Re: May's Cottage: May & Rory
[Empty seat taken, and Rory folded his rangy limbs into position for some semblance of fitting at the table without any awkward hunching over his tea cup. The man was hungry-lean, a pitbull kept caged and just on the brink of bloodthirstiness. The steady diet of straight liquor and sour-stomach mornings probably didn't help things. Honestly, since he'd died, the man didn't have much of an appetite, yet he never quite withered down to skin and bones. Funny how that worked. People said that God worked in mysterious ways, but Rory got the feeling that there was somebody completely different looking out for his well-being. With that thought, Rory's dark eyes dropped to May's kitchen floor, and he tilted his head while taking a sip of sweetened tea. It was a subtle cheers to all those fuckers still stuck in the fire downstairs while Rory was walking free up here, having a proper cup of breakfast tea with some loony hippie. Things really could have been a whole hell of a lot worse, Rory wasn't complaining.
She spoke of trees swallowing people up, and Rory eyed her from over the rim of the mug on his mouth. His thick eyebrows knit into a reflection of uncertainty as he tried to determine whether or not she was serious. The woman's lips held an almost sort of smile, and that was more unsettling than a deadpan expression might have been. Rory really didn't know what to make of her, and he admitted as much openly.] You're a bloody weird kind of bird, aren't ya?
[He immediately held up a hand to show he wasn't judging, not really. This whole fucking town was weird.] No offense.