HAWKLINES - a Stranger Things based OC - Dorothy Kline, daughter of disgraced former Mayor Larry Kline.
a study in: the sins of the father, poor little rich girl, taking back one's own name, the unwanted daughter instead of a son, the societal pressures of being a politician's daughter, the adaptability of an only child, the father as a child's first bully, and the need to atone for the sins of a parent.
written by Liesl (30s, she/her), indie, blog 21+ due to the themes of the show.
rules | temp. about below the cut | headcanon tag | headcanon masterlist
Born in 1967 to Larry and Winnie Kline, Dorothy "Dottie" Kline was a disappointment to her father from the moment she didn't come out Larry Jr. Neither of her parents had really wanted children beyond how having an adorable little mini-me to parade around would advance Larry's image in politics, and Dottie spent more time being raised by her nanny than her actual parents.
By the time she turned thirteen, Dottie had gotten used to her father's pendulum of an attitude towards her (proud, charming father in public, but never once the cameras went away), and by the time she was in high school, she stopped trying so hard to be daddy's perfect girl and just tried to figure out who she wanted to be. She'd never be good enough for him, but at least if he was mad at her he was paying attention, right?
Her world turned upside down after the disaster at Starcourt Mall, and her father's corruption was exposed. Dottie had known her father wasn't a good person, but the depth of his corruption was a shock. People who were her friends one day wanted nothing to do with her the next. Feeling an enormous sense of guilt for all the pain her father had caused, Dottie put her focus on trying to figure out something -- anything -- she could do to make things right.
Will had been looking that some of the brighter shirts in the mens section. Brighter stripes mostly. He'd also been looking at the lighter jeans. But throughout the day whenever he grabbed something he felt like he was being watched so he put it back. When she said that they were closing soon, Will looked around, he had not definitively picked anything.
His eyes lingered on the shirts, and the pair of jeans he actually wanted, but went for the safe option, a white t-shirt with a yellow collar and around the sleeves, as he grabbed it he saw a soft butter yellow one with white on the color and sleeves, and hesitated before taking the white one. "I'm ready," he said, not sounding the most thrilled with his choice, but went with it anyways because it was his only feasible option within the price range he was also deeming acceptable because even though he was given fifty dollars to help fill out his wardrobe, which was all gone after Lenora, he was not using all that, it felt wrong.
Not that Dottie thinks she's one to judge, but she doesn't think he sounds super convinced when he says he's ready; she can see his eyes still lingering on some of the other shirts on the rack. But then, boys aren't the best shoppers (that one she does think she's qualified to judge) and from what she knows of the Byers', even Mrs Byers doesn't seem like a big shopper.
"You sure?" She asks, trying not to sound too doubtful about it, but also not wanting him to feel rushed, and she feels like she did kind of rush him by coming to tell him they're closing soon. "We're not closing right this second, if you're still deciding, or looking for something to go with that shirt." Then, so she doesn't now feel like she's making him stay, she adds, "But if you're sure, I can go ring you up."
his series of flirting misfires dutifully documented by his co-worker at SCOOPS AHOY! was beginning to wear on his confidence. or maybe, it was the stupid sailor's hat they were forced to fashion as part of their completed uniforms. either way, it was an END OF AN ERA FOR STEVE. he needed to get creative if he was going to survive this new chapter in his ( love ) life. there he stood, next door to his place of work on his off-day looking at the GAP's latest trends in apparel. more specifically, he was eyeing a rack of jackets. the plan was that he would purchase one of these eye-catching coats and store it in the lost & found. when he started to bomb with a cute customer ( as he inevitably would, apparently ), he begin a song and dance that went something like: have you lost your jacket? this would look great on you. it really brings out your eyes…
the only thing was, the longer he gazed at the row of different colored and styled jackets that he was prepared to blow his paycheck on, the more DOUBT combated his matchmaking genius. first, he argued with himself that he shouldn't be looking at coats because it was summer. then he wondered if it gave the right signal that he was trying to suggest fashion tips to a potential date. it might come off as controlling. not to mention the lost & found when you haven't actually misplaced a beloved item was a little icky. a cardboard box of lost dreams? very appealing.
steve was coming his hand through his hair in mounting frustration when @hawklines voice broke through his dilemma.
“ who is it for? ”
oh, god! steve jerked his hands up to start filing through the jackets in a moment of panic like he'd been caught sleeping in glass just as the teacher crept up behind his desk to check his work. what the hell could he say? he was shopping for bait in the hopes of getting a date over the summer?! oh, god… he was pathetic. hands falling away from the clothing, he placed his palms on his hips and searched his brain for any sentence in english to answer her question.
❝ it's summer. ❞ technically a complete sentence, and it was english. context was… questionable. he blinked slowly. ❝ i'm in the wrong section, ❞ he rushed to cover. ❝ i should look for something… cooler. ❞ hopeless, hopeless, HOPELESS. ❝ my neighbor… who is a lady. her birthday is soon. she used to babysit me when my parents were, you know, at the country club. anyway, i just thought it might be nice to surprise her. with something nice. ❞ stop talking. fighting to appear casual, steve moved to lean against the jackets. which weren't solid for leaning. at the last second, he ran his hands over the row as if admiring them. ❝ nice material. good quality. ❞ he folded his arms. that was SAFE, right?
Well, well, look who the cat dragged in. Steve Harrington. (What was that movie line again? Of all the stores in all the malls, he walked into hers.) Dottie didn't think she'd seen him yet this summer -- like actually seen him, not just seen that he was working at Scoops Ahoy next door -- even though they were working right next door to each other. And then here he was, looking at the women's jackets.
She'd have been lying if Dottie said that she wasn't asking because she was at least a tiny bit curious if he was shopping for a girlfriend. Which was a totally normal thing to be curious about.
"It is summer. Very good, Steve-o."
His fumbling, ridiculous explanation made that a pretty obvious assessment that no, he was not shopping for a girlfriend.
"Your neighbor who's a lady who used to babysit you," Dottie repeated, trying really hard not to sound like she was making fun of him (even if she maybe was making fun of him just a tiny little bit). "Mm-hmm." Okay she just couldn't help herself. A girl's gotta live. Even if that girl was supposed to be selling the clothes and not teasing the customers into not buying things. She bit the inside of her lip to try not to look like she was about to laugh when he almost leaned on the rack of jackets, saving himself just before finding out just how not-lean-able a rack of jackets was.
Be cool, Dottie. Don't be an ass.
"You know these are like...jackets more for girls our age than your babysitter neighbor's, right?" That was helpful, right? That wasn't mean. She didn't think it was, anyway. It maybe sounded a tiny bit more amused than an unbiased source would have, but wasn't not her fault. "You want me to help you find something for your, uh... neighbor?"
Billy snorts. Shakes his head with undercuts of amusement at Dottie sticking her goddamn tongue out. As if he hasn't been subject to this kinda shit from Max. And Dottie, for that matter. He knows what it means. Something's revving in his eyes as he chugs the last of his beer. Like he's already driving down the road, that rebel Whoop! rolling off his tongue just before he pulls past Dottie in her Rabbit. The win isn't about the win. Even as he tosses the empty cup into the nearby wastebasket like it's nothing.
It's about this thing that's happening. Billy's paying attention to it. Knows Dottie's paying attention, too. It's there in the way she doesn't address the whole worried shit. Not verbally. Because it's too much. And Billy doesn't want to talk about it. So, they just lean in. Looking past the masks. Billy doesn't blink. Doesn't pull away. Just kinda lets Dottie stare back at him. He's all blue eyes with an ocean spray of freckles. Hawkins couldn't take that from him, at least. And Billy looks back at her. Dottie's got an intensity in her gaze behind the light-hearted wink. It feels like the same act he pulls. The same, but different. "Yeah," he murmurs. He doesn't like Larry. Doesn't trust him. The guy's full of shit. And there's something about the way Dottie talks about him. It sets Billy on edge. Makes his stomach churn. "Welcome to the goddamn show, huh? Exit, pursued by a bear."
He leans back then. Gives them some breathing room. But it doesn't last. Because Dottie's a little too perceptive. And Billy's starting to feel a little sick. Like he needs another drink. "Jesus, it's fine, just-" He scoffs. Recovers in the seconds it takes Dottie to do the same. Slips back into the old, familiar current. The one that has the corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk. Casual. Cool. Well-practiced. "Well, shit, Dottie, if it's a handspring y'want..." And Billy's already moving. Like he's got to motor the hell out of whatever it was that just happened. Serve up a distraction.
And that's when the music cuts. Billy stops. His gaze immediately flicks to the door. Callahan's there. So is Powell. They're shutting this party down, and people start bailing. Everyone for their fucking selves. Except,
"Shit." He whips his head back around to look at Dottie. "We gotta bounce." Billy takes her hand. Doesn't wait. Because he's running on autopilot. Leading them through the crowd to the nearest window to climb out. There's something unmovable on Billy's face. Something people shouldn't cross. It makes partygoers just kind of move out of the way. But he's also trembling. Like Billy wants to crawl out of himself. That thing in his chest wraps around his lungs. Makes it hard to breathe. Everything's closing in around him. Because Billy can already feel what's coming. What's waiting. And it's not the cops.
Exit, pursued by a bear. It's the way he says it, like he knows more than he actually does. Like he's reading between her words the way he does when he's driving her home from basketball games. Except he can't know more than he actually does, because for as much as Dottie will quip about her parents, she's always careful not to not just come right out and say what she wants to. There'd be no point, anyway, it'd just sound like poor little rich girl problems, trying to find something to complain about. Besides it's not like everyone doesn't see how great her dad is. That's his whole thing. It's why the "Exactly," she gives with a little grin is said like a joke. Pursued by a fucking bear, indeed, though.
Billy's doing that thing, then, that thing they both do where something a little too real, a little too much, slips out when it wasn't supposed to, and needs a second to recalibrate. Maybe it's easier in his Camaro, when all it takes is a look out the window, instead of here where they're practically staring at each other. But here they also have alcohol, and Dottie can use her cup to fill that little recovery window, drinking the rest of her beer -- almost choking on it with surprise and laughter when it looks like Billy Hargrove is actually going to do a handspring. Well shit. Hell, if he can hit a handspring in this crowd, she really will let him on the team if he wants a career change from basketball.
It's cruel timing that she doesn't get to see it.
Music stops, cops show up, flashlights blaring and everything. Goddammit. Who ratted? She doesn't have time to think about that now. Billy grabs her hand, and her other hand drops the plastic cup. Who cares about not throwing it away. He's practically dragging her to a window, but she's keeping up; the rush of everyone running to get away has her adrenaline spiking, even though if her track record is anything to go by, she can get out of this with just a pout. Who's going to want to be the one to call her dad at this hour, anyway. But Billy doesn't have that same freebie card, and he didn't bail on her, still holding tight to her hand, so she's going to make sure he gets off clean, too. It's only fair.
The jump down from the window isn't hard, but they only make it as far as the street before almost getting run right into by a cop car that's just getting there, probably called in as backup or something for corralling the crowd of teenagers all attempting to flee and getting stopped in their tracks. Shit. She locks eyes with Chief Hopper through the windshield, and he has the audacity to look like seeing her has ruined his night, instead of the other way around.
"Shit... okay, it's fine, I got this," she murmurs assuringly to Billy as Hopper gets out of the car. She's got this, right? The chief doesn't even like her dad.
"Goddammit, Dottie." He doesn't sound happy. (To be fair, is he ever happy?) Dottie takes a little half step sideways in front of Billy. He pulls out his radio, "Florence, you'd better get the may--"
"No come on, Chief," she interrupts before he can finish. "Just let us -- I swear, we'll go straight home. Honest."
"Oh yeah?" He's still holding the radio. "Just like I'm guessing you swear you and your, what, boyfriend here, weren't drinking tonight? And that I'm not gonna get another call later about you two uh, 'loitering' over by the lake?"
Somehow she doesn't actually think it would help to point out that Billy isn't her boyfriend. But she is starting to feel like this isn't as easy as she thought it was going to be. She lets go of Billy's hand before her hands can get all sweaty and shaky with nerves, and takes a step closer to Hopper. "Yeah, I had like, a drink. But I promise we will go straight home. You don't need to call him."
"Jesus, Dottie, this is not like driving your car a little fast down empty back roads: you do not get to be above the law just because of daddy."
"I know!" No, that's too loud. Bring it down. Even so, she can't fully even out the desperation quivering in her voice. "I know that. Just please...one time."
"You think any of your other little friends won't notice if I let you go home? You think they're not going to tell their parents, and I'm going to have to hear about it all goddamn day tomorrow?"
He probably does have a point there, but she doesn't care. She can feel the panic rising as it's looking more and more like she doesn't got this the way she thought she did. Her dad's going to kill her. "I don't..." She doesn't really have any solid excuse. "Please don't call him." It's a quiet plea, now, meant only for Hopper to hear. "He's gonna be so mad. Chief, please." If he told her to get down on her knees and beg, she would. Instead she just looks at him, like she can telepathically convince him. She knows he doesn't like her dad, she's seen the two of them butt heads when no one else is around.
It doesn't work.
He hesitates a second, then shakes his head, "Sorry kid, no can do. Florence, get the mayor. I need to see him right now. You tell him: right. Now."
Goddammit. "Great. Thanks." Signed her fucking death warrant.
"Yeah, yeah. You, you," Hopper points at each of them in turn, before opening the back door to his car, "Get in the car. Do not make me cuff you."
Dottie takes a shaky breath, somewhere between a not-gonna-cry swallow and a defeated sigh, and glances back at Billy, "Sorry. I...thought that'd work." But she can't keep eye contact right now. So she just drags her feet to the damn hearse.
▪ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ @hawklines sent: "Remind me why I agreed to this?"
Quite honestly, even he wasn't sure what would have possessed a cute cheerleader, mayor's daughter, and all-around mentally put-together Dottie Kline to join him on this wild investigation either. Suppose there were one or two general hunches. “Morbid curiosity,” he starts while hopping out of his van, checking to make sure his flashlight is working. “Compassion for the possible plights of those living under your father's mayorship being struck with danger?” Then he smiles. “Because I might be full of shit, but at least I'm cute?”
Twirling the flashlight with a skillful flourish, he hands it off to her. “Go on, I have a spare. Remember, we don't want that on until we're deep enough in the fields that we won't be noticed by anyone; we don't want anyone chasing us off before I know what's going on.” Closing up the van door, he left it unlocked in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Having to unlock a car while attempting to flee? Rookie horror film mistake.
Nudging his head in the direction he wanted them to go, he started walking. Hawkin's police and the government had been out in this field. About time he learns what's so intriguing. “C'mon, you follow through, and I'll owe you lunch or something.”
It is morbid curiosity. Right about now might be a good time for someone to say 'Dottie, hun, sometimes you're a little too impulsive for your own good, and going traipsing around farm fields with Mateo Sweets is one of those times.' But let's be real: she's also a little too stubborn for her own good, and if she backs out now, he'll be able to call her chicken, and no one calls her chicken.
So she just hops down from the van with him while giving a mostly inaudible little grumble about how she thinks he thinks he's cuter than he is. If he does turn out to be full of shit, she's never going to let him hear the end of it. Convincing her to come all the way out here at this hour. Nope, she'll never, ever let him live it down. It's how she knows they aren't going to run into a serial killer or something out here: there's no way in hell she's dying before living long enough to hold this over his head if it goes wrong.
She nods, taking the flashlight after tightening her ponytail in her scrunchie (the ultimate 'ok I'm ready' girl move). "Fine. But if I put my foot in a gopher hole in the dark, you're the one who's gonna explain that to my coach tomorrow." If any of this venture had been more thought through, maybe she'd have had him stop by her house so she could change first, but the impulsiveness of it probably would have faded with any stops along the way, so she's all short green cheer skirt and one of his hoodies: not an outfit she wants to die in, anyway.
"And you're for sure owing me lunch for this," she agrees, hesitating just a second before following him at a bit of a trot to catch up. "Remind me what you said you heard about these fields? Something rotted?"
Dottie likes driving her Rabbit a little too fast sometimes; she's never reckless about it, and she's not speeding through the middle of town, and typically keeps it to the back roads on the outskirts of Hawkins, but she gets a rush from driving fast -- she finds it both exhilarating and calming at the same time. She does have her limits, though, as to how fast (or how long she'll maintain a speed) and she'll slow down before there's any risk of her losing control of her car.
That said, Dottie has never gotten a speeding ticket. She's gotten stopped a couple times, but it's just not worth the paperwork or dealing with having to give the mayor's daughter a ticket; any time she's gotten stopped she's sent on her way with a warning and a reminder to slow down.
Dottie kicks her feet, dangling off the side of the hospital bed she’s sitting on. She’s bored, her arm really hurts, and at this point it’s just embarrassing having to keep sitting here, taking up this curtained ‘room’ that she’s sure someone else might need at some point. She’d already sent home the teammate who had come with her to the hospital, saying she was totally fine by herself and she was sure it wasn’t going to be much longer. Even half an hour ago she’d kind of felt like she knew it was a lie.
Ugh. Screw it.
She slides off the bed, wincing a little as her hop to the ground jostles her arm a little, and she gingerly touches the sling that the nurse had put it in. At least it’s in a sling, it keeps the pressure off where it hurts the most, and they told her to make sure to keep it still. She sticks her head out to see if it looks like anyone’s coming over to her, and when it doesn’t, she ventures out to the nurse’s station. “Hey, um… did my mom or dad call yet?” No. “Can you try my dad’s office again?” He or Candice have to answer eventually, right?
The nurse obligingly dials the number again, “Still busy.” Dottie must look more disappointed than she thinks she does, because the nurse adds, “He’s probably really busy, it’s a big job.”
Yeah. Whatever. She’d be fine with it, if she wasn’t stuck sitting here for eternity waiting for someone to answer the goddamned phone. Oh, hey, there’s an idea… she doesn’t know how effective it’ll be, but it’s something.
“Can I make a long distance call?”
“Sure, honey.”
The nurse turns the phone towards Dottie, and she awkwardly reaches over the counter to dial the number, and pick up the handset. Pick up, pick up, pick up… she’s not sure what she’s going to do if they’re not home. Thankfully after a few rings, she hears her grandfather’s voice answer the phone. “Hey, it’s Dottie. Sorry to bother you, I just, um…” It’s stupid, but she gets that little lump in her throat and has to pause to swallow hard so she doesn’t start crying. She is absolutely not going to start crying and make this more embarrassing than it already is.
“Dottie, what’s wrong?”
“Um, so I’m at the hospital – don’t freak out I’m ok – they think I broke my arm at cheer, but um…” she glances over at the nurse, then lowers her voice just a little, feeling a little bit like she’s a child tattling and doesn’t want to get anyone in trouble. “Mom and Dad aren’t answering their phones and they say they can’t set my arm or anything until they talk to a parent.”
“How long have you been there?”
“I dunno, like…” Forever. She glances over at the clock on the wall, but can’t remember exactly what time she’d gotten here. She can also hear in his voice that she should probably downplay the length of time she’s been waiting so he doesn’t get mad at her parents and then her dad yell at her for it later. She’s probably already going to get yelled at for calling her grandfather anyway. “...longer than an hour I think.”
“And neither of them have answered their phones?”
“No…” now she really feels like she’s tattling, and she’s getting that sinking feeling where she just knows she’s doing something that’s going to get her in trouble later. If her arm wasn’t still throbbing in pain she probably would have waited it out. “I don’t think Mom’s home because it keeps going to the machine. And I dunno where Dad is, the lines at his office are busy. He didn’t answer his car phone, either…” She’s going to be in so much trouble for this. She just knows it. But goddammit her arm really hurts; if they’d just have fixed it and sent a bill, there would have been no problem. But nooo, they need parental consent because she’s not old enough. Or whatever. It’s so stupid. If she really wanted to be dramatic about it, Dottie would say it kind of sounds like child abuse that they won’t fix a stupid broken bone without her parents. Apparently if she was dying or her arm might fall off or something, then they could just do it and ask her parents later. What a weird way of making her wish that the injury was worse than it actually was.
“Where are you calling from?” He’s being very matter-of-fact, that’s his way, he’s always very level about everything, not like her dad; she doesn’t think she’s ever heard her grandfather yell, but she can tell that he’s mad.
“A nurse’s station in the emergency room.”
“Give the phone to the nurse, please.”
She holds out the handset towards the nurse. “It’s my grandfather,” she explains, hoping it will count for something even though he isn’t a parent.
“Hello? …Oh, Mr. Hamilton… Sir, I can’t just… Yes, I agree, but… I wish I could, sir, but we need a parent or legal guardian to… yes, sir… yes, sir…. I know, sir. But we still need… Yes, I’ll transfer you.”
She presses a button, and hangs up the phone. Dottie’s not sure what to do, so she just stands there awkwardly, and neither of them say anything. The nurse pushes her glasses up her nose, and goes back to doing whatever she was doing before Dottie came over.
Just when Dottie’s not sure if she should go back to the little room she’d come from, the phone rings, and the nurse answers it. “Mm-hmm….mm-hmm….sure, put him through… hello again…Ten minutes?... Mm-hmm…okay, yes, sir….Sure.” She holds the phone back out towards Dottie, “He wants to talk to you.”
“Thanks,” she tells the nurse, then takes the phone, “Hey.”
“Your mother or father will call within ten minutes.” He sounds awful sure of himself, but Dottie decides not to question it. He doesn’t really sound like he wants to be questioned. “In the meantime that lovely nurse will give you something for the pain. You remember my friend Alan?” Dottie gives a sort of mumbled agreement – she vaguely remembers Alan, golf buddy Alan. “Good. You remember he’s the head of the surgical department?” She hadn’t remembered that. She’d kind of thought all her grandfather’s golf friends were retired, they all seemed old enough. “After I reach your parents, I’m going to call Alan. He’ll make sure you get taken care of. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks. I’m sorry to have–”
“I’ve got to make some phone calls now. Ten minutes.”
There’s a click on his end of the phone, and the line goes dead. Dottie hands the phone back to the nurse. “Thank you. Sorry if he was a little… yeah.”
The nurse waves it off. “You’re fine, honey. Must be nice being everyone’s little princess. Come on, let’s get you something.” Dottie decides not to comment that if she was everyone’s little princess she wouldn’t have been sitting here for a million hours.
It’s almost nine minutes on the dot when the phone at the nurse’s station rings. From what Dottie can overhear, it’s the mayor’s office. (Not the mayor, at least, the nurse doesn’t seem like she’s talking to the mayor, but Dottie will take what she can get. It must be Candice.) Apparently he can’t get to the phone, but Dottie can hear as the nurse agrees that a fax is sufficient: it’s consent to the medical procedures and treatment, it’s in writing, it’ll have his signature. The nurse glances over towards Dottie, catches her eye, and gives her a thumbs up. She almost starts crying, but manages to stop herself before she lets any of the tears welling up in her eyes fall. Dottie has no idea how her grandfather managed to reach him all the way from Florida, but damn if she isn’t thankful that he did.
It’s weird; sitting here, Dottie can’t actually decide if she kind of wishes that one of her parents was here with her just to be here, or if she’s gladder that they aren’t, because with her luck, they’d make things worse.
Dottie has had several cheerleading related injuries over the years. Cheerleading is an inherently dangerous sport (and has the highest rate of catastrophic injuries for female athletes). Even though Dottie takes practice very seriously (more here) and she hasn't had any catastrophic injuries, she has had several minor-to-moderate injuries.
She's gotten a mild concussion a few times, and she sprains a wrist or an ankle at least once a season. A bruise here or there from an accidental kick or elbow from a teammate isn't uncommon, and a pulled or strained muscle is also not uncommon.
The most serious injury was her freshman year of high school, when her base didn't catch her properly on a flying stunt; Dottie got dropped and broke her wrist and arm. She was taken to the hospital, but then no one could reach either of her parents (her mother wasn't home so no one answered at the house, and the lines at the mayor's office were busy) because she was a minor and they needed parental consent since injury was neither life threatening nor limb threatening, she ended up sitting around in the emergency room for a while, waiting for either of her parents to call back. Not knowing what else to do, and getting tired of waiting (and a little embarrassed that she kept asking if anyone had gotten ahold of her parents yet because her arm really hurt and the answer kept being 'no') Dottie eventually called her grandfather in Florida. He got on the phone with the hospital administrators and threatened to sue if she had to wait any longer before getting her arm set (pointed out that he used to play golf with the head of surgery) and assured the hospital that they'd have parental consent within ten minutes. Candice called the hospital nine minutes later to say the mayor was in a telephone meeting and he was having her fax over whatever they needed. Candice eventually came to pick Dottie up and drive her home almost an hour after she had been released to leave, and got her a milkshake on the way.
@hawklines said: ❛ hey, it's okay. i didn't mean to scare you. ❜
[ x ]
"You didn't," he said rather simply.
He realized how rude it could have sounded, so he quickly fixed it, "Sorry, I just don't get scared that easily." It was true he didn't, he had alot going on, and had faced many horrors. It took alot to truly scare him these days. "What's up?" he asked.
Doesn't scare easily, ok then. In hindsight (five seconds worth of hindsight, but hindsight nonetheless) it occurs to Dottie that a kid who went missing a few years ago, was presumed dead, then turned back up, probably wouldn't get scared easily.
"We're gonna be getting ready to close up soon," she answers when he asks what's up, "If you're still looking, that's fine, I can leave the register open until we actually close, I just thought I'd give you a heads up and see if you needed help finding a size or something?"
