they might have actually had an impact on Tawny’s mood at any point of her living there, that they might have made her feel anything less than happy.

He was tempted to ask if she would like him to tell them off for her. Maybe scare them a little. Maybe hurt them a little. Ah, but what if word got around and the other residents started treating Tawny differently? What if someone threatened her?

Apartments sucked. There were too many people around and famously Hell was other people. Tawny deserved somewhere peaceful. Somewhere safe. And if it would keep her eyes on him like they were at that moment, wandering across him with something almost soft in them, he was pretty sure he would give that to her. He was pretty sure he would do anything she wanted.

Build me a castle, Noah.

How many rooms, baby? How many towers?

To make it worse, she chose that moment to slip her hand into his hair. His insides returned to mush, his stomach fluttering and his eyes rounded as he blinked up at her. Christ. He knew he liked that, but wasn’t it all a bit of an overreaction on his part? He felt like that damn rabbit in Bambi, foot compelled to tap at hundred miles per hour until it made a sound akin to a revving engine. What was that word they’d used? Twitterpated??

He stared back, trying to memorise the way she was looking at him, holding his breath, and only seeming to inhale once her eyes lifted to his again. He forced himself to school his features back into light amusement, trying to mimic her expression to not look as whipped as he felt. It was ridiculous. What was wrong with him? Even her warning of a nosy neighbour had him laughing a tad more brightly than was proportionate.

He needed to calm down. It was the hangover making him behave like an insane person. Actually, he needed to get laid. That would surely clear his head.

Regardless, he had to touch her, so he reached for her waist.

“Very wise advice,” he hummed, peeking up at her with a sly smile as his hand drifted down her side to her thigh. “Looking at someone is indeed making it incredibly difficult to leave.”

But he said he would, hadn’t he. To himself. To her. He sighed wistfully, head tipping as he watched his fingers fiddle with the hem of her shorts. “Yeah. I should… Yeah.” It was so easy to imagine staying – dangerously so – but she deserved him in peak condition. Not when he was fighting a headache and struggling to concentrate.

He stood up and, on his way, felt like he should kiss her on the cheek or forehead. Hugging also crossed his mind, but that reeked too much of friendship – or worse, of clinginess. He was supposed to be playing it cool, so he resisted those urges and stepped around her with a smile and only a quick squeeze to her waist before letting go.

“See ya, boys,” he said to the ferrets as he passed them. He snorted, giving a small shake of his head at the wriggling creatures (because seriously, ferrets?! What an unexpected, bewildering choice of pet) before kneeling to put on his boots and then turning back to Tawny when he was done. “Give my love and deepest respect to Myrtle,” he said sombrely, “and please thank her for not murdering me in my sleep.” It must have crossed the fluffball's mind after those selfies he'd taken with her.

And… that was it. He was all set to go. Considering the advice he’d received, Noah imagined he was now expected – was now supposed – to slip out the door quickly and not look back. But as he glanced down at Tawny, this girl in her pjs with her blue watercolour eyes, a devious smile pulled at his lips.

Tawny had said he might see her nosy neighbour in the mail room, but what if…

Before he could get stuck on deliberating the consequences, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, dipping down in the same second to hungrily press his lips against hers. It was intoxicating. The warmth and taste of her instantly setting him alight and filling his head with thoughts of winding his fingers into her thick hair, of pulling her impossibly closer like he couldn't breathe without her touch.

But there was a purpose to this. A mission. His free hand reached out to pull the door open.

After a moment (during which he felt close to vibrating from the charge running through him), he broke apart the kiss. He stayed close though, letting his forehead touch hers and their noses brush. “Thank you for last night,” he said sincerely. Then, he let his lips tug into a deeper smirk. “If you’re ever up for round eight, you know where to find me.”

Just as he’d hoped, the door across the hallway unlatched. His cue to leave. His excuse for stealing another kiss; it was just a little prank – he’d only kissed her because he thought it would be funny for her neighbour to see it, really! He hadn’t kissed her because he was starving for it. For the feel of her body and for a memory of her mouth unhindered by inebriation.

He pulled away, giving Tawny one last fond look before turning into the hallway. Immediately he was confronted with the sight of an elderly woman stood in the doorway across from them, a shrewd glitter in her eye. He parried the knee-jerk reaction to laugh and nodded to her. “Good morning, ma’am. Sorry, must run.”

And run he did – if ‘running’ could be considered a very quick stride towards the staircase, sidestepping toys and steadfastly avoiding eye-contact with the small humanoid shapes sat by one of the doors.

If Tawny’s neighbour was a gossip, maybe news would spread through the building that Tawny was spoken for. Which… wouldn’t stop Tawny bringing home someone from outside the building, but it might just earn her a disapproving eye or two.

He chuckled to himself. Who was he kidding? It was very unlikely anyone would care, but it made him feel better. And now that he'd finally made contact and established she wasn't irrevocably terrified of him, that left a lot of new possibilities to think about.


Tawny Vokes