Who: Samuel and Brighid What: Good Samaritan-ness (completed log) Where: In and about the building When: Saturday, August 7 (backdated) Warnings: Survey says no.
Moving trucks were hardly a rarity in front of Pax Letale. In truth, considering all the traffic surrounding the building of late, it was quite a convenient happenstance that Samuel had not yet been accosted by any recently arrived neighbors. Until now he had considered that a blessing, but as he pulled into the parking lot and saw the pretty young creature stepping out onto the pavement, he began to wonder if perhaps today wasn't the day he should at least attempt being neighborly after all. He whipped his truck into the first parking spot he found, peeling himself indelicately from the still damp, beach towel-covered seat, toeing into the flip flops that had scooted their way across the floorboard. After exiting the pickup he lingered just long enough to retrieve his favorite shortboard from the bed, delicately plucking it from its rack and nestling it beneath his arm.
His shoes made a satisfying thwack against the sidewalk as he shuffled up alongside her. In case that muffled, summery sound was not enough to notify her of his presence, he cleared his throat as well, leaning over her slender shoulder to peer into the truck's vast interior. "Well good afternoon," he said, pleasantly enough. "You look like you could use some help. Tell you what. You hold the doors for me to take my board back up to my apartment, and maybe change into something dry, and I'm yours the rest of the day. Sounds good?"
"Ah, hm?" Brighid replied distractedly before turning her gaze to the man now standing behind her. She was struck with an odd sense of deja vu upon doing so. Something about him seemed familiar, though she couldn’t say what or why. It was enough to wrest her attention from her perusal of the moving van and the limited belongings she’d managed to bring with her from home. At least one more truck would follow, directly from the store whose website she and her mother had browsed at length until they'd felt comfortable ordering almost an entire apartment's worth of furniture without having seen it firsthand. That truck, though, would come complete with deliverymen to carry said furniture up to her floor and put it in place. This truck came with a driver and Brighid. That thought spurred her brain into action, and she further examined the man who'd spoken.
He was taller than she by several inches, and built like he could handle moving a few boxes. Taking in the surfboard in his arms and his damp shorts, his words fully registered. "Sure," she nodded. "That sounds alright. Do you have to take it up the stairs?"
"Yeah, seventh floor," he said. "But there's an elevator, so we'll be okay." He shifted his weight, the board coming to rest flush against his side, thoroughly pinned against him as he offered her his free hand. She took it and gave him a fairly firm handshake while he continued. "Samuel Wolfe. Sergeant Samuel Wolfe, if that impresses you at all." He flashed a bright, curiously predatory smile. "It's a pleasure to meet such a good looking neighbor, and with such a pretty accent, too. You're not the usual California fare, but I guess you already knew that." Her only reply was a somewhat rueful smile.
He chanced another peek inside the truck, looking for a box of manageable size to carry up with them. In the end he decided against any such attempt; it would be enough, he hoped, to get her up to his apartment, where better introductions could be made and moving strategy discussed. He tipped his head toward the building, wordlessly inviting her along as he headed inside. "What floor are you on, Miss...?"
"FitzPatrick." She threw a hurried request to the driver to give them just a few minutes, then stepped after Samuel toward the building. "Brighid FitzPatrick, and I'm on seven, Mister Wolfe. Sergeant Wolfe," she amended as she reached the lobby doors and held one side open for him. He grinned broadly as he shuffled inside, pleased with her voluntary correction. "I'll understand if you want to rethink your offer."
Brighid was at once grateful she'd taken time the day before to explore the building. Today, she could overcome the urge to pause in the lobby to slowly absorb her surroundings. And she wouldn't look like an idiot in front of the first neighbor she'd met because she didn't know which way to go for the lift. "Are you in the military, then?” she asked as she entered behind him.
Samuel led her to the elevator, board shorts and surfboard dripping salt water onto the gleaming, otherwise flawless floor. "I was an Army Ranger," he said proudly. Once inside, he jabbed a damp thumb at the button marked 7. "I'm on this floor, too," he added, flashing an almost boyish grin. "Aren't you lucky."
The elevator slid into motion. Samuel leaned lazily against the wall, glad he was able to give her a more thorough inspection now that introductions had been made. "Anyway, yeah. Ranger, then cop. I'm on the SWAT team now." If a modicum of arrogance had stolen into his tone, Samuel did not hear it; it was merely a statement of fact, and regardless, he was well aware some degree of pride in his accomplishments was well earned. "So what do you do?"
"I'm a student. Actually, I'm going to be a freshman at Cal State Fullerton in a couple weeks." Brighid gave him a grin as she crossed her arms behind herself and leaned back against the wall as well. "Guess that means it's truly the luck of the Irish that has me on your floor, yeah? A military man and a policeman? Nice." No one else stopped the elevator between their floor and the lobby, so she pushed off when she heard the door chime. "My da will be pleased I picked the safest floor in the building."
"You absolutely did," he said. "Your dad must be a smart man." He followed her off the elevator, ambling down the hall toward his apartment. As best he could tell, it was thus far the only occupied space on the entire floor; this of course made him somewhat possessive of the space, and he was unspeakably grateful his first neighbor appeared to be tolerable. Likable, even. He made careful note of her age, disappointed to find she was below his personal threshold for making passes. It made the prospect of future interaction somewhat limited, of course, but hopefully no less interesting. With this in mind, he stopped before his door, opening it onto a large flat still predominantly furnished with half-full moving boxes.
"You can wait here if you like, or get something from the kitchen," he said, padding toward the bedroom. "Kitchen's unpacked, at least, and you're welcome to whatever you find in there." He turned into his room, gingerly returning his board to its rack, then immediately shucking his board shorts, unconcerned with the prospect of salt water soaking into the carpet. His flip flops were kicked unceremoniously into the corner of the room. "Unless it's the last beer," he added, loudly calling down the hall. "What brings a real live Irish girl to the west coast? I'd be all over Europe if I were you."
Hurriedly he pulled on boxers and khaki cargo shorts, toeing back into his needlessly discarded flip flops. He shuffled back into the living room, still pulling downward at the hem of his T-shirt. "You don't want to be a star, do you?" he said, derision evident in his manner and tone.
Brighid followed Samuel into his apartment, noting its location adjacent to her own, then wandered around the front rooms while her "host" absented himself. Walking with hands clasped behind herself, she observed what had been unpacked, judging that these were probably the items of most importance to him. They were mostly of the electronic variety: a flatscreen television and gaming system of some sort, as well as a stack of war and horror films and mostly violent video games piled against one wall. In the kitchen, she helped herself to a bottle of water after examining the other contents of his fridge, noting his alcohol preference. At home, she could have offered to buy him more beer in exchange for his help moving, but she'd have to think of an alternative here in the States.
"Me, a star?" she asked as she rejoined him in the living room. "Not at all. I came to California to see what the ocean is like on this side of the world. And maybe to warm up a bit. It doesn't quite sound as if you're exactly a California native yourself. Why did you come? Oh." She pointed at the bottle in her hand. "Water. Yourself being a policeman and all, probably shouldn't offer alcohol to the underage. We might be tempted to take advantage of you."
At that, Samuel laughed outright. "Do you think you could, Brighid?" he asked, shaking his head. His green eyes turned innocently skyward, long fingers tapping thoughtfully at his lips as he considered this. "I guess I'd better watch out for you. Troublemaker. I offer some hospitality and look what it gets me." She shrugged and grinned.
After a moment's second thought, he disappeared again, his footfalls echoing on the kitchen's tile. The refrigerator door opened, then closed with a snap, and he returned to her side, frigid Weissbier in hand. "I'm from Texas," he said, "Corpus Christi. I'm with SWAT here; got reassigned from my hometown unit." His sudden, toothy grin disappeared behind the mouth of the bottle as he turned it up for a long, cold draught. "They called it a promotion, but that depends on your perspective. I got into a little trouble, you could say."
"I've never been to Texas," she offered, not sure what to say about the promotion/trouble. "You'll have to tell me about it sometime." Checking her watch, she moved toward the door again. "Are you still alright with helping me bring stuff up? I have movers coming with the new furniture. This truck is just odds and ends I brought from home, nothing too big. But I'll understand if you've changed your mind. After all, you've obviously just moved in yourself. And I do have that driver, though I've bloody well forgotten his name."
"His name's probably not important," he said, laughing. "You're pretty, I bet he'll answer to anything you call him." His next upward tip of the bottle poured nearly half its contents down his throat. Already he felt significantly better, and a far sight happier about his hasty offer of assistance. "Course I don't mind. I've not helped anybody with anything yet, so I might as well start my good Samaritan-ness with someone close to my own place. Besides, it's as good a reason as any to put off unpacking my own stuff." He moved farther into the living room, finishing off his beer as he moved to the coffee table, setting the now empty bottle aside. "So let's get this over with."
He lead her out into the hall, locking the door behind them. "Never been to Texas, huh? Pretty sure that's a sin," he mused, holding the elevator doors for her. "So what do you think of California so far? Must be different from home, to say the least."
Relieved that he hadn't reneged on his offer to help, Brighid stepped before her neighbor onto the elevator. "The very least," she agreed with his assessment. "My mum has promised to send me a bottle of sunblock once a month, though I'm still not quite sure where she'll buy it. Probably some tourist trap. She's convinced I'm going to get skin cancer just walking to and from classes." Once Samuel had joined her, she pressed the button that would guide them down to the lobby. "I like it well enough, though. I never really imagined myself quite so far from home, but," she shrugged, unable to fully explain her next thought, "It's like there's some kind of pull to be here. I dunno.
"I probably sound like a nutter, yeah?" She ran a hand over the nape of her neck, fair skin coloring a slight bit in embarrassment.
"Nah." Samuel thought for a moment, fleetingly uncertain if he had just lied to her. It was an irrational, superstitious sentiment, to be sure, but one he had to admit hit uncomfortably close to home. How much of that he should admit to a relative stranger, however, eluded him. Two floors passed them by with this uncertainty biting at the back of his thoughts, and then withholding this seemed pointless. "I felt the same," he said. "This place is at the high end of my price range, truth be told, but I wanted it, so." He shrugged. "I don't believe in stuff like that, but my mom would probably say there's some reason for us to be here. I guess we'll find out, right?"
Interesting. Dropping her hand to her side, Brighid looked back to the man beside her. He definitely wasn't having a laugh at her expense. She nodded slowly. "Aye. Em, yes. That sounds like something Da would say." A smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes, and her brogue thickened as her voice dropped slightly in imitation of her father. "'Brighid, lass, everything happens for a reason. And who knows but you'll have some great craic while you're waitin' on Fate to reveal herself.'" The Irish word she used was pronounced the same as the English word ‘crack.’
His approval of her accent was now totally sealed, but all the same, Samuel had to laugh at her choice of phrasing. "Not sure exactly what that means," he said, laughing. "Your dad's got some different words of wisdom than mine, for sure. Maybe it's the language barrier."
The elevator stopped at the ground floor, and Samuel leaned up to the panel, holding the doors open for her as he gestured her out. "Personally I'm hoping my version of Fate reveals herself as a scantily clad yoga instructor. What about you?"
"If there's going to be that sort of revealing going on, I'm sure I'd prefer a male version of Fate." Brighid laughed as she exited the lift, surprisingly at ease in Samuel's presence. Though she normally got on well with others, she'd been to all-female boarding schools for twelve years and was still acclimating herself to the experience of male companionship other than her father's. "Craic is what the Irish call a good time, good fun and conversation and all that. Da is a great lover of craic." She paused before opening the lobby door. Samuel slipped lithely through it, heedless of traditional courtesies. "I suppose I should be careful of saying that in front of an American policeman, though, yeah? I understand it means something completely different here."
"Something very different," Samuel laughed. "Absolutely. I mean, say that in the right parts of town and you'll make quick friends, but the kind that want money or favors. Personally, I'd just change my lingo if I were you. Much easier all around."
He sidled up to the truck, its rollback door already lifted thanks to her driver. Peering inside, he cast an appraising glance over what he could see of her belongings. "Got another one coming? Or are you going shopping later?" He looked back to her, quirking a brow. "I normally expect to see more... stuff... when women move into a new place. Not that I'm complaining if this is it."
"Mum and I ordered all the furniture online, so there's a truck scheduled to come tomorrow, but there will be deliverymen with it. This," she waved a hand to indicate the few boxes in the truck, "Is just the few things that we shipped from home. Books and pictures and clothes and things. Hopefully nothing too terribly heavy." Leaning into the truck, she slid a box toward her, lifting it slightly to check its heft before picking it up entirely. "But what's this about changing my lingo?" She turned to him with an arched eyebrow. "You want me to sound like I'm from Ireland but not actually speak like I am? That's hardly fair. Are you going to arrest me if I speak out of line, then, Sergeant Wolfe?"
His own brow quirked in answer, arching higher as he mulled over her offhand comment. "I certainly might, Miss FitzPatrick." He clucked his tongue, a mockingly disapproving sound. "Known you less than an hour and you're already asking after my handcuffs. I think that might be a personal record for me. That's really saying something." He followed her lead, leaning up into the truck, his longer reach putting several additional boxes close to hand. He found one suitably heavy - something she perhaps would have been unable to easily cart inside - and pulled it toward him. "Are you always so forward?" he asked, looking back to her with an obviously teasing grin. "I'm not complaining, but you know. You're a little young for me, Brighid."
She stared at him a moment, her mouth actually hanging slightly open, eyes wide. "I ... but ... what?" She sputtered while shots of bright red dashed across her features. Finally, she looked away and focused on carrying her box toward the building. By the time she had to stop at the lobby door, she'd composed herself somewhat. Still, "Must be that language barrier," was all she managed to offer him in reply as she wrestled with opening the door while her arms were full.
Samuel propped the door open with his foot, kicking at it to push it wider still. "I'm not sure about that one," he said, laughing. Her cheeks still carried that faint pink tinge, and Samuel could not truthfully say he found it unappealing. Getting a rise out of anyone was a hobby he considered quite entertaining; it pleased him that he had managed to find a viable button to push so early on into this potential friendship.
He was still chuckling quietly as they made their way onto the elevator. Balancing the box on his knee, he leaned up to press the button for their floor. "So I have to ask," he said, casting a sidelong glance to her. "How's a student afford a place like this? Should I even ask what your parents do? Since I'm assuming they foot the bill, I mean."
"They do," Brighid nodded, happy to have a change of subject. "My grandda owned the most successful construction company in Northern Ireland. Mum is an only child, so when she and Da got married, Grandda brought Da into the company and helped him along his way. They inherited the whole thing when Grandda passed." The elevator let them out on the correct floor again, and Brighid led him to 705, leaning her box against the wall as she fumbled in the pocket of her jeans for the key that would allow them entry.
"Da dabbles in politics, too, not that there's money in that." At last, she got the key in the lock and pushed the door open to reveal the empty flat. "Fáilte, Sergeant Wolfe. Looks familiar, yeah?"
"Quite a bit, yeah." He gave the blank space a quick once-over, noting with some amusement that his own apartment was only the slightest fraction less bare than her own. Decorating was far from his forte, but it was painfully obvious now that he should pay at least passing attention to such things. Perhaps unpacking something other than the entertainment centre and other absolute necessities was called for. "Give it a week," he said. "At least your place will look lived in."
He stepped further into the room, crossing it in a few long strides. "Is here okay?" he asked, already setting the box down against the wall. "Just to keep this stuff out from under the movers' feet. They'll trample anything if you give them half the chance." Brighid nodded in approval and set her box down next to his, then stood back to take in the open space around her.
As he straightened up, he looked back to the girl, one dark brow curiously quirked. "So you've got some pretty entrepreneurial genes, sounds like. I bet that inheritance of yours is going to be something else."
"Aye. It might be, but I don't want to have to think on it for a long while. A long, long while," she emphasized, just in case any Powers-That-Be were listening. "Sure we've had enough death to last us." He furrowed his brow at that, but let the comment pass for now. Such things were not, even to him, points of ideal first-meeting conversation. Turning to her companion, she gave him her own speculative glance while her hands migrated of their own accord to her hips. "Are you thinking I'm some kind of spoiled rich girl whose mummy and daddy give her everything, then? Because that isn't at all the truth of the matter, I'll have you know."
Samuel put his hands up, grinning as he offered mock surrender. "I didn't say that, did I?" His tone made it quite clear that 'implying heavily' was in an entirely different category, and therefore perfectly acceptable. "Even if I had said that, it's not like it's a totally irrational assumption. Look where we are." He gestured vaguely, appearing to indicate the whole of the building, and likely even the city beyond. A teasing grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Didn't mean to strike a chord, kiddo."
"I imagine you did, Sergeant Wolfe." In fact, Brighid imagined this man enjoyed needling others. She wrinkled her nose a bit in distaste at the thought of deliberately stirring up trouble with others. It didn't immediately lessen her opinion of her new neighbor, just made her curious about him and his motivations. "At any rate," she moved back to the entryway, considering if there was a way to prop open the door for the future trips she'd be making back and forth. Finally, she turned the deadbolt so it extended beyond the edge of the door and would catch on the door frame, allowing the door to be simply pushed open from the outside. "My parents love me," she continued her thought while she held open the door for him to exit. He made a vaguely positive sound as he slipped out into the hall. "Da loves being able to provide us things he never could afford when he was growing up. I try to be mindful to not take advantage. I got a full scholarship to university," she offered in example as they waited for the elevator once more.
"Aren't you the good daughter," he said, that taunting grin quickly reappearing. "I should never have questioned you." He stepped onto the elevator, leaning lazily against the back corner. "If I were a combative sort of person, though, I'd say that sounds like the same excuse a lot of parents use to spoil their kids." His eyes turned toward the ceiling in as innocent an expression as he could muster. "Still. Good of you to not abuse your privilege."
As the elevator slid into motion, a thought occurred to Samuel - not surprisingly, perhaps, a thought entirely unrelated to his current pestering of the new tenant. "I bet your driver has a hand truck," he said. "This will take a lot less time if we steal it from him. Temporarily of course."
She stared at him blankly for a beat while ‘hand truck’ tried to register itself in her mind. "I'm not sure about you policemen here in America," she said instead of replying to his actual comment. "First you want me to have a drink and now you want me to steal. Maybe I haven't chosen the safest flat after all." Samuel had to laugh at that, nodding amusement and understanding. Brighid automatically moved to exit the elevator when it stopped moving, then realized she wasn't looking at the lobby. "Um. Were we making a detour, then?"
"Oh." Samuel glanced out into the corridor, trying to get his bearings. The nearest door afforded a clue. "Third floor," he mused. "You know, a woman lives here..." He stepped back fully into the elevator, pressing the button to shut the doors. "Her name is Riley. You might've heard of her; she's a pro boxer. Kicked my ass the other day. Not easily, but you know." He quirked a brow as he looked over to the girl, as if challenging her to disbelieve him. "Makes her one of the only people here worth knowing, so far, in case you're curious."
"I'm afraid I don't know of any American boxers, but she must be something if she bested you." Brighid smiled at him, his own answering grin immediately reflecting hers. "I think I might have enjoyed seeing that. Any chance there'll be an encore performance?" Her attention shifted when the elevator doors opened again, and this time she hesitated, assuring herself this was indeed the lobby before exiting the car. "Does it do that a lot? Stop wherever it wants?"
"Yeah, far as I know." He shrugged, following close at her heels. His lazy ambling carried them to the front desk, where in short order a battered but sturdy hand truck was provided for them. Brighid's driver passed them as they headed back outside, nodding briefly to them as he pushed a stack of boxes on his own little cart. "I've heard people implying the building has a mind of its own," he added belatedly, laughing at the thought. "It's an old building, that's all. If you want to be sure you're headed in the right direction, just take the stairs. Not that I'd suggest that while you're still moving in, but you know." Another shrug. "Besides, a little walking never hurt anybody."
They stopped at the rear of the truck. Samuel climbed inside, the truck creaking on its axles as he headed toward the back. He lifted two boxes and carried them back to Brighid, handing them to her to load on their cart. She dutifully stacked them in place. "Riley, now... there'll be a sort of rematch, but it'll be mostly her kicking my ass til I learn. She says my form is off." He made a slight, derisive sound of disbelief, but he clearly thought there was some merit to her criticism, to even bring it up. "You can watch my 'lessons' if you want. Might be interesting." He hopped down from the truck, a heavy and rather unwieldy box in his hands. Brighid tensed when she saw the label on the box and realized its contents. "If you're looking for a workout partner, she's wanting to jog on the beach. You might be able to get in on that, still."
"Sure I like watching," she replied distractedly while reaching out a hand to protectively touch the box he held entirely too haphazardly for her taste. Samuel laughed aloud at that, but she spoke too soon to allow him to comment. "You'll be careful with that one, yeah? I know it's heavy, but it's really important. We could maybe put it on the-" she indicated the dolly at her side, "Hand truck? If it's too heavy. There should be another one that goes with it," Brighid murmured, mostly to herself, leaning around Samuel to look into the truck. "Maybe he's already taken it up. You didn't see one labelled 'Michael's Albums' did you?" Without awaiting an answer, she climbed up into the back of the truck herself. "I want to make sure they don't get left out too long and warp in the heat."
His brow furrowed as he settled the box on the cart, taking greater care now than before. Though it wasn't heavy, it was awkward to carry, and if left to his own devices Samuel knew it was likely to end up banging into a wall, door, or other unforgiving surface. Once he was satisfied the dolly's newest cargo was secure, he turned back to her, peering into the truck. "Who's Michael?" he asked, a smile creeping into his tone. Never one to fear jumping to conclusions, Samuel began to shamelessly speculate. "Boyfriend? Ex?" His head tipped to one side, his gaze thoughtfully amused. "You know, my ex wife got all my video games. And my dog. You took his music, huh?"
Finding the box she was looking for in the back corner of the truck, Brighid leaned down to lift it and immediately remembered why this was one of the boxes she'd had the lads load for her at home. She crouched down for better leverage, took a deep breath and hefted the box into her arms. After a turn and two steps, however, she shook her head and put it back down. Samuel had volunteered, after all. Exhaling slowly as she straightened, she looked at him. "My brother, actually. My parents saved some of his things for me, but I never really had room at school for his record player and music. They were just gathering dust at home, so I decided to bring them over." She smiled. "If I promise not to blast the music, d'you think you could get this box for me?"
Samuel laughed, reaching out to take it from her hands. "Sure. And if you get loud, I'll just turn my own music up. Fair enough?" He gave a quick tip of his head to indicate the hand truck. "That should be easy to take up, if you'll pull it around," he said. "Maybe this time the elevator will take us to our actual floor." She nodded and hopped down from the truck to maneuver the dolly toward the building.
He stepped in front of her as they walked back into the building, holding the door open for her with one foot, his grip impossibly tight on the box she so prized. "So your brother," he said, treading as cautiously as he ever did. Between his careless joke and her earlier comments, he could guess her brother was the loss she'd known; at least one of her losses, given her age and origin. Someone more sensitive would not have asked, or waited for the right time to pry. But curiosity got the better of him, as it often did. "Sorry about teasing you earlier. Mind if I ask what happened?"
"It's okay. I guess I'm just used to everyone knowing about Michael. That's what happens when you go to the same school for 12 years: everyone knows everything." A rueful smile crossed her lips as she pushed the call button for the elevator. "Of course, in a school full of girls, if you don't know something, you just put the word out, and you'll have all the gossip in a matter of minutes."
Once they were situated on the elevator and it was moving, hopefully to the seventh floor, Brighid sighed. "There was a bombing. Twelve years August 15, actually. Horrible thing. My brother and twenty-eight other innocent people murdered in a shopping center because some people can't accept peace means compromise." She shook her head and looked away, concentrating on the changing floor display to quash the warring feelings of rage and loss that always threatened to overwhelm her when she thought too much of the event which had robbed her of her beloved older brother and best friend. Even twelve years old, the wound still felt fresh.
The lift chimed when it stopped, and Brighid offered Samuel a small smile, trying to pull herself back to the present. "Look at that. Our floor and all."
The crease in his brow had only deepened as she'd spoken. It was a lot for a girl her age to bear; to have been cognizant of what had happened, when it did, would have put a great strain on anyone. Samuel had to admit he saw her in a different light now; for all her cheerful, occasionally naïve-seeming nature, there had to be a strength in her he had not anticipated. This one, he thought, would be another neighbor to watch, someone else whose company might actually be worthwhile. "Sorry to hear that, Brighid." Not sure of what more to say, he let her change subjects as she liked, moving out into the hall without another word to acknowledge this clearly open wound. He held the box with greater care now, recognizing it for the beloved relic it likely was. He had seen too many brothers in arms fall, seen too many boxes of belongings carefully repacked and shipped to grieving families, to treat with disrespect this memory of a casualty of war.
"You know," he said, "we should get something to eat once these chores are done. I could use a beer even if you can't have one. Moving is hard work."
"That sounds brilliant," she replied as she pushed open the door to her flat. They'd passed the driver in the hallway, and Brighid figured that with his hand truck and theirs, it would take only one more trip to move everything she had into the apartment. "And don't you mean you need another beer? Drank the first down too fast to enjoy it, didn't 'ya?" She chuckled knowingly as she started transferring boxes from the cart to the stacks they'd begun against the far wall. She hesitated when she came to the box that held her brother's record player, then glanced at the box of albums Samuel held before she looked around the room. "Maybe if we put these two in a closet they won't be bothered when all the furniture comes tomorrow." The closet nearest the entry would do, Brighid decided, and made her way over with Samuel close behind, both of them careful with her precious cargo.
"Would you accuse me of being forward again if I asked you to walk me back to my hotel, Sergeant Wolfe?" she asked with a teasing smile. "I was going to have the truck driver drop me off, but if you wouldn't mind escorting me, I'll let him off when we're done here."
"Samuel," he corrected. "And I'll probably accuse you, sure." He grinned brilliantly, apparently pleased with his unending teasing of the girl. "But sure. I'll drive you if it's too far. Might be a better idea if we're getting dinner after."
With Michael's belongings safely set aside, the two of them headed downstairs for their final run. Samuel made a few mental calculations as they reached the elevator; the boxes he had seen still within the truck's sizable interior would fit easily onto the dolly, and perhaps neither of them would have to clumsily lug anything up to the seventh floor by hand. He stepped onto the elevator with suspicion in his hesitant step - knowing his luck, their last trip, whether down or up, would be the one the building and its fickle equipment chose to sabotage. He toyed with the dolly as they made their way down, his short nails clicking impatiently at the metal bars. "You never said what you're in school for. Does that mean it's something embarrassing? Print journalism? Fashion marketing? Underwater basket weaving?"
"I'm not sure I have the lung capacity for underwater basket weaving. Samuel," she added as an afterthought. As they exited the lift again, Brighid could see the driver approaching the lobby from the outside, so she hurried over to hold the door open while he went in and Samuel went out. After the latter exited, she strode beside him toward the nearly empty truck. "Political science, actually. I thought about sticking strictly with History, but you can't change the past can you? Only study it to try to make the future better.”
“You are an idealist,” he said, chuckling quietly. He climbed back up into the truck, carefully retrieving the last of the boxes and walking them out to her. “Political science. What do you want to do with that? You could end up being a huge help to me and my kind, or a huge pain in the ass. So naturally I feel I should ask.” The remaining boxes now settled within arm’s reach, Samuel jumped down from the truck, loading their last cargo onto the dolly. “You don’t seem like the ‘mad with political power’ type, though, so I’m going to assume public service is more your type. So for now you’re still okay by me.” He straightened up alongside the hand truck, winking playfully over at her.
“Sure that’s a relief. Can’t have my next door neighbor hatin’ me before I’m even moved in. " She briefly examined the back of the truck, making sure it was indeed empty, then started on the last trip back to the building. "Honestly, I can't say what it is exactly I'm wantin’ to do. My country has officially been at peace for over ten years now, but there's still bombings now and again, and we still have walls and fences and 'Peace Lines' separating our neighborhoods and general ignorance on both sides." The door to the lobby was yanked open with a bit more force than necessary thanks to her passion on their current subject matter. "'Self-inflicted apartheid' some call it. Blatant stupidity is more like. Bloody Irish."
Brighid punched the call button for the lift, then realized that might not be the best course of action for an already seemingly touchy piece of equipment. She gently stroked her fingers over the button in a sort of apology then turned back to her companion with a somewhat sheepish smile. "Sorry, I got carried away a touch. Anyway, I'm mostly hopin’ I can learn something from you Yanks - something different that might help the whole situation at home. Guess that won't benefit you much, yeah?"
“Who knows,” Samuel said, shrugging. “We don’t seem to carry it into wars anymore, but it seems like there are some crazies who think that’s not such a bad idea. So I don’t know how helpful we’re gonna be.”
The elevator doors opened, and Samuel carefully guided the dolly into it. Brighid followed and more gently pressed the button that would, hopefully, take them to the seventh floor. “I think it’s good you care about what you’re doing, though, right?” He rested his weight against the car’s rear wall, his foot propped on the hand truck’s lowest bar, fidgeting restlessly. “If you’re gonna go into a field like that, you probably need a lot of passion to carry you past all the piles of entitled assholes.” As they stepped out onto their floor, Samuel gave her a broad, bright grin. “I’d vote for you,” he said. “Promise you’ll lower my bracket’s taxes, though. Isn’t that what you all say?”
“Oh, aye, that sounds about right.” The driver stopped her in the hallway, paperwork produced in an outstretched hand. She glanced at the forms, signed her name and exchanged a few words of thanks and farewell with the man, then made her way back toward her own door and Samuel. Entering the flat, she surveyed the placement of boxes with an eye toward the furniture to be delivered the following day. “I guess they can move things into the kitchen if they’re in the way, yeah?”
“Definitely.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, keys jangling like a bell sounding the end of class. Somewhere beyond this building there was a beer with his name on it - a Coke or tea or something equally mundane for her, Samuel assumed - and he was more than ready to hunt it down. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough work for one day. Can’t really unpack til the rest of the furniture is here, anyway. So, you ready to go grab some dinner?”
“Sure that would be grand.” As she closed and locked the door to her new home, though, Brighid had a strange sense that things might not be as all right as they seemed. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: “Time will tell, lass. Time will tell.” With a shake of her head, she followed Samuel toward the lift once more. I imagine it will at that, Da.