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Deirdre Gwyneth McCrery (naturallygwyn) wrote in inpoormerit,

Gwyn was half-torn between leaving and remaining as she waited at the door. She had heard a few chords coming from what she took to be a guitar before she knocked, and wondered if she should have warned him that she was coming over before actually doing so. Ah, well, usually once she'd made up her mind to do something, there was nothing to it. She was actively staring at a place on the door frame, a tiny chip of paint almost urging her to reach out and peal it off.

She resisted the temptation, however. She wasn't a complete nutter.

She was saved from a moment of OCD by the opening of the door. Gwyn glanced at the bespectacled lad, and couldn't help but smile. It was a closed-lipped smile, of course. It fell a little when he greeted her, though. She supposed she had it coming, though, just showing up like this. Taking in a deep breath, she barely opened her mouth and more or less mumbled, "I'm Gwyn, we spoke on the computer."

Not taking in a breath didn't help at all. A cacophony of smells filled her mouth and nose, almost making her sick. She paled. It was all teenage guy smells: deodorant, soap, faint dirt and... the woods? But it wasn't just him, there were smells coming from his cottage too: dust, old cleaning supplies, laundered sheets and- oh, Lord. Had something died in there?

Her stomach clenched, and she pressed a hand to it with a groan.