The inn that is to be his refuge for the night poses an unwelcome sight, despite its disarming exterior. He’s got the trajectory back to where he started all mental-mapped out, now that they’ve come to a stop , but the security of that is cold compared to what tentatively links him and Flora, arm in arm. He half-smiles at her gesture. “Got it. Looks quiet—er, quite, quite nice.”
Possible next words die on his tongue. Can he ask her to walk with him to the door, infringe upon her time any longer? That wouldn’t be too selfish of him, surely? And perhaps she could vouch for him, in case of few vacancies on such short notice!
…of course he can’t. Better a clean break. He’s got to—.
“Oh?” When she stops, he stops, but only just. Nondescript civilians step out of their way with a…civility that’s almost disquieting. Then that’s a passing detail, passed, and he’s rooted to the spot by Flora’s rising urgency; the tone and the straight-ahead stare and the grip on his arm—his wrist, even!—all screaming please don’t leave me. Amazing. Terrifying. Not that she’s not being perfectly reasonable, useful, and as kind as so far precedented…he’s overreacting, mostly. The Doctor forces down the subtle urge to bolt, and finds himself nodding.
“Ah…all right! If you like, I mean, I wouldn’t want to be any trouble, but…if you like!” To his own shock, the wellspring of happiness creeping into this assent isn’t something he’s had to dig out by hand. This is…good! Simple information exchange. Nothing dangerous about that. And directions to the University, in the bargain! That means a library, labs perhaps, tools for orienting himself in this new land. “That’s a lovely offer…I’ll be glad to repay you however I can….” His untethered hand delves deep into one pocket while he talks, and with a bit of a squint and several moments of undiluted determination, he produces…a yellowed envelope? Good, acceptable, it’s scrap paper!
“D’you have a pen?”
"O-oh, it’s not- it’s not any trouble at all! Really, it’s- not even a little bit, I promise--” Every word is a hole dug, too much! Too loud, too eager, too stuttery-stupid and clumsy and messy; and Flora bites down on the flow of it with a mouth twisted vicious and tight, grip gone white at the knuckles pinch-twisted in her erstwhile companion’s suit-jacket sleeve.
“I mean, um- oh, I’m so sorry, that was-- y-yes, I... I have a, a pen. Just- just let me find- um... let me find it,” Her voice becomes smaller on each word; frailer and more frightened, sentences trickling away to nothing under the buckling weight of her own anxiety. She has to disentangle from him to search - no pockets to rifle one-handed, and a lady’s purse needs a great deal more attention to parse through - a jitter-quick unclenching. Tense, as she shoves aside a compact, a worn paperback; delicate, as she fishes out a fountain pen in a rather lovely shade of chocolate and offers it to him patiently.
( It’s a beautiful item. It’s not hers. The cap, trimmed in buttercream and scuffed from her own careless handling, is engraved H. Layton, not F. Reinhold. She doesn’t know what made her take it, doesn’t even think the Professor has yet noticed it missing from his desk drawer. )
“The- the University is, um- follow this street for two more blocks in the direction we walked to get here, and then turn right on- um, Archery Close, and walk until you see Martinelli’s. A-and then if you go left on the corner that Martinelli’s is on, you can walk, and it’ll take you right to the University. You can’t- Gressenheller has a rather stately campus, it’s very, um... it’s very hard to miss!” Fondness creeps in without her consent-- the Professor’s office is its own kind of tower, but the University grounds are beautiful, and Flora can’t help but to love it. Can’t help but to speak with that love in her voice, poorly disguised and earnest.
“Um- you could call me on the office phone, since I’m almost always at the University during the day. The number is 020, um- 7946, 0269, and the extension is 1618. Or, if- if you do end up at the University, you could ask for directions to Professor Layton’s office, and that’s where I- I’ll be happy to help you! With, um... with anything you need. Or- or want, I mean- anything at all!”
