souffle_girlek | (no subject)

"You're trying to shove me away in the hopes that it'll protect me from you, whom I don't need protection from," Autor retorts, stubbornly. "Is that right?"

".... Yes." Well, it sounds kind of daft when said like that, but it's still true.

"I know you want to protect me, as my friend," Autor starts, knowing he has to phrase his words very carefully, "but that's acting out of fear for me, and the hurt that I've given you. As your friend, I don't want you to live like that, and I want you to trust me to protect myself. I wouldn't be as insistent to see you if I didn't think you were worth seeing."

Well.

Oswin... doesn't know what to say to that.

She actually really doesn't, which is an abnormality for her, and... disconcerting, to say the least.

She eyes the door for a long time.

Then she stands, and unlocks the door.

Then, she heads into the living room, because that's quite enough bravery for right now.

Autor jumps when he hears the sound of the door unlocking, and stands. The boy scoops up his tray if tea--now cold--and cookies up off the floor and opens the door.

He only pops his head in. "Oswin? Can I come in, please?"

"You do seem determined to." Oswin points out from her couch as she scans through the files on the master computer. It's distracting, and distracting is good.

Autor swallows nervously. Now that he's here, he has no idea what to do. And that's not an answer that gives him anything definitive.

He takes it as a good sign that she's opened the door for him, and enters the room fully. By habit, he glances around for the kitten first.

"I brought tea and cookies."

The kitten, who is a bit confused by All Of The Emotion that's been going on around here recently, skitters by on full flail mode on his way towards the bedrooms.

"The cookies have been good."

No, there isn't a pile of cookies slowly going stale on the counter.

"Thanks," Autor says, setting the lebkuchen tray on the counter next to the non-existent pile. He picks up two cookies, and carries one to her. "They're my mother's recipe."

He nibbles on his own cookie, holding hers out to her when he reaches the couch. "Oswin, do you want to do something? Some sort of... bonding activity... together?"

It's a good thing Oswin's already accepted the cookie, because his request is getting an odd look.

"You want to... bond?" She isn't sure what that means, but she's pretty sure it's not what she would first assume it means. "Is this a... verb or a... something else?"

"What? W-What? No, it's not--it's n-nothing like that," he stammers, holding his hands up. He retreats to his natural pedantry. "A bond, noun, is a debt investment in which an investor loans money to a government or entity for a set period of time. A bond, noun, is a physical restraint intended to hold someone prisoner, like a chain. A bond, noun, is a strong feeling of attraction between chemicals. And to bond, verb is to join securely to something else, usually by means of adhesive."

He draws a quick breath, and then flails. "To bond, verb, and the one I mean, is a common force uniting people. So, um, all that said... do you want to play a game or something?"

It's really hard not to snicker at that. She has to duck her head away to keep from grinning like a loon, because she still feels she ought not be encouraging him.

"I can do a game. Um. Since you liked the sheep..." She supposes the sheep is gone now, along with everything else - there's plenty of tech-focused people in the bar, he must have gotten someone to erase everything by now.

She pulls up a positively ancient version of 'Oregon Trail' anyway.

"Oh, I love my sheep," Autor says, still pleased with it. "And I'm getting better with the Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing game, too. That stupid lobster almost gets me every time, though. Also, the guides you've brought up have really helped."

He curls up on the floor near the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees. "What is Oregon Trail?"

Well, that's a surprise. She has no idea why he'd keep anything she'd done to his computer, after reacting so strongly about her interference.

She doesn't much feel like asking.

"It's an adventure game - the goal is to get your group of travelers from the starting point to this place called Oregon City. I'm guessing it was really good there or something."

"Wait, so it's actually based on the historical pioneers? Neat," Autor says, watching her go through the first couple of menus.

"Learn more about these differences," Autor murmurs to himself. "Wait, why would anyone want to be anything but a banker?"

Oswin choises the 'learn more' option, and it shows the reason - points greed.

"Though I'd think it'd be more reasonable if the carpenter could fix things faster or the farmer could keep the oxen healthy."

"Ooh, we have a party," Autor says, eyes sparkling. "Do you mind if I name them?"

When Oswin nods, he rattles off, "Autor, Oswin, Erna, Clara, and Rae, please. If you don't mind. And I think we should leave in April, so there's plenty of grass."

Oswin dutifully enters the names and dates, and dutifully divvies up the funds for supplies as ordered.

The cursor blinks dutifully after the (1) entered, and she finally gives in, and grins at him.

He's not going anyway.

"Ready to go?"

Autor grins back, his shoulders loosening. "Ready."

His cheer doesn't last long. "Wait, what? What?" Autor says, sitting up straight. "Why are you shooting those poor animals? ... And you only carried a hundred pounds back? Out of a thousand? Why didn't you come back for the other nine hundred pounds of meat? What a waste!"

He settles down, but only for a moment.

"Oswin has cholera," he reads, and then gasps, horrified. "Oh, oh no! You can't have cholera! That'll kill you! This game is terrible!"

"Yeah, kind of like your aim with that gun. Seriously, you only hit the rabbit. By accident." Oswin points out, having much more experience with firearms.

Well.

Much more experience being near firearms being wielded by someone who knew what the hell they were doing with them. Much to the dismay of the dinosaurs.

Autor sniffs. "I will improve my abilities with firearms when I see the need. And that poor bunny. It wasn't even a demon bunny."

The boy settles once more, wrapping his arms around his legs. "Oh, good another river. This one's only 3.8 feet deep, Oswin. You should caulk it all up."

Oswin raises an eyebrow at him.

"I had no idea you had such... interesting tastes. Unfortunately, I don't have the right anatomy."

"Wait, what?" the boy says, blinking at her. "Oh. Ohh. That... That's, um..." He swallows, his face taking on a color to match her shirt. "Fording the river. Would be a good idea. Right now. Yes."

"Fording it is." She snickers, selecting the option. The opposite shore is in sight when the wagon tips over to the accompaniment of electronic doom music.

"Welp," Oswin notes, reading the list of things that were lost, "I guess we're completing this trip naked."

The boy chokes. He sets his teeth, seething and blushing. "What! I- I can't be n-naked with four women, no matter how good of friends we are, and--I d-demand a loincloth. In one of our supply packages, I just so happened to find a l-loincloth. And Erna can s-sew, so she makes clothes from all the squirrels whose meat we're not carrying back. So there. No one is naked."

Autor pinches the bridge of his nose. "Clara is lost! Lose five days! She is seven! Who let her wander away from the wagon? She must have been starving when we found her again."