Adelaide (nevertell) wrote in freakshow_ic, @ 2012-07-21 00:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | adelaide hawkins, ian terrell |
Cutter and Addie: The more you live, the less you will die
Who: Ian Terrell and Adelaide Hawkins
Where: The Athletic Arena
What: Tipsy talking
When: After hours
Status: Complete
A sense of accomplishment is one thing, but there’s not much that Adelaide likes better than a night off. When the Freak Show isn’t running some of the kids who work it tend to be bored, scraping the towns they occupy for something to keep their twisting, rambunctious bodies and minds busy. Adelaide has never really had that problem, she can be content sitting on a sofa by herself watching movies, reading, napping, thinking for days at a time. Lately, though, there is something that’s putting an itch between her shoulder blades, putting a restless feeling in her usually-cozy soul. Ever since the night that Adelaide spent time with Cutter the longing for her family, for the people she loves best and always has, has turned into a nagging ache that even she can’t shove into a corner of her ironclad mind and ignore.
So tonight she has a bottle of five-dollar champagne in hand, half consumed, and she weaves through the tents and trailers. She isn’t entirely sure where she’s headed until she finds herself outside of the tent where Cutter fights. She hesitates at the opening for a moment before brushing it aside, hoping she will find him inside training or whatever it is these physical people do in here all the time. She refuses to go by their trailer, but if she happens to find him here... well, she won’t admit to her loneliness for them, but she supposes she doesn’t really have any other explanation for her presence there, either.
The days the Freak Show is closed to the public are always a little difficult to handle for Cutter. Of course there is always someone to spar with, or someone to train like he did tonight. Show them a few moves, give them a few hints. He actually enjoys that somehow because it gives him some sort of purpose. And something to do that doesn’t involve brooding or drinking. But his training partner is long gone and Cutter has yet to find the will to leave the tent and go back to the trailer. He doesn’t really feel like doing that just now, just like he usually doesn’t feel like joining the others in the pit or on their trips into town.
He sits on the floor of the ring, leaning against a corner post, with a book in his hand. A bottle of whiskey is within reach, but he hasn’t touched it yet. Cat is lying between his feet, chewing on her favorite toy, an old boxing glove. Cutter is still in his workout clothes, camouflage shorts and a black bandana to keep his hair that has reached critical length out of his eyes. Chewing on a toothpick he is engrossed in the story he is reading, but Cat notices Addie’s presence and sits up, tail wagging, which prompts Cutter to put down the book. “Did you get lost?” he asks her with a smirk. So far he hasn’t acted on his threat to throw her over his shoulder and lock her up with Rodeo until they have worked things out, but he hasn’t forgotten. Just let himself be distracted with the usual things on his mind.
Adelaide takes in the scene before they notice her, tipsily thinking that she can’t quite tell if he’s content or if he’s sad, thinking she doesn’t really know if there’s a difference for him now. She has a flash of irritation aimed at his dead girlfriend for it, and has had enough of the champagne not to feel badly about that reaction.
Then the dog draws attention to her, and the frown that hovered in her expression clears, forgotten for the moment when Cutter smirks. “That’s it,” Adelaide nods, a teasing light in her eyes as she lets him inspire her. “Took a wrong turn at the Pink Corset and ended up right here. Luckily I had nourishment with me, or I might never have made it,” she says, gesturing with her bottle. She comes forward and holds out her hand for the dog, leaning her hip on the edge of the ring. She’s more of a cat person than a dog person, but all animals seem to have a tendency to like her. “Well hi there beautiful,” she murmurs, ruffling the puppy’s scruff.
These days Cutter considers the moments when he doesn’t feel anything his happy moments, and this has been one of them. Sometimes he manages to read a book that has a plot interesting enough to distract him from everything and it is almost as good as getting drunk - hence the yet untouched liquor. He will need it later, before he goes to bed.
Cutter raises an eyebrow at the champagne before he replies to her. “That ain’t nourishment, that’s... terrible.” For a moment he looks irritated, he wants to tell her that she shouldn’t be drinking at all before he remembers that she is old enough to do so if she wants to. He still isn’t sure what to think about that, but he watches her interact with Cat and that is distraction enough. The dog might be dangerous for his reputation, but for his moods she is just right.
As much champagne as Adelaide has had, it doesn’t much bother her sense of hypocrisy to think that she’s glad his bottle appears untouched. She doesn’t know the extent of the problems that he’s having, of the ways that he’s coping (or not coping) but there is an instinctive feeling that it is better if he’s not drinking it. A lot of things with Cutter are instinctive, like reading his expressions though most would say he hardly makes any, or figuring out when he’s making one of his dry jokes that many people miss. She just knows him, and in her present state that perfect familiarity makes her almost excessively fond. She leans in to rest her elbows on the ring, to put her chin in her palm and look up at him. “I like the bubbles,” she says, not the least bit bothered by his assessment. She watches that irritation pass over his face, subtle but clear as day to her, and smothers a grin. “Don’t worry, Sarge,” she says, nudging his knee. “All grown up. I can supply the proper identification if you don’t remember my birthday.” She knows he probably still feels like she is a kid, but the easy way she interacts with him makes her want him to think of her like an equal. The way she feels about her brother at the moment makes her want Sarge to like who she is not who she was.
After all the times Cutter stumbled into their trailer drunk out of his mind, falling asleep on the floor after really trying to be quiet... they ended up waking Addie more often than not. Back then he would have never imagined that one day he would be the one watching her being drunk, not as drunk as they used to be, but still. It is slightly unsettling that she has grown up and he isn’t quite sure what that means. Because to him she is still a little girl and his eyes and his brain are currently having an argument because she definitely doesn’t look like the little girl he remembers. Cutter snorts, of course she likes the bubbles. Then he looks down at his knee and back up to her, slowly. “Never been good at math, but the basics I’m okay with. I know how old you are.” Roughly. A guy who fails to remember his own birthday should be excused. His eyes drift down to Cat, who has rolled over on her back by now. Better than looking at Addie. Even though he knows her, or at least he used to know her... she is female. And he really has no idea what to do now that he can’t just hand her some candy, listen to her stories and nod a few times before she runs off to do something more interesting that doesn’t involve pestering her brother’s best friend.
Addie runs her fingers along the puppy’s velvet-soft ears, and looks up to smile faintly at Cutter when he responds. “Well I’m glad we’re clear on that,” she says. Abruptly, some clarity coming through the champagne haze, she picks up on just a touch of his discomfort and she taps her short mint colored nails on her bottle as she regards him thoughtfully. “Should I scram and let you get back to that book of yours? Go take some more wrong turns somewhere?” she asks, but she doesn’t stop leaning or looking quite comfortable there with him, and he can tell she’s not asking because of a desire to get going.
His eyes still trained on the dog Cutter can’t help but envy her. How much easier life has to be when you are a dog and you don’t need to worry about all the stupid things humans worry about. Putting the book Mort gave him, Love In Times Of Cholera, down, he looks back at Addie. “Book? What book? I ain’t readin’ anythin’ but the label of my bottle here,” he says with a straight face, almost reverently patting the bottle he has picked for the day. As awkward as he feels, he didn’t mind her company the other day and maybe she can distract him today, too. Cutter seems to be suffering from mood swings, because one moment he thinks it’s a bad idea, the next he isn’t opposed to it at all. Although he should probably find his shirt, he always feels weird without one when he’s not in the ring. And there are women present.
A full-on grin spreads quick, and then Adelaide boosts herself up onto the floor of the ring, under the ropes, and tucks her calf-length skirt around her and settles in. It’s a quality she’s had since she was tiny - once she decides she’s in somewhere, gets past the walls she keeps up so much of the time, she makes herself comfortable better than anyone and it’s escalated now that she’s looser than usual. She knows he’s never liked to be called out on his reading so she doesn’t mention it again, just sits facing him with the dog in between. “So did you give her a name? Teach her to fetch and sit and everything?” she asks, scritching at those soft puppy ears again.
While Adelaide settles in Cutter looks around for his bag he has left somewhere near the ring. He lies down on his stomach and scoots to the edge, grabbing his bag with one arm and hauling it up. Cat slightly lifts her head because that bag usually contains something edible, she has learned that within her first few days. Muttering under his breath without even noticing it he rummages through the old, worn bag until he finds a flannel shirt he pulls over, and a small bag of jerky. Taking a few pieces he throws them at Cat. “Name’s Cat, an’ she’s just a pup. I’m glad she ain’t pissin’ all over our trailer,” he grumbles. The truth is that although he quickly taught her that she has to do business outside he just doesn’t have the heart to be strict with her.
“From the way you talk you might not even realize if she did her business inside,” Adelaide comments, sitting primly while she sips her champagne from the bottle. It’s pink and very cheap, but she seems to like it fine and doesn’t really notice the backwards nature of drowning loneliness in that generally celebratory drink. “There were lots of dogs on the estate back in Boston,” she says. “Learned how to train them, a little bit, too.” Somehow, she feels odd mentioning Kyle by name, so she avoids it though she can’t really pinpoint why.
“Oh I would. I know all the funky smells in our trailer, dog piss would stand out.” Cutter realizes how awful that sounds, but that’s the way it is. Two guys with a complete disregard for anything remotely resembling a chore living together is bound to end up that way. But the dog seems to be fine with it, although her favorite spot is the only clutter-free place in his room, his bed. His vow to never share a bed with a woman again didn’t include a dog, after all. He raises an eyebrow when she mentions the estate so casually, but chooses not to comment on it. The whole topic is a gigantic red flag and he would rather not go there. “You can give it a shot, guess she needs some trainin’ before she grows up and still thinks she can jump on people.”
Adelaide snickers, a far less dignified sound than her usual, at least in the past bunch of years. “You almost sound fond of your smells,” she says, while she sounds fond of the idea of the two rough and tumble boys living in such a very them way. The moment her fuzzy mind catches on to that line of thinking she scowls down at her bottle for a second and then takes another sip. “Alright, I’ll give it a try,” she says, eyes on the label as she peels it. “You know, eventually when I’m not all hopped up on the bubbly. Cat deserves a nice sober teacher.”
Cutter looks at her for a moment, a part of him still trying to mesh the woman in front of him with the girl in his memories. “Happen to think they’re personalities of their own.” He tilts his head at her tone, trying to figure out what she is thinking about, but he gives up quickly and opens his bottle instead. “Think she needs at least one good influence in her life.” Cutter makes an effort to not drink like he usually does because that would mean drinking like it’s water, so he puts the bottle down after a good swig. “Can’t say I would’ve minded a teacher like that. Would’ve made school more interestin’.”
“Got a whole brood in there, sounds like,” Adelaide grins, coming back from wherever her mind just went. “Cleaning would really be inhumane at this point so it’s a good thing you don’t.” She watches while he opens his bottle and it’s such a normal thing to her, between the two of them and her mama, for him to just have the bottle with him as a matter of course. When he speaks of school Adelaide wrinkles up her nose, and shakes her head. “Ain’t nothin’ can make school any better,” she says, and he’s reminded strongly of the last day of summer vacation before she had to go back to school, when she made him and Rodeo camp out on the lawn with her so she could drink in the freedom to the very last drop, in the grass looking up at the stars. She never did like being tied to something like school. “But I guess if teachers gave out beef jerky instead of grades, that’d be nice,” she admits after another sip, starting to get blurrier with the drink.
“Soon they’ll demand their own trailer ‘n get their own show.” Although that kind of show is not for those with a sensitive nose. Or stomach. “That’d be like killin’ yer own kids.” A bottle is his favorite and only accessory these days and it would disturb him how much he actually behaves like his father if he ever bothered to think about it. The sight of a face that looks more and more like his dad every time he looks into the mirror is quite enough. Not just his face, but the eyes that seem to be almost as cold and unmoved as the rest of the face. “Beef jerky’d be a good start. ‘n teachers that aren’t complete idiots.”
“What d’you reckon their act’ll be?” she asks, regarding him with humor as she relaxes more and the alcohol makes her less conscious even of that relaxing. She has a tendency to look cozy when she’s like this, like she could curl up and take a nap right there in the ring. “Too bad I’m no showman, be nice not to have to run around buying groceries all the damn time,” she says, but she’s still smiling easily while she does. “Maybe if I get good at the teaching thing I’ll take that up as a career. Too bad the only career I ever really wanted was Party Planner-slash-Princess,” she laughs.
“Some kind of horror show. Just without visuals, more smells,” he says, almost grinning, before taking another swig out of his bottle. Cutter doesn’t need that crutch as much when he is talking to Addie, he even survived an entire conversation without any alcohol. Eyes skimming over her looking so comfortable he remembers how she always managed to fall asleep basically anywhere, and as much as they seem to have in common, this is one aspect where they are polar opposites. Cutter always seems tense, always on the verge of an outbreak of some sorts, and he has trouble falling asleep even if he is exhausted. “But you got food around all the time. Ain’t too bad.” Considering that the fridge in the trailer he lives in with Rodeo is in serious need of restocking this is of course the most important aspect of her business to him. “Be a party plannin’ teacher princess then.”
"Could make it like one of those all in the dark horror experiences, where your mind takes over and makes everything ten times more scary," Adelaide grins blurrily. She was never really scared of horror movies, but she has memories of clutching onto her brother or Sarge in the haunted houses that popped up near them during Halloween when she was small when she insisted they take her along. She never screamed, and sometimes was even bold with her little serious face, but she'd always hang on tight to the hand of one or the other of them.
Her bottle is empty now, and she frowns at it. "But really I mostly like feeding my own people, anyway. And lately that Holly chick looks at me funny whenever a fight breaks out or anything, like I had something to do with it," she sniffs, playing more offended than she
really is. Really it kind of amuses her. "I used to-" She starts to tell him about the parties she'd planned at the estate, but her fuzzy mind too late remembers the way he'd brushed past her previous mention, and she stops there, presses her lips together. Then she
lifts her brow at him curiously. "You guys do anything for Prembus lately?"
"Ain't so sure if that won't be too much. People could get killed." After all people have died of heart attacks caused by fear before, and Cutter isn't sure if an attraction like that wouldn't cause people to drop dead like flies. And the combined smells probably won't help
matters much. Cutter has many memories revolving around haunted houses, but most of them have nothing to do with scared little girls. He ignores them on purpose.
Cutter frowns when Addie mentions Holly, but he figures that if there are any people accepting of certain special abilities they are here, which is one of the many reasons why they ended up here in the first place. "You never accepted what we told you 'bout your special cookin' so why start now." It does register with him that she starts out to tell him something but deciding that he most likely wouldn't have liked it anyway he ignores that, too. "Prembus? Nah. Sunter Klaps gotta be mighty pissed at us for ignorin' him."
Addie scoffs at the idea of people being killed. "Have them sign a waiver," she says, waving it off with a hand. "And 'course I didn't accept what you said about the cooking, because it's crazytalk," she says. She curls her legs under her and puts her chin in the cup of both hands. "Kyle's crazy about that witch stuff too." Again she starts to tell him more, tell him about Kyle's little sister who was killed, but she remembers Mona at the last second. Her
champagne-induced candor isn't very good for chatting with him, if she hopes to keep it light and not scare him off. Which she does, because she never feels so okay as when she's talking with him, she's realized. Her lips press together again, and she shrugs. "I don't
believe in magic. But I do believe in Sunter Klaps, and we're going to have to have the biggest Prembus blowout of all time next spring, if we want to appease him." She doesn't say so, but it is very, very obvious that Adelaide is happy they never celebrated the made-up holiday without her. Call it immature, but that might have been just too much for her.
“Waivers. See, didn’t even think of that.” he grumbles, drinking some more, waiting for the fuzz to creep into his head. By now he knows that he is quite a bit away from that state, unless he drinks a lot faster or a lot more. For once regular training isn’t a good thing. But he is far enough to chance talking about the bad stuff. “Yeah, then I must’ve developed some people skills cause I ain’t real good with feelin’ ‘n all that, but I know a few things ‘bout how you feel.” Cutter never minded it much, since he was such a pro at ignoring things. Unless he devoured fried chicken and had sudden feelings. He had stopped eating her food for a long while after that, hoping that she would get over her crush quickly because it made him uncomfortable. When Addie mentions that Kyle again Cutter feels a sudden urge to take a road trip, but driving all that way just to kill someone might be a bit much. He can always do it when they are closer. “You think the Klaps will accept our offerings? We’ve been neglectin’ him for so long now.” Celebrating Prembus hadn’t even occurred to him, and now that he realizes that he knows it would have felt wrong without Addie, anyway.
Adelaide immediately narrows her big gray eyes at him, though she thanks her stars that she doesn't feel heat rise to her cheeks. It's possible she's outgrown her blushing habit, but that is probably wishful thinking. "What do you know about how I feel, Sarge?" she asks. She's always been direct, perhaps too much so for his taste but that is their Adelaide and always was. "Tell me all about it since my hush puppies have kept you so well-informed. And sure the Klaps will accept our offerings. Obviously we couldn't celebrate before
because of circumstances. James might have some trouble convincing him, though. I ain't aiming to help him out, either."
Cutter sighs and mutters a few curses under his breath, aimed at himself and his stupidity. Why he mentioned it in the first place is beyond him, since he does know her and should have known that she wouldn't brush past the subject once he mentioned it. "You feel
lonely, abandoned. And you resent us for leavin' you. That sound about right? We always said you shouldn't cook when you was angry 'n you never believed us." He tries so very hard to distract her at least a little with his last statement, tries to take them back to the good old days when they would tell her that her food could start riots and she would laugh about it. "We should find a special couch 'n make sure that the beard matches it, too." Then he realizes that the usual Prembus gifts for her probably won't cut it anymore and a look that could only be described with sheer horror flashes over his face.
Adelaide listens to him intently, and then she huffs and waves the words away with an impatient hand. There's just the smallest hint in her voice that she is affected by it, but her demeanor denies it. "You could gather all that from talking with me ten minutes," she points
out, stubborn as ever on this topic. "And as for the angry stuff, well maybe my moods are just infectious because I'm a little bit dramatic," she grins, because she knows he knows it and she can admit it, at least to him. "The couch will have to be perfect this year," she nods. "I'm thinking paisley. Is there anyone in the show who can grow something epic? It's too bad we don't have a bearded lady act..."
Cutter looks at her for a moment, trying to determine if she is serious or not. "No, I couldn't. We're talkin' 'bout me here." And even if he usually doesn't admit it, he has the emotional awareness of a brick. "Yeah, maybe that's just it. 'n maybe I just turned into an empath 'cause I sure never felt lonely in my entire life," he says, serious as he can be and that is pretty serious. He really never has and that was what reminded him of her ability in the first place. "Paisley's good. I'd try but I guess that ban you put up back then is still in place." he says with a slight smirk. He never understood why she so vehemently protested when he wanted to grow a real beard instead of the excessive stubble he so often sports,
anyway.
Adelaide quits her bravado when Cutter looks at her so seriously, more than usual even for him. She deflates, and shrugs. "I ain't that lonely," she mumbles, looking down at her hands and not quite able to look up and meet his steady gaze. "Says the girl who came looking to bother her brother's best friend half drunk in the middle of the night." Her grin comes back, though, when he talks about his beard, and she shakes her head. "Hey, I'm not your mama, Sarge, but I'm just sayin', you got a good face what do you want to cover it
up with a shrub for? Besides, you can't be the hobo, I need you to carry all the heavier offerings and you can't carry them if they’re for you."
With a snort he lifts his bottle, only to realize that it is half empty. "Yeah, hate to break it to ya, but if you seek out my company it's gotta be pretty bad. That's like a code red warnin' right there." He says it without bitterness, more like jokingly stating a fact that he just slightly exaggerated. Because usually he isn't someone people seek out when they want company. "Cause a beard is awesome." Cutter says, if he were the type of person to use "duh" he would have just now. "I just wanna be the hobo once. Until then I'll just have to be the dude that does the heavy liftin' for ya."
A warm little grin comes over Addie when he snorts that way, close enough to a laugh that she’s very much pleased by it, though even drunk she knows better than to point it out or to comment. “I’ve always thought you were real good company,” she tells him. “Though I was raised by wolves, so what do I know, right?” There’s something about his presence she just finds steady and easy, she never has to pretend with someone who’s known her so long and so well, but it isn’t just that he’s known her forever, she thinks. They seem to just have an instinctive understanding of each other. And though many would be bewildered by the idea, she’s always thought he’s funny. “How about we make you the emergency backup hobo?” she says, as if bestowing a gift. “Then you can stand in the wings like an understudy and wish terrible things upon the hobo every year until you get your day in the sun.”
The moments when he raises an eyebrow at someone not in irritation but in amusement are rare, but now is one of them. “See, we did our best with screwin’ you up for life.” Because no girl in her right mind would say that about him. He lightly shakes his head. Not girl. More like... he takes another swig instead of letting that thought go through. Something inside him just flat out refuses to acknowledge the fact that she grew up and even though he doesn’t really know why, he trusts himself enough to think that it is probably best if he keeps things the way they are. “Emergency backup hobo? Better than nothin I guess. But if the real hobo has some terrible accident I can take over? That’s a dangerous plan right there.”
The list of things Adelaide aspires to is not all that long, containing things like really good naps, soft blankets and stylish clothing, a handful of meaningful friendships, and a real good piano. In her head she immediately adds Cutter’s current expression to the list, one because it looks good on him, and two because it seems happy, which is not something she associates with him these days. “That’s not a screwup,” she says, staunch. “That’s pure discernment and good taste.” She doesn’t know quite what Cutter was thinking about before he took that big swig, but it’s certain that she wonders, and she can easily tell it’s something he wants to drown out, near literally. She gives him a curious look, but then grins and goes on. “I like dangerous plans,” she says. “Guess we’ll see how bad you really want the job.”
Noting her pleased expression he isn’t quite sure what caused it, but he remembers how they would do almost anything to cause that when she was younger. And it surprises him that he still feels that way about her. “That you think that just shows how badly we ruined you,” he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good for us, not sure if that’s good for you.” Her curious look is again ignored with great skill as he loses himself in thoughts of Prembus festivities in the past. “Ain’t really in the spirit of Prembus if I end up puttin’ the hobo into hospital. Gotta come up with somethin’ that ain’t puttin’ the blame on me right away.”
“Ruined?” Addie repeats, playing at being offended though she’s clearly not. “Aw now that just ain’t chivalrous to say,” she grins, nudging his leg because it’s in reach and this little banter feels so much like home she doesn’t know whether to be sad or happy - but she does know that she’s isolated, and a nudge is all she’s got. “And don’t worry, being me is fairly great. Sure I don’t want to go being anybody else.” She looks over when he starts to plot his Prembus strategy, and laughs a bit. “Now listen, you just come up with somethin’ that it ain’t all the way obvious it was you,” she says. Her voice gets more and more Montgomery as the end of her champagne bottle hits. “And then we can just, you know, play dumb. ‘Course we ain’t gonna really try and find you out,” she grins. Then the ‘we’ in that sentence hits her, and her grin drops. She looks down at her empty bottle a moment, and then sets it aside and scoots forward a little. “Hey, Sarge? You think maybe you could lend me an arm and walk me back to my trailer? I got a sudden little pang of homesick.” She says it as if she’s yearning for her trailer, but of course that isn’t it at all.
“I ain’t never been chivalrous, don’t see why I should start now.” His eyes flicker down to his leg where she touched it but his face remains calm, in spite of him wanting to pull up his legs, out of reach of her gasp. Anything that is not punches or the roughhousing around he sometimes does with Rodeo is unusual and he wants nothing to do with it. “I’ll have ta think real hard on that one,” he grumbles in his typical way. It’s just him, but his mannerisms make everyone else think he is pissed off and slightly stupid. Then her smile falls and he feels the urge to put it right back where it was, but he has no idea how to accomplish that now. So he merely nods and grabs a leash for Cat, although he really doesn’t like putting her on it for so many reasons, and gingerly lifts the puppy up to place her on the floor next to the ring before he rolls under the lowest rope and drops right next to her. For a moment he seems to be far away, but then he pulls apart the ropes so Addie can climb through and holds out his free hand to help her down.
Cutter's reaction to her casual contact, though subtle, doesn't go unnoticed, and it adds to the discontent that has snuck in on her so suddenly. He used to swing her up on his shoulder, used to play silly pony games with her when she was small, but this is different. She's grown up now and she did it without them. She guesses she can't blame him for his discomfort, but she also doesn't have to like it. The grumble she is fine with, she knows him plenty well to know when he's actually pissed off, and that grumble has nothing to do with temper. When he holds the ropes for her, Adelaide primly makes her way between them. She's always been coordinated, even though she didn't do much in the way of sports or running around even as a kid. With a whole bottle of champagne inside her small frame, she only teeters a little bit on the edge, before losing her comparatively tiny hand in his for the hop down.
Quickly, she lets him have his hand back to avoid any more of those looks, but of course she can't actually reign it all in for very long. She gives him a sidelong look, a little allusion to a grin. "You are too chivalrous, you know," she informs him, brushing a wrinkle out of her skirt while she moves alongside him and the dog loosely. The undertones of that abrupt sadness are still there, but she's going on anyway like she tends to. "See, some fellas are all showy Here, madame, let me get that rope for you, la dee da," she says, doing her best stuffed-shirt showoff voice. "You just do it because it's what you do, not because anyone's lookin'. That's the real thing," she says. She sees things in him, good things, that she doesn't know how other people miss.
Avoiding physical contact has become so normal for him that he doesn’t even realize he does it, although he falters for a brief moment before she gets off the ring and he considers really throwing her over his shoulder like he used to. But he is aware of the fact that doing that with a little girl is a lot different than it would be now. And then there is this void he didn’t even really know existed before he let Mona get close to him, the part of him that craves that kind of contact and that went mad once she was gone. Cutter just doesn’t want to go there ever again and is glad that he has his shirt to pull over his head and a flannel he picks up just in case before they leave the tent.
Addie talking about him being chivalrous makes him uncomfortable, after all he sees nothing to it. He would say that this is how he was raised but if he behaved like that he would say a few cruel things to her before staggering off. She is right, he just does it because it is what he does, it’s what he thinks is right. Just like draping his shirt over her shoulders before he holds open the flap of the tent for her, he does that without even realizing that it happens, and when they are outside he wraps the leash around one wrist and holds out the other arm to Addie. “Asked for my arm, didn’t ya,” he grumbles and although his voice sounds gruff in an attempt to keep her away he doesn’t mind it as much as he pretends to.
Adelaide allows herself a smile when the warm flannel settles down over her shoulders, and she pulls it close. She’s someone who appreciates textures, and flannel is near and dear to her heart just by association - she’s tipsy enough to press her cheek to it and grin before carrying on. And then there’s his arm, and she pauses to tilt her head cheekily, to smile at him but mostly in the eyes. “I guess I did, didn’t I?” she says, and slips in next to his solid form. She’s always been a cozy little thing, and even now that she’s grown up, thin and graceful, she’s a comfortable presence at his side. “Never could find much to ask you for that you didn’t give,” she muses. Her voice is warm, low and sleepy even while she goes on. “Spoiled me rotten. Hey, speaking of, I been aiming to hang up a hammock chair in my trailer. I think I might need powertools,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “You got any of those?”
Cutter tries his best to ignore her reaction when he gives her his shirt because it just adds to all those little things that make him uncomfortable. Although this really isn’t a new situation, he can’t count the times they have taken her some place and she ended up curled up in one of his flannels or sweaters on the way back. Even back then he wouldn’t have thought it was cute or anything, because men didn’t find things cute. Not even little sleeping girls lost in a huge shirt. Right now it is something else and once again something inside him tries to stir but is suffocated by his mind. “I’m kinda attached to my limbs,” he replies dryly, because that is pretty much all he won’t give her. Body parts. Once again he chuckles, barely audible, when she mentions power tools and wrinkles her nose. “I got a few around, yeah. Should help you get that hammock chair up.” After all this is Addie asking, he would hang up forty hammock chairs if he had to. He just won’t acknowledge who she is now.
Walking alongside Cutter this way is both familiar and very, very different. For one, the top of her head reaches just slightly above his shoulder now, where before she hit somewhere at his elbow. For another, she’s never actually been drunk with him, though she’s seen him drunk more times than she can count, loud and boisterous with her brother. And that is the other thing that is different - she’s very rarely, if at all, been flanked on just one side rather than both, rarely been the one talking on into the night with Cutter, rather than her brother doing so and her just listening, comforted by their familiarity. Again she shoves thoughts of Rodeo away. Usually she is much, much better at keeping unpleasant thoughts contained.
She laughs that sleepy low laugh again, and takes a deep breath of the night air, carnival smells of spun sugar and fried things, of generator exhaust all mingling together. Sometimes she wants to run from this show because it is unfamiliar, not broken in yet, but tonight she is fond of it. “Yeah, I coulda tried duct tape or something, but you know how I like to do things right. And you’re right about limbs, they’re good to have. I’ll keep that in mind while I got those tools going. Bet it’s hard to find a place in this show for a girl with missing pieces,” she muses.
While her height is relatively easy to overlook there are other changes in her appearance Cutter finds harder to ignore. The most prominent one almost too close to his arm now that she has looped hers through it than he can be comfortable with. It reminds him that he shouldn’t be too relaxed around her, even if he could let himself be. He is just glad that he has postponed his drinking tonight in favor of a good book because dealing with this in his usual calm manner would be a lot harder if he were drunk.
The idea of hanging a hammock chair with duct tape is met with a snort. “Yeah, would’ve liked to see you try that n land on your butt the second you sat down in it.” He keeps slipping up around her and he doesn’t like it one bit. It is very comfortable behind the stony walls he has built around himself and he would very much like to stay behind them. “You remember what kind of folk we’re travelin’ with, right? Behold the chick without arms, that’d fit right in. Maybe they’d give you tentacles instead.”
Adelaide is blissfully unaware of Cutter’s thoughts - or at least, she makes sure she appears to be so. It is likely she’s far more aware of his discomfort than she lets on, but has decided that this is her best bet. If Cutter ever suspected her awareness of his awareness of these ‘mortifying’ changes, she is fairly certain that would finally be too much, finally be enough to really scare him off. She won’t allow that to happen, so she goes along comfortable and casual at his side, and if every time he sticks his foot in his mouth again there is a wicked sparkle to her gray eyes, well that must just be coincidence.
“Oh, you’d like to see that, would you?” Adelaide glances up at him sidelong, merriment showing in the profile view. “If you want to see me land on my butt all you really have to do is let go of my arm too fast,” she laughs. Then she shakes her head. “No way am I determined enough to be part of the show that I’d accept tentacles,” she laughs. “So it’d be... behold, the Boy Who Can’t Die! Behold, the amazing gravity-defying motorcycle daredevil! Behold... the stump girl!”
It is true that if Cutter knew that she knows he would most likely not walking with her as relaxed as he is now. Which isn’t very relaxed at all, but compared to his usual stance it is, if that makes sense. It would also make his head spin to determine who is aware of what and he is generally trying to avoid complicated interpersonal issues at all costs. Which is why Addie growing up bothers him so much. It makes a formerly easy relationship complicated because there are so many new things that could happen.
“Nah, I actually wouldn’t. Remember what happened when I threw you into that small pond and you pretended to cry about it? Your brother almost drowned me. Learned my lesson back then,” he says, reminiscing and not sounding all too sorry about what happened back then. “Well, stump girl, if you manage to juggle a few burnin’ chainsaws with the stumps you’re still good. If not... well.” In the very last second he manages to bite back a comment that could have been mistaken for something dirty, involving her mouth. He coughs and shakes his head.
"Pretended to cry, did I?" Adelaide says, a little edge showing there though it is softened by humor, by her fondness for him. It isn't too hard, though, to imagine the Adelaide that some people get, that haughty look and those gray eyes cool instead of warm and laughing as they are now. "And how do you know you didn't really make me cry?" she asks, giving him the littlest nudge with her elbow. The motion makes her tip just a bit, and she uses his arm to steady herself with a quick, low laugh and an 'oops'.
They've reached her trailer by then, and Addie kicks up one foot, produces a single key from the ankle of her shoe since her knee-length skirt has no pockets. She doesn't drop his arm immediately - he is warm, comfortable, and she's just drunk enough still to linger a little despite how she knows he feels. "You make a real good escort, Sarge," she says lightly.
“Would’ve helped if you hadn’t been grinnin’ like a maniac behind your hands.” he says with a hint of a smile, and he realizes that she has come a long way since then. All women seem to learn at some point how to be some sort of mystic creature that says and does things he can’t even begin to comprehend. At some point when a tattered copy of a Harry Potter novel found its way into his hands he wondered if there was a school for that sending out distant learning programs. “That ’n you sound different when you’re cryin’ for real.” It’s something he can’t stand to hear because it goes straight through to places inside him he doesn’t really know about.
Cutter steadies her as she stumbles without even thinking about it and is a little confused when he realizes that they are at her trailer already. Even more so when he sees where she stored her key, although he is very glad that it’s in her sock and not some place else. Looking down at her arm still laced through his and back up at her face he shrugs lightly. “Guess I got a natural talent. Never tried it before.”
Adelaide begins to smile at his accusation, but then just as quickly he talks of her crying that way and her face changes - not sad, but suddenly strangely conscious, and thoughtful. She often thinks of the fact that she knows him so well, but that he knows her so well jars her in this moment, though maybe it shouldn’t. She’s abruptly got the feeling that there is some kind of blockage, some sort of invisible... something, muffling certain truths. It’s disconcerting, but the feeling fades off quickly, and she shakes her head. “Can’t remember the last time I cried for real,” she admits. It wasn’t when he and Rodeo had gone and never come back, she was sure of that. She’d felt icy cold and brittle, more so every day they didn’t come for her until she’d realized they weren’t coming, and she up and left home. By then she was too angry to cry.
His words bring her back to the present. “Maybe not just like that,” she admits, and she’s able to smile now when he looks up at her. “But you been carting me around since forever, remember. I gave you some practice,” she grins. Then she slips her arm from his, considers asking him in for food because feeding him is her instinct, but even her tipsy mind decides that that can wait. She’s relatively certain at this point being alone with her in her trailer, late night and drunk, would make his brain die a little.
Even someone much more comfortable in the field of emotions would probably have no idea how to respond to that and Cutter simply doesn’t at all. He feels the very strong urge to withdraw himself from the situation and feels sorry he brought it up at all. And he isn’t sure why he did it in the first place, he doesn’t even remember knowing the difference. Or the effect it always had on him and remembering it now doesn’t seem right.
Cutter is glad that she sees it in that light, he was always around somehow with Rodeo when she was little and they took turns carrying her when she was tired and more often than not when she wasn’t, and Rodeo would bring her to bed while Cutter waited outside until Rodeo was done or until Addie managed to talk them into telling her a story. And that is another thought that seems wrong now, that needs to be put on his list. Shifting from one foot to the other as she lets go of him he scratches his head. “Think I better go now before Cat chews up her leash again.” he mutters, eyes shifting away from her.
There is a line Adelaide is dancing around, and it is really not even that invisible. She knows when she’s about to say and do things that will make Cutter uncomfortable, that will make him conscious of her in that way that brings a little frown line between his brows. It’s hardly anything most people would take note of, but she knows. She thinks sometimes that he needs to be pushed, a little, and by someone who knows him enough to do it right - and at other times she just can’t help the indulgent reminder to herself that she can affect him at all.
He scratches his head like that and Adelaide smothers her smile. Her eyes laugh, though, knowingly. “Alright, alright,” she says. “You done your duty and delivered me home safe, so you go on. I’ll come calling some time for those power tools.”
It takes a few moments to reign his thoughts back in again and while he is doing that he is staring at a point slightly above Addie’s shoulder. Any normal person would probably just... move on. Accept the fact that she has grown up. But Cutter isn’t normal and he needs a long time to get used to a new brand of ketchup.
“Yeah, if you break somethin’ in there that ain’t on my conscience, then.” he says, again with that barely detectable humor in his words. “You do that, was thinkin’ about sellin’ them, ain’t like I use them much anyway.” And the money could be put towards his stash that constantly needs to be restocked. With an awkward little wave he takes a few steps backwards before he turns around and walks back to where he came from, his puppy trailing behind him looking a lot more excited than he ever does.