t randall is NOT maid marian (notamaid) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-09-16 07:08:00 |
|
|||
As soon as Ryder felt that the forum conversation with T. Randall (whose name was Toby, as he discovered after digging through the forum and realizing she was the same woman he'd had a conversation about at-home first aid with) he changed into a pair of jeans, tugged on a clean t-shirt, and grabbed the little girl's fish before heading out the door. He had no interest in attending the charity ball, since he didn't own any formal wear and never had the intention of dressing up unless it was absolutely necessary. It might have been a good way to scope out the other guests and see if he could learn anything interesting, but he preferred his own method of investigating. Spending an evening surrounded by snobbish wealthy people didn't appeal to him whatsoever, and he didn't like the idea of being weaponless either. Although he wasn't sure whether this Toby was attending or not, the simple fact that she had a child - a child she didn't want anyone else knowing about, for that matter - made him doubt that she was. Even though she had no reason to trust him, Ryder had every intention of keeping the little girl a secret. He was by no means a saint, but innocents never deserved to be hurt, and no one was more innocent than a child. People who hurt children were high on his list of hated human beings, and when on the other end of his gun barrels, none of them had ever survived. He made it to the second floor rather quickly, even despite using the stairs, and rapped quietly on the door of 202. 202 was rocking out to the sounds of the jungle -- or, as was probably evident to anyone who was familiar with their Disney canon, the Lion King (2; Lily objected to Mufasa's death every time it happened, all eyes-welling, snuffling and inconsolable at the idea and very much preferred the female centric character, Toby had absolutely no preference for a movie she could now recite) and the volume for once was cranked high enough that the sound of a meerkat wailing could be heard a little, filtered through the door. It was a risk, but everyone had left the building for a ball -- so many Cinderellas in cheap ballgowns, bright-eyed with hope that they'd have more than a moment or two of the shiny kind of dreams the rich got to live in all year round. Toby had popped popcorn in the crappy microwave that didn't work unless you jammed something in the door to keep it closed, had spread out the blanket bought from a thrift-store and washed so many times it was soft and threadbare, had tickled and laughed with her daughter until Lily didn't ask why they couldn't go to the party any longer and until Toby herself no longer cared. When she answered the door, she was still flushed from the laughter, blond hair mussed but her face was stony, as though an unexpected invasion were far worse than being prepared for it; the television abruptly fell silent from within. The door only opened after a moment or two and if you knew the sounds of clinking and the heavy thud of a deadbolt being drawn back, you could suppose that the reason was undoing so many locks. When it did open, it was only enough for Toby to see out of, and her body blocked the gap, her face set and determined and at the same time showing nothing at all. If when she saw Ryder, she relaxed a touch, it was only barely perceptible. He was not a known quantity and his word had no founding to rely on as yet -- if you relied on anyone's word but your own -- but it was better than the unknown, and the door opened a little more as her grip on it eased. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the sound coming through the door, since Ryder wouldn't have known what the Lion King was even if someone shoved the DVD box in front of him - he wasn't completely out of touch with mainstream culture, but children's movies were completely beyond him. It didn't surprise him when the door wasn't opened immediately, and the clinking and heavy thuds made him all the more convinced that this woman wasn't just a typical protective mother. She was afraid of someone, perhaps multiple people; or at least had reason to be genuinely wary of strangers beyond the usual. It wasn't his place to question who or why, because he was only here to return a toy that a little girl had given to him in a way that all children did, innocently and without suspicion. His expression was carefully neutral, and didn't change even when the door finally opened just enough for the woman inside to be able to look out. "Ms. Randall." Ryder was polite, inclining his head slightly and holding out the fish like some sort of offering. "I presume this is yours?" Even though the hallways were quiet, he didn't trust it enough to speak candidly. It was totally incongruous; Nemo's soft, squishy orange body in hands big enough to engulf him and he held it out as though even having such an inoffensive piece of silliness in such close proximity was insult. He stood in her hall -- R. Donovan, she assumed -- and he filled it, not simply because he was tall and broad, but with a sort of stillness that made him obvious against battle-scarred walls and battered paintwork. He stood out the same way a pistol might, laid against a kitchen tablecloth. No fanfare, no obvious draw to attention but it did not belong. R. Donovan did not belong, but he held Nemo out like a passport and he had given a word. "Toby," she said, flatly and her hand stretched out to take the thing, her fingers just brushing against the stuffed toy's faded plush -- and then there was a sound from inside, and Toby's eyes widened fractionally and she spun away from the door and within the apartment to deal with it without a word and leaving the door swinging wide. It was a crammed little hallway; a table obviously for keys and mail to one side, scattered with the latter and a keychain with a plastic photo frame attached thrown down atop what looked like bills. On the other side, jackets hung up on wall hooks pushed up against the door in the narrow little entrance, and then it opened up and at the end of it, beyond two closed doors, you could almost-see into a living area that was kitchen and living room both. The space clearly hadn't been redecorated in years but re-rented over and over, and at the edges of the walls, different colors could be seen as they had bled through the current paint job -- inoffensive magnolia. It looked remarkably clean for the occupants of so shitty a building and so small an apartment -- the tenant next door had clearly absorbed some of this apartment into their space as they had expanded their apartment outwards -- and it smelled like warmth and home and cooking. There was also a very tiny and sorry-looking bunch of tulips in a vase on that hall-table, the kind that were squished in their paper at the market and could be bought cheaply. It was the one touch of home-making attempted in the apartment that could be seen and was pathetic, just in itself. He didn't have time to offer his own name in return, much less allow the fish to be taken so he could be on his way, before she turned without warning and disappeared back into her apartment. That surprised him, and he found himself faced with an open door and a little girl's fish that he was somehow still holding in his hand. While it may have been rude to enter someone's apartment uninvited, he didn't like standing in the hall and simply closing the door for her and returning later didn't seem very appealing either. Although he tried not to stare, it was instinct that caused his gaze to roam over the apartment's interior, at least what was visible from the doorway. Like all apartments in Hamartia it was small, and it was clear that there had been no decorators or renovations to affect the space for quite some time. It was the attempts at warmth and a sense of home that made it different (especially compared to his), though - and for a brief moment he admired the woman who lived here, even though he didn't know her, because it took strength to raise a child alone and to make a genuine effort. Many would have been too weak to do so. Ryder wasn't thrilled about his choices, but he took a few steps forward regardless, feeling decidedly like an intruder and not relishing it in the slightest. "Ms. Ra-- Toby? Should I just leave the fish on the table?" He was unsure of what had made her turn back in the first place, and paused beside the table in the hallway to await some sort of response. He was uncomfortable with the door wide open as well, and took a step back in order to reach back enough to close it at least slightly. It had not been as she'd thought -- Lily had knocked over the beaker of water and soaked the carpet and her coloring, but there was nothing immediately wrong, no reason to throw on a coat and pick up keys and rush to the emergency room, again. Fear had thrown her heart against her ribs, keeping it beating there like wings against a cage and it was only by leaning back against the wall and watching Lily for a moment -- observing that whilst the smudges beneath her eyes were present, they were less so than the previous day, that whilst she was pale, there was color in her cheeks that was more so than yesterday, that Toby could breathe herself again and smile at Lily's concerned look until it disappeared. Toby heard the tread in the hall not because it was heavy, but because it was so unfamiliar a sound -- and with a kiss pressed to the top of Lily's head, and turning the sound back up a little, she turned back to the hall and her neighbor and emerged from the living room and stood there, all ancient jeans and bare feet and tiny but utterly in control once again and nonchalent. "Hey. Yeah. We'd missed that," she said, and if the oddness of R. Donovan in the apartment's hallways had been strong, it was even more so here, where no one else had been aside from she and Lily and the delivery guy who had taken fifty bucks and two hours to shift what little furniture they had into the place. "She doesn't like being without it." Which made her new thing of handing over her stuff to people she took a liking to really damn difficult to deal with. Toby couldn't see quite why this guy had appealed to her three and a half year old, but he had and he had the fish to prove it. For a brief moment he wondered if something serious had happened, which would account for the suddenness with which she'd gone into the apartment, but it quickly became clear that wasn't the case at all - and he was very faintly relieved, although he chalked it up to wanting to avoid a complicated situation (since he dealt with enough of those as it was). He simply looked at her, aware that he probably looked nearly as out of place as he felt, since it was a rare occurrence that he visited someone else's apartment. "I didn't think she'd intended to give it to me permanently," he said wryly. Ryder didn't even know why the little girl had given it to him in the first place, but he assumed it was a child thing that couldn't really be explained. "I certainly never intended on keeping it, not when someone else was missing it." Once again he held out the fish, simply wanting to be rid of it at this point. Surely he didn't need to just leave it on the table and go, now that she'd re-appeared with her little girl behind her. "I'm R. Donovan, as you've probably assumed," he added after a pause. "But Ryder will do just fine." "The one who does his own needlework," Toby nodded her acknowledgement, and almost couldn't help the glance to check and see if there were visible scars -- but there wasn't much to notice in that cragged face apart from very blue eyes. Toby's gaze dropped abruptly; she eased her weight back onto her heels, and her hand reached out for the little girl currently wound around her leg, settled in amongst that tangle of blond hair without looking, as though it were an utterly familiar and regular thing, so much so that she didn't even need to look any longer -- as if it were comfort, for both of them. "Ryder, huh." It was said with the kind of tone that meant 'odd name', and would probably have come with a blunt little look that said the same thing -- but she bent to a tug on the jeans, and her attention totally occupied as the little girl, all shyness and never taking her gaze from Ryder, cupped her hand against her mother's ear to whisper. Toby straightened, and blond hair the same color as Lily's, of buttermilk and sunshine, fell across her face; she pushed it back, grinned before she realized, and so briefly it was as if she hadn't, and -- "You'll have to hand it over yourself." Ryder nodded, not ashamed or even the least bit sheepish to be thought of as the man who stitched himself up on a regular basis. Most of his scars were thankfully hidden by clothing, so he didn't have to deal with people's curious looks and questions about 'what happened'. He didn't care if his own efforts resulted in more scarring than if he'd gone to a doctor, because aesthetics didn't matter to him. Not anymore. His gaze switched to the little girl for a moment, and something in his eyes softened almost imperceptibly; but it was there nonetheless. There was a time years ago when he thought he might have had children of his own one day, and although such thoughts were nonexistent now he occasionally still remembered them, or at least the times when they'd seemed like plausible possibilities. The way she said his name was also familiar, since many people had commented on it over the years. "It's rather uncommon, I know. I think that may have been why my parents chose it." It was what his mother used to tell him, at least, but she didn't need to know that. Her grin caught him off guard, mainly because it was so unexpected and seemed to change her face entirely, especially compared to the previous stony expression she'd worn. He was momentarily confused before he realized her meaning, and almost wished for a way to refuse. Instead he shrugged, taking a few steps forward before dropping into a crouch and putting most of weight on the front part of his feet. "I believe this belongs to you," he told the child quietly, extending a hand to offer her the fish she'd mistakenly surrendered. It wasn't a grin this time but a smile -- given easily in seeing someone behave so with her daughter, especially one obviously so unaccustomed to children. It was a smile, warm and bright and it shone out in a way that smoothed out the worry and the scowl Toby wore near constantly, until she looked her age and she looked pretty. It was a smile utterly without thought but Toby gave it all the same. It had not occurred to her, before she had had her child, that there were people who knew how to be with them and people who didn't and people who did not know but who tried -- she had not had to think about it, after all, had known that children were frankly terrifying little things and vaguely believed that somewhere down the line, when she was old (old had been thirty, or somewhere thereabouts) she might change. Ryder, she knew with the sort of knowing parents had, did not have children but he was trying, and Lily swayed forward from her post behind Toby's knee, and looked up at him from below those pale, feathery eyelashes. Toby bit her lip; her tiny daughter was already an irrepressible flirt. One little hand accepted the fish with the solemnity of a small princess receiving offerings as was her right, and with a look toward her mother, Lily leaned forward with dancer-delicacy and dropped a soft kiss on her chosen's cheek, before turning and scampering back to the couch, her beloved clutched to her chest. Perhaps a far colder and crueler man would have been able to look at such a child and feel nothing, but Ryder - for all his gruffness and lack of expression - was neither of those, not to the degree that would have rendered him barely human. He barely glanced up, but still managed to catch a glimpse of Toby's smile while keeping his attention mostly focused on her daughter. It was even more surprising than her grin, but not necessarily in a bad way. He rarely smiled like that himself anymore, never mind knew anyone else who did (especially in his presence) and sometimes it was nice to be reminded of the fact that not everyone's lives were like his. Some people could still find reason, however small, to smile. He watched the little girl approach, his lips twitching in semblance of what might have been a smile, or at least the beginnings of one. Even for one so young, she was already sweet and charming, and he doubted that many people who met her could resist. Even for him, it was difficult. His grasp on the fish loosened completely when she took it, and while he was prepared to stand with the belief that his task had been completed, apparently the child had a different idea. For some unknown reason she'd decided that he was worthy of a small kiss, one which he was entirely unprepared for. It wasn't as though he had time to protest, either; and by the time he'd begun to form some kind of reaction in response she'd taken her fish back to the couch. Ryder stared after her for a moment before returning to his feet, clearing his throat slightly. "She's very sweet, your daughter." Toby laughed; she couldn't help it. It was the kind of laugh that was relief and nervousness and amusement at once but a good deal more of the last at the expression this so sturdy and solemn man wore when robbed of dignity by her small moppet. She threw a look across at the couch; Lily had burrowed herself beneath the blanket once again, Nemo clutched close. Her thumb was in her mouth, elbow keeping Nemo securely in check and her other hand's fingers were twining into her hair. It was a sure sign that she was close to sleepy. Her daughter befriended people, it was what she did, with an ease Toby couldn't quite remember ever possessing but knew that at some stage, she had. Her hands slid into her back pockets, a little more at ease and a faint but definite look of pride settling in; easiest way to Toby was through the mite in the next room. "Yeah. She is," and that was all mother, none of the protectionism peculiar to this particular small family. "Thanks." He was slightly disgruntled by her laughter, unsure of whether she was laughing at him or simply the entire situation. It was slightly amusing, he supposed; and although he realized that he must have looked ridiculous, it wasn't something he wanted to be reminded of. Ryder was out of his element here, and he knew it. He didn't allow himself to look towards the little girl for too long, only allowing a quick glance to note that she was curled up on the couch and looked very close to falling asleep. Yes, certainly a sweet girl; and innocent. Perhaps too trusting as well, which was why Toby's obvious protectiveness made a great deal of sense to him. "You're welcome," he replied without thinking, entirely out of habit. Now that the fish had been returned, Ryder assumed it was his time to leave. "It was nice meeting you and your daughter properly," he said, all politeness and proper social etiquette now - it was easier to fall back on practiced exteriors than to attempt to be genuine, and he really didn't know how else to be anyway. "But I'm sure I've intruded upon enough of your time already." He was back to being socially correct now, but it didn't fit him, like a cheap shirt bought in a hurry. All it did was draw attention to him, and made things awkward once again until she was aware that someone she didn't know nor trust was inside her apartment, a step or two away from her child, a heartbeat from destruction if they so chose. Toby didn't smile now. She folded her arms across her chest instead, a barrier as though bolting across the door once again and Ryder was firmly on the outside once more. "Your word," she said and it had resonance there, in that tiny and cramped little hallway, with the sounds of a movie and a child falling asleep as a backdrop, "You gave it. Seen her now," Toby looked sad; like someone guarding an especially precious painting that needed seeing and yet could not be, "Prefer if you forgot you had." Please was there, plaintive and reaching through words like bars. Ryder usually avoided social interaction for this very reason - he wasn't good at it. Even falsifying it came off as not quite right, so he preferred not to attempt it at all. The only time he was remotely genuine was when he was dealing with people who either had information he wanted, got in his way and needed to be dealt with, or who he'd been hired to pick up as part of his bounty hunting duties. "I did," he agreed. "I gave it, and I intend to keep it." Whether she believed him or not, it didn't change the fact that he meant what he said. He didn't give his word lightly, and when he did, he always took it seriously. "As far as I'm concerned, you don't have a daughter." With that said, he gave her a slight nod and left the apartment, pulling the door closed after him. Stranger or not, Ryder didn't intend on being the reason an innocent little girl ended up getting hurt. |