Re: [In-person: PJ and Atticus]
Just a nice person. With nice hands. [He thought that was explanation enough. Atticus was probably too private, but he'd spent a lifetime filled with secrets. This was as close to open as Atticus came. This. With this woman in the wheelchair. A woman who looked too sick to be out of a hospital, and who was going to go through a horrific night. It terrified him. Lazy, that was what Atticus projected, but he was currently scared to fucking death. Atticus didn't scare easy. He didn't make attachments easy.] Complicated. My haunts kill people I like. Think they're scared of you. [He managed a hint of smile.] Must be the music taste.
[She talked about coziness, and he thought of Flannery O'Connor.] Lonely?
[He listened. He wasn't sure how much faith he had in a horse stall.] Injured animals are scared. Worried that will make her aggressive. Understand. [Made sense.] Here's to hoping she'll be pissed and not too quiet. Think we can handle pissed. Can't hurt me. You know that, right? Nothing you need to worry about. [When you were a human battery for restless haunts, well, those haunts weren't going to let him die.
He pushed the wheelchair toward the barn.] After, you'll feel shitty. [He was assuming. And, yes, he was counting on an after.] Have a lead on some painkillers. Will get them once you're inside. Will be back before it even thinks of getting dark. [In case she was worried about that.
Maneuvering the chair through the door was a bit of a process. Atticus wasn't precisely graceful. He managed to get inside. The ground was unsteady now, but he was determined to shove that wheelchair as close to the stall as he could manage.] Tell me where the venison is, and I'll get it. [He wanted her walking around as little as possible.]