Re: quicklog: sam a/louis d
[Sam was out in the tiny boathouse.
She'd left the bathroom door in the house propped, and at least she wasn't embarrassed of the small space. Tiny, yeah? But it was clean and nice, and it wasn't in some shitty part of town. It was the first time she had anything of her own that she didn't care about people seeing, and she was in a pretty good fucking mood that morning. The land all around was hers, and it was Spring green and bright, and the canoe was only half tugged against the tiny dock, indicating recent use.
Rodin, the tiny corgi, was with her in the smaller boathouse by the lake, and he pawed once to indicate someone was around. He didn't bark, because he'd been trained too good for that, and all of Sam's attempts to make an insane pup out of the service dog had fucking failed. So he was at her side, tail occasionally thumping, and letting her know about shit.
Let's go see Lou. [Crouched and a scratch to Rodin's ears, but then the man in question was standing in the doorway.
He looked good, yeah? And she smiled before crossing the space and flinging her arms around his shoulders. It wasn't a Donovan greeting, but fuck it. He'd deal with it. A kiss to his cheek, and the girl rocked back onto her heels. Her overalls were loose and undone on one side, and the grey shirt she wore beneath was loose and long. But she looked clean, yeah? Her hair was back in a ponytail, and despite a strange new fragility that spoke of illness not drugs, she looked happy.
You look good, baby. [Said honestly, drawing back just enough to look at him, her hands on his shoulders.] This is Rodin. [She motioned at the dog, and then she motioned at the room, which was nothing more than windows and a sink in the corner. Canvases piled up and easels against the wall, paintings of him, of Neil, of Cris, of siblings lost and of places back home, and a lot of fucking dried paint splattered along the floor. But she'd picked up a small rod iron bed from Goodwill, and it was against one wall with a cheery quilt of the garage-sale variety, some old woman's love in every stitch. A lamp on a little table, which she used to paint late into the night, and the view of the lake from the windows was vast and pretty, yeah?] Bathroom and kitchen are inside, but I figured you'd want some space of your own maybe. [She grinned.] Like ten feet away or something.