ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Davidson The lopsided shanty that Davidson Harris calls home is made up of a single room, unsurprisingly, perhaps twenty by thirty feet - not large, but enough for one man to live fairly comfortably in the wastelands. The corrugated metal walls are attached to wooden frames for the most part, aging 2x4s and such hammered crudely into shape. As both predicted and admitted, there are maps posted up all over the place - re-used paper and newsprint painted and drawn over with charcoal and dyes and pens that survived the fall enough to be used.

The front area has a rough table and two chairs, there's an old fridge that's still working next to another table that's holding a heating coil 'oven' on it. The other half of the room is concealed by standing medical curtains, the old plastic stained from years of use.

"Mi casa," Davidson declares, his tone wry, "It ain't much, but it's home."
Shane It's a long time, but eventuallly Shane responds. By walking as close to the center as she can, so she can kind of turn around, looking up over the maps with interest.

"Believe me, I love it." She seems to drop her guard fully again here, as if she were on the back of the motorcycle again. "It's -quiet- but not lonely. And safe, but cozy." Her eyes close, "I'm used to helping basically raise like five kids from the time I was like six until.... like a month ago." Obviously siblings or outside family rather than that of her own.

"I miss aspects of it. Aspects. But after my baby sister died.... and I couldn't save her?" She exhales softly, "Well, most of them are old enough to take care of themselves, you know what I mean? Fuck I was doing that at ten. But that's enough just in the door monologuing from me." And she steals a chair, lifting the sprained ankle to prop over her opposite knee.
Davidson Once she's inside, Davidson slips the padlocks that he'd taken off the other side of the door onto this side, clicking them into place before stepping over to the other chair. He drops himself down into it and starts unbuckling the heavy arm-guards he's wearing, setting them to one side - the one over the bandages making him grimace a bit. "it's safe as anywhere in Shantytown," he admits, "And there's an escape route if things get hairy. Not that it should. Nobody bothers me here, mostly..."

He glances over, watching her for a moment even as he pulls the filter mask off, dropping it onto the table, "Decided to leave them on their own, did you?"
Shane Rubbing her cheek, Shane says, "Well.. the youngest is like twenty now.. It was sixteen, but... she spent half her life picking off caravans with us... She deserved better than how she died. She didn't know anything else." She lifts a palm, "I couldn't protect her, or save my mother. I don't want to be there when the rest of them... you know." Die. She's not saying it.

She looks up at Davidson, her wounded ankle elevated still, "So... that's why I wasn't afraid, you know, am uh.... -am not- all that afraid... of a random wastelander." Bit more softly, "You spend years tearing them new assholes to try and keep your family alive..." She trails off to a shake of her head. "I'm taking who you are, what... all that was, back there, as the answer to the inner debate about what I wanted to do here. I don't have to worry about keeping them alive anymore. I can afford to have 'some' principles now."
Davidson "Ah." A tip of Davidson's head, ever so slightly, and he looks back down to the mask he's just set down. "People do a lot of things for family," he admits, "Sometimes they're just not worth it to do forever." Then he's leaning back in the chair, the cheap wood creaking, one hand raking back through the mess of his hair. "El Dorado's a good town to get a new start in. Nobody really cares where you're from. What you've done. Just what you do, now that you're here."
Shane "I mean... I was a really shitty doctor, I guess, I never had to really cure anyone, just patch them up when they got too big for their britches." She looks from the table to to Davidson and back, one brow perking curiously, "Do... you mind if I prop my leg a bit higher?" she asks. A faint smile to herself, then, and she look back up at the maps, "I... could come out there with you and help you ward off scorpions and such? I can patch you up pretty decent if you got, you know, hit up by mole rats, too." She sucks in a breath and winces as she glances to her ankle again. "I mean uh... unless there's someone itching to teach a thirty year old run away how to fix -other people-." That last sentence? Drier than the desert sands.
Davidson "You want to put your leg on the table, go ahead, darlin'," Davidson replies with a low chuckle, draping an arm over the back of his chair as he regards her with a wry smile and a single brow's lift, "As for medicin'... well, you could probably find some people willing to take you under their wing. We have some good doctors here. As for me, well--" He lifts his bandaged arm, admitting dryly, "I'm not saying no to someone helping patch me up and ward off some of the critters out there. You know how to use a gun, or anything?"
Shane "And a bow and arrow, and a sword, and my fists, and a broken bottle... basically I know a good bit about a lot of different weapons - raider and on." She actually uses Davidson's knee, not the table. Perhaps it was the 'darlin'', though it's also possible that after hugging him for the length of the ride back, she just feels that comfortable with a bit of physical contact. Perhaps there's even a touch of the wounded animal offering up its vulnerable spot as a show of faith.

"I... a part of me wants to know more about fixing things. I mean..." She lifts both hands, opens them expansively with her palms facing outward, "Feels right, you know? Like maintaining some kind of a balance? So far I've spent like half my life learning to hurt people and like half my life learning to help. This feels like a crossroads kinda."

Beat.

"I uh.... also had a really nice time riding out on your motorbike with you."
Davidson "I might even have some spare equipment layin' around to pay you with," admits Davidson, his head cocking a bit to one side as her foot ends up resting on his knee - a glance down to where it rests, then back to her, a smile tugging up again at the side of his mouth that pulls the rest with it. He reaches out a hand, giving the side of her foot a reassuring pat briefly.

"Makes sense, though, you wanting to do that. I'm sure we could find someone that'll be willing to teach you--" He grins, then, eyes bright as he looks over, "It's a fuckin' rush, isn't it?"
Shane Again, the unguarded warmth and joy in response, "I've never ridden anything like that, before." The corners of Shane's rich amber eyes crinkle with that smile, "I got to ride a fanboat, airboat thing once, but that's a whole different...." she shakes her head, laughing delightedly, "That's so not the same. It was like..." She pauses to consider this, "Flying - only very low to the ground."

"I uh... I don't need -" she starts to lie, reflexively. Pride. "Thank you," she corrects herself, offering with a smile.
Davidson "I hadn't either, until I got the keys in my hand, I'm in love, honestly," he laughs, subtle lines of warm humor crinkling to either side of his eyes, "She's one of the best things that ever happened to me, although she's got a terrible micro-fusion cell addiction..." A wink, to add further amusement to the exchange.

Then he's rolling his eyes, "If you're going to be helping me out and patching me up, I'm not going to do it for nothing, darlin'."
Shane "Okay, I just... don't know if I can reconcile myself with the idea of working 'for' you and not feel... you know... like I had to listen to you, and... like, I'm kinky, I like to listen, but, I'm not a uh.... a uh.... shrinking violet of any kind, you know what I mean?"

Still, Shane can't help but chuckle at the comment on love, "Dunno if I've ever had enough chems to figure on what love feels like." A snort of amusement accompanies a wink of her own, and his wink has her laughing again.

In some ways, it is like she wasn't entirely 'on' until they got inside. She's cute but not a typically 'stunning' person - but that smile? It lights up the room, largely in response to Davidson's own warmth on display. Her shoulders sag as she relaxes, smiling to herself. She looks from him to one of the maps and back, nods, and says, "I... want to see some of the stuff that's inspired your work."
Davidson "It feels like riding that out there, that's what love feels like..." A rough chuckle, though there's an edge to it, hand lifting back up to rub against the nape of his neck almost self-consciously at something; that crooked smile tugging back at his lips as he looks back over to her. He's about to say something, then he stops, giving his head a shake.

"Inspiration, hm? You mean, like, out there?" Davidson jerks his head to the door, both brows going up questioningly to her, "I mean, that's really where my inspiration comes from. Finding new places. Wanting to find them again. Wanting to show other people."
Shane "Yeah, out there," Shane says, nodding as she grins at Davidson. The weight of her ankle on his knee drags slightly as she readjusts how she's sitting to keep it propped high but get comfortable once more.

She looks from the maps to Davidson, and closes her eyes for a moment. "We had this old encyclopedia when I was little... did you know the indigenous people of the South Pacific made all kinds of strange maps? Stuff that looks nothing 'like' a map, even."

She lifts a hand, making an L of thumb and forefinger and drawing a line between them, curving and elegant, through the air. "Rather than mapping the islands traditionally, they'd use currents, and so the maps weren't of geography, but of the changes in the way the tides around the island worked."

"I want to see the things you would show another."
Davidson "You know, Shane..." Davidson leans forward a bit, one forearm resting on the table' edge as he looks back to her with an crookedly-easy smile and a glint to those normally-dark eyes of his, "...you keep this up, and I'm going to think you're flirting with me."

A low chuckle, his head ducking with a bit of a shake before lifting again, "How can I say no? There's things out here... damn. I've seen sunrises over craters miles wide. I've seen the sun setting behind a mutant sixty feet tall, trying to tear down the wall I was standing on. I've seen Deathclaws that talk. The wasteland's a weird, wild, wonderful place. Dangerous as fuck, though."
Shane "That... sounds almost kind of like a miracle," Shane says. Yes, for a certainty, there is the crook of lips and twinkle of eyes that makes it highly apparent that she was indeed flirting, whether or not she was doing so with purpose.

And she leans aside a little, more forward toward Davidson with each new wonder named, if only in little half inch increments - such is the nature of the leaning in that, when he is done, she is resting her elbows on her knee, calf still in his lap to support her ankle.

She tilts her head, grinning up at Davidson - "I... thought your eyes were brown."
Davidson "You know..." That crooked smile widens, both brows lifting a little, "...I've never had a mirror clean enough to tell what color they are?"

A shift slides his upper body forward a little past his knee and her foot, those dark brown eyes meeting hers as he asks with a playful tease woven through his words, "Want to tell me?"
Shane "Which part?" Shane asks. Her ankle shifts a little, and she's leaning forward then, too, one elbow on the table top.

She stares into Davidson's eyes with a warm expression, her own eyes moving faintly, studying the fine flecks and striations where they come together to create his stare. "The outside rink's this color I've always like, this color that's somewhere between olive green and emerald, like... army fatigues as dark as gemstone. Then there are these little flecks of brown...."

She tilts her head, reaching up, just briefly to nudge her knuckles over his cheek, tender. "So light they look like gold, and others so dark they look like rich, freshly-turned earth along the floor of a primeval forest."

Her tongue slowly moves along one corner of her lip, wetting it as she looks up at the larger man.

That she's holding her breath is so subtle, it's possible SHE doesn't notice it.
Davidson As she truly studies his eyes, they blink once... and Davidson's expression softens a bit more, smile easing as he watches her in return, listening as she begins to describe them. The nudge of her hand's back against his cheek makes his head tilt just a little, and then it pushes back, a brief rub of his cheek to her knuckles with a teasing rasp of facial hair where his scruff develops.

A few moments after she's stopped talking, he brings his own hand up, reaching to brush the pad of a thumb gently beneath one of her eyes, fingertips grazing her cheek feather-light. "I'm not as poetic as you," he admits quietly, "But I've heard things can get caught in amber. Never understood it until now."
Shane "I've never..." And it's hard to tell what Shane's professing inexperience at... because she's too busy blushing to finish when she hears those words, lifting a hand to touch Davidson's, on her cheek. "I'm not poetic... I was just, you know... comparing colors?" She smiles, still and anyhow, cheeks burning.
Davidson The brush of her fingers against his encourage the touch of that hand to press more warmly to her face, briefly framing her cheek in it... and then he draws back with a graze of callus-roughened fingers over skin, one shoulder lifting up in the easy roll of a shrug. "...I thought it was poetic enough," he admits, watching her face even still, "Nicest thing I know I've heard someone say about me."
Shane Hard. The small woman is lean and muscled all over, with no real fat on her to speak of. Her skin is soft though, and her hair. Might be the only two things physically soft about her, in fact. She tilts her head just slightly so she can brush her lips over the inside of his hand near her face. "You're.... going to make me kiss you, aren't you?"
Davidson There's a pause at her words, at her kiss, a flicker of surprise-- and then he breathes out a low chuckle, giving his head a rueful shake. "Don't mind me, Shane," he offers, the pad of his thumb grazing beneath her lips as she brushes them to his palm, "I'm just an idiot sometimes."

The warmth of that work-roughened hand slides back along her cheek in a delicate cradling a moment later, and he leans forward once more -- past the space between them, leaning down in and closer. Nose nearly touching hers as he looks down to her eyes and murmurs, "Sometimes a real idiot." Then he's moving in, head tilting as he seeks her lips at last.
Shane There's a trace of teeth and Shane's tilting her head. Pale, wind chapped but nicely shaped lips graze over the pad of Davidson's thumb, before they part in a grin. She smiles faintly, tilts her head.

"I wouldn't say that... I've met idiots, they usually don't take my breath away with words alone." She shakes her head, smiles up at him, "I'm... new to all this. I've been busy raising someone else's family, y'know?"

And then, when he's close enough, her breath catches. She takes a beat, and smiles up at him, dizzily, giddily, "Feels like m'heart's stuck in my throat." And then she's kissing him. Her fingers drift up into his hair and she's mmming into his lips.
Davidson There might have been a response, a quip, or something romantic... but really, there's better things to be doing at the moment, which is why Davidson's lips are soon busy with a taste far more enjoyable than speech. His fingers slide back and into her hair as they kiss, his gaze hooded slightly with that first taste between them both. After a moment or two he draws back, tongue's tip moistening his lips and voice a low, teasing murmur, "...want me to look for it for you?"
Shane There's no words. Shane's answer is a silent nod while her lips and tongue are grail knights - questing, seeking for the chalice of divinity in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mouth.

It is, in fact, within moments, when she's pushing up to that one, hobbled foot. Her fingers slip back, one hand over either of his cheek, until she is embracing, caressing his face, with both hands.

The strained and ragged, dry rotted cotton that was once leggings is only further ripped and stretched with her movement. And within seconds, her hands and lips never leaving him, she's nearly in his lap, nearly. The inside of her thighs is flexed to hold her aloft, her lips reddened from the profuse force and ardor of the kiss already, hair still wild from the motorcycle ride.