[Nat’s speaking before she actually knows who she’s speaking to, though when she pauses enough to hear his answer and really catch a look at his face—she recognizes the lad instantly. Natalie remembers him from a hazy time of the past. A ukulele was involved somehow, though her memory fogs up just enough to make it unclear as to how the beautiful instrument wove their interaction together.]
[Her words are a river, they flow and they flow, flooding with her emotions and only coming to a simmering stop when he’s considering them as she wracks her brain for a certainly important piece of information—his name. Natalie prides herself in being a good conversationalist. Ok, perhaps good was a reach, but a somewhat genuine conversationalist. She can’t recall the last time she went into a conversation with anything but pure intent and interest, and this encounter here was threaded from the very same material.
So it is imperative to Nat that she remember the lads name, no matter how hazy the alcohol has made her mind. Her brows furrow as she taps her foot, leaning back as if it would help her size up his face better. Her ears take in his words though she doesn’t comprehend them, too lost in making sure she can dignify his presence with a name. The right name. Nat springs from letter to letter, settling on M because it sits right in the gut. It’s M for sure, and the following flurry of names are an abundance. Wrong, but an abundance nevertheless.]
[Matt. Matthew. Madison. Murdock. M…Mack. Mi—Michael. Miles. Moses? …Mouse. Mouse. Her mouth opens in the shape of several vowels before her eyes squint in the precious moments before a confirmation. The affirmation envelops her like a warm hug, as a grin breaks her face, her eyes bright. It’s hardly a thing to be proud of, but Nat’s just a little happier, a little easier to please at the moment.] Mouse! Hiya bud, I knew it was you. [And she tilts her head in a funnily scoffing assurance. He mustn’t know that it had slipped her memory. It was the alcohol, but there was no room for excuses in this serious business.]
Glow-worms? We have those here? [Eyes widen just a tad as she cocks a brow. A memory of camping in a place far, far away shines dimly in some backlit corner of a hazy mind but she pushes it away without much thought. Her mind’s too busy trying to decide on what to do this fine evening. Though his question stops her, even in her drunken stupor—what does she want to do? Well. Nat didn’t think about that. Nat’s never thought about that much at all.] Me? [She repeats, her brows rising once again just to insure she’s heard the question right. And she can’t help but furrow her brows, trying to pull an honest answer. What did she want to do? What did she want?]
[But all she can come up with is a scary blank and it sends an uncharacteristic chill down her spine because the question rings and pulls on something bigger than just evening plans for her. And no, Natalie doesn’t think it goes so well with the warm fuzz of the alcohol that’s wrapped itself warm and tight around her. It’s been a while she’s had the comfort of any embrace, so she ditches the thought quick and settles for an answer that only seems appropriate for every fantastic suggestion he makes.] Everything, mate. Let’s do it all.
[Her brows knit together and she’s looking at him with a concentration that doesn’t quite fit with her cheery mood, with the endless stream of chatter that came from her lips only seconds before. Mouse tips his head at her, more curious than uncomfortable under her gaze. There’s nothing judgmental in it, and if there is it’s not being directed toward him. It’s more like curiosity, like she’s grasping for something in the way her lips move soundlessly. The way she squints carefully at him and then there’s a rush of pride he doesn’t understand.
Until she speaks, and suddenly it makes sense. Mouse lets out a loud, easy laugh and nods enthusiastically, choosing to humor her tonight rather than give her a hard time about it. She seems so pleased with herself, and he doesn’t want to be the one to bring down her good mood -- especially not when it boosts his own spirits along with it.] Yep, that’s me. And you’re Bob, right?
[He can’t resist the teasing question, but given her current state he feels the need to give her a wink and tack on quickly,] Only jokin’, I know you’re Alfred. [Okay, he can’t resist that one either, but there’s a flash of amusement in his eyes that gives him away.] Think I’m gonna call ya Nat, though, seems like it suits ya better.
[And hopefully she’s not so drunk she thinks he’s serious, but even so she seems easygoing enough that it won’t matter. So his grin widens at her question, excitement building up inside him that he can’t distinguish as his or hers.] Dunno, maybe? Worth a look, innit? [Now he thinks about it he isn’t sure if there are glow-worms around, but there’d been some around the farmhouse and he’s sure they can find plenty else to do.
Though Nat's mood takes an unexpected turn when Mouse turns the questions around on him. It’s something he can relate to, in a way. Putting the needs of others before his own, always, rarely stopping to think about what he wants or needs. But he’s also well-practiced at having fun, at knowing what sorts of things will lead to a good time, so he’s happy to take the lead here.]
Brilliant! That’s the spirit! [He agrees with an enthusiasm that matches her own -- because a lot of it is, in fact -- and then tips his head toward the exit. A flash of mischief in his eyes, the sideways slant to his grin, those are the only warning she gets.] Last one outside’s a glow worm’s arse! [Then he’s off, making a beeline out of Catch and toward the Colony’s exit, though he slows his pace enough to make sure she’s behind him, to make sure she’s not too far gone to actually keep up -- ready to hop back a few steps and catch her, if he needs to.]