Re: May's Cottage: May & Rory
[Rory wasn't particularly spooked by human contact. When he flinched, it was an expression of speculation rather than the manner of unease that might overwhelm a beaten dog or broken man. There was no reason to be uneasy around May(not that he could tell). Even her apparent strength wasn't anything to jerk away from. In his life, the man hadn't backed ever backed away from violence but rather ran toward it with rabid foam on his bloodied teeth and war god zealotry shining in his black eyes. And now that he was dead… well, there wasn't a whole fucking lot to go losing one's head over once they'd already crossed the finish line. No mistake, the man still knew fear. He'd forgotten the feeling of such a thing, the bitter gnaw of it on the nerves. Area 52 reminded him of that feeling, something that he'd thought he'd left behind in whatever metaphorical grave he'd climbed out of all that time ago. He could still get afraid just as he could still get angry. Neither of those feelings were inspired by May, not even when she continued to touch him. Inked up arm to the mangy, muscled line of his collar. When she placed her palm there on his chest, Rory inhaled. One long drawn breath inward that pressed the thin flesh overlaying his sternum up against the spread of her fingers. The inhale was so deep that were he made of clay, she might have pressed clean through him.
She broke contact, and he exhaled.] I'll just pretend that doesn't sound fuckin' ominous. [She lightened up on her accent, and he sailed back to Boston on his. Rory had been kicked out of plenty of spots by women, but to be kicked out of some place by the universe? Fuck all. H knew that she was making light, and not threatening in any way because it wouldn't a threat for her to tell him to get lost. That'd just be some sign of her own coherent mind coming up to bat. The fact that she'd allowed him to hang around for this far, it was both surprising and appreciated.
When she ordered him to clean up the spilled tea, Rory just fished his hand into the bottom edge of his shirt and without taking it off, used the cotton like a rag to wipe the table dry again.]
You human? You smell human. [Which was admitting that he wasn't, but they were well beyond feigning ignorance.]