ellectrical (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ellectrical) wrote2012-01-07 11:17 pm
ellectrical) wrote2012-01-07 11:17 pm
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Elle had cut her hair, to a few inches below her shoulders. She didn't want to keep it too short anymore - yet again finding herself in a concrete building full of glass, cement, and metal walls had been enough - but she still had to be responsible. The available water supplies were rather limited. This made things simpler and efficient. Still, now that she's here, in the cool Scottish evening rather than buried beneath the desert, the way it tends to slip into her face whenever there's a breeze is much more noticeable.
She'd meant to come out here to jog, but without any thought to it, she heads toward the forest instead. There is no visible activity near the edge of it, but Elle stops at one of the first trees, and leans back against it.
It had only taken a buzz of instinct to find what has turned out to be a perfect spot. Quiet, secluded, with a shield against the wind and a view of the grounds that stretched all the way back to the choppy surface of the lake.
She'd meant to come out here to jog, but without any thought to it, she heads toward the forest instead. There is no visible activity near the edge of it, but Elle stops at one of the first trees, and leans back against it.
It had only taken a buzz of instinct to find what has turned out to be a perfect spot. Quiet, secluded, with a shield against the wind and a view of the grounds that stretched all the way back to the choppy surface of the lake.
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"Elle, I don't - what do you mean, okay for me?"
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"People in my world - didn't do what you did."
After a pause, she amends: "People I knew didn't. And I think it makes us different."
Elle may appreciate it, but she still doesn't understand why he did it. She's just more accepting of that now.
"So I - hope it's okay for you. And if there's - something I'm supposed to..."
She lets it drop with a shrug. If it's some kind of thing people do, insistently seeing good in one another, she doesn't understand it - and she doesn't know if there's some way she should act in it.
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Sam shifts his stance slightly, easing his weight from one foot to the other, as if he's uncertain of the ground beneath his feet.
"...maybe I'm just stubborn," he says, after a few long seconds of silence. "I mean -- I've told you before how most people - how hunters, where I'm from, how they think about anyone who's got, who's not-- who's, you know. Different."
One corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile.
"And I get that. I just think they're wrong."
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Instead, taking the time to unbraid his words like strings in her mind - "Because you were different?"
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"... turns out I still am."
A beat.
"But yeah, I admit it: I'm biased. But if I prove them wrong, then it won't matter."
Sam breaks off there with a shrug.
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Rather than asking, however, she she admits - "I don't think your world is like mine.
"But you don't seem wrong to me."
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His smile is warm and shyly pleased.
"-- hearing you say that means a lot. Thanks, Elle."
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(She doesn't feel she's done anything other than return a debt, but again, she's willing to accept the things she doesn't understand.)
With nothing else to say, however, she takes a step forward, moving to walk past him and back toward the Bar.
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"See you around?"
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"Yeah, okay."
But she doesn't start moving again, as though waiting for confirmation that the interaction is over.
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"Okay."