Re: May's Cottage: May & Rory
[Oh, there were reasons to be uneasy around May, but none of them had to do with the possibility of her lashing out physically or violently at another person. If she needed to defend herself or attack someone else, it wasn't a thing she did with fists. The reaching out for contact was as much for her own benefit as for Rory's - the people she touched were few and very far between these days. The fact that they'd stayed in each other's orbits for as long as they had meant that she could reach out. Reassure herself that he was more than a whiskey-scented shadow or hallucination that had taken up residence in her mind. But he was solid beneath her palm, the push of his chest as he inhaled, and she gave a satisfied little nod before she pulled away.
And then she chuckled. Like most of her laughs, it came out quiet from the back of her throat, amused and with no hint of mocking.] It does, a bit. You don't have to pretend it doesn't. [Her back was to him, but she must have been paying more attention than she let on, because when he began to mop at the tea with his own shirt, she tossed a washcloth over her shoulder to land on the table. It was hand-crocheted from thick cotton yarn, absorbent and thick and nubby enough to scrub at dishes that needed it. If he looked over, she was peering over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Just long enough to get her point across, and then she was measuring out more tea into the pot's strainer.
Her laugh, when it came, was brighter than her chuckle. Almost surprised to be asked that particular question. Hot water poured into the teapot and she set the lid on it to allow it to steep.] As far as I'm aware, yes. [She turned then, still smiling, and leaned her lower back against the counter, hands resting on the edge of it. With actual curiosity:] What does being human smell like? [Like it was a completely normal question to ask.]