Robyn Atwood

"What happens when you escape one monster only to find out the world is full of them? How do you go on from there?"

[elijah-vestri]

"I didn’t think that." He gives a small shrug, because he thinks the question was more telling about him than her. He didn’t figure her for one, even with the incense. It was a common trick to cover up the smell, but there was this sense of innocence when he talked to her that didn’t make her answer all that surprising. But his expression changed at the next words, not so much because it wasn’t anything he didn’t expect, but because it was different hearing her say it. He had his own guesses about her at this point, and it had him studying her a moment longer than usual before he forced his eyes away before they started to wander. "I guess," he said quietly. It wasn’t arguing, because he could understand it. He just hadn’t been the same, and his voice was quiet when he answered. "But if you don’t have control in the first place it makes it easier to stomach."

He stiffened slightly when she leaned forward, but she didn’t come close enough to set him off and he was grateful for that. The words had him ducking his head, a shy, half-smile on his lips before he shook his head. “Nah, it’s good.” It was partially a lie, but it occupied his hands, kept them warm and gave him something to drink when he started getting distracted so he didn’t want to give it up. Maybe she’d understand that if he explained, but it was volunteering too much. “You read about cheese. Ping pong is the only answer I’ll accept.”

[robyn-atwood]

She's genuinely appreciative when he says he didn't think she was a pothead. Being judged, being scrutinized in that way isn't something she likes to think about and though she knows it's part of human nature to try and understand people by classifying them into familiar categories, she doesn't like that people put her into certain areas. Some of it's irrational fear, but most of it just stems from the fact she doesn't want to be that exposed to people. She doesn't want them to think she's something she's not, but in order to prevent that, she has to figure out what she is in the first place. It's a vicious cycle and the longer she thinks about it, the more her mood is souring so she just smiles at him. 

"Nothing makes it easier to stomach," she says and it's an automatic response, one she doesn't think about before the words are out of her mouth. The smile slips from her lips and her head ducks, her hands curled around her teacup and her thumbs running around the rim. She clears her throat, like maybe he hadn't heard it and moves on. "I'm the house champion of ping pong." She lifts her head again, the smile coming back though it's slightly half hearted. "Just so you know." 

[callumxsinclair]

"Pretty sure everybody’d get used to it after awhile." Though even that’s fairly subject - it doesn’t take much for Callum to mentally swallow that statement, chagrin making his gaze falter for a few seconds. People that lacked talent were everywhere, himself included. To say that in time, everyone would be just as capable of fixing things was by far, the most incorrect thing he’d said all day. Still, he doesn’t correct himself aloud. Robyn has a far brighter disposition than he, and while he doesn’t often respect that distance between beliefs, Cal’s in too good of a mood to ‘harsh her mellow’. Whatever that means.

Leaning forward to tap the top of the machine twice, he kneels so his height is aligned with that of the washer before pressing an ear to the side of it. Before long, he’s back to a natural posture, arms crossed before the brunet shakes his head. “Guess you’re right, he’s pretty mad.” As if it corrects him, Cal feigns a quick, surprised look in its direction before raising each hand in defeat. “She, I mean.” Pinching the bridge of his nose before he gets rid of an itch on the opposite temple, he chuckles underneath a breath. “Yeah. Just got in from work, figured it’d be a good opportunity or whatever. You have a good day?”

[robyn-atwood]

Robyn's not sure what he's up to when he kneels and presses his head to the side of the washing machine. She watches him intently, as if he's about to repair the thing by ear. But when he stands and tells her that it's mad, she gives a bright laugh. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, trying to keep the laugh back, but it's hard. He's playful and funny and it's her kind of humor. She can't say she doesn't appreciate that there's nothing raunchy about it, because that's never been something she's been good with. It's always made her uncomfortable. 

"A she?" she tips her head to look down at the machine she's sitting on. She plays along, the smile brilliant across her features. "Is that why this machine's been making such a fuss for so many years? We've never known. Maybe she would like to quiet down a bit?" she asks, as if the machine will listen to here right then and there. It doesn't and she gives a chuckle, lifting her head to look back at him. "I did. It's been an interesting few days. Today was just a good meditation day." 

[elijah-vestri]

"Really? Not even weed?" Fucked up as it is, this conversation is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He can’t remember the last time he was in the company of someone straightedge, which was the impression she was giving off. One of his roommates had a girlfriend who didn’t indulge, and there’d been some kind of etiquette there. They didn’t smoke, snort, or shoot up in front of her, but he didn’t remember that relationship lasting long either. Inevitably it became a problem, and it had him quieting now because he wondered if it would become one here. That thought was immediately followed by the reminder that he was dead and unfortunately sober, followed closely by the thought that she was just a housemate, not anyone for him to have a real problem with.

It had him wrapping his fingers around the mug, drawing it to his mouth before he remembered he hadn’t really liked the taste. He took another sip anyway before setting it down, because it was better than indulging in the sudden urge he had to scratch at his arms, and the itch there that he couldn’t ever dig out. All he was left with were scars and the faint recollection of what it felt like, not anything he was going to experience in its entirety ever again. He pushed the thoughts away with an abrupt change of subject, and it didn’t occur to him until after he asked the question that she might take it as a question of what else was fun besides getting high? Which wasn’t his intention but he couldn’t wholly argue the thought either. “When’s the last time you had fun?”

[robyn-atwood]

She gives a playful scoffing laugh at the question. It's one she's used to. It's been brought up more than she'd like to admit and she thinks it's just because normally when people have candles and incense, it's usually to hide the scent of whatever it is their smoking. But for Robyn, it's just soothing. "Everyone always thinks I'm a pothead," she says with a smile. She shakes her head, because to her it's funny. She doesn't mind if that's what people think of her, because she thinks it's harmless. Her smile fades a little as she watches Elijah and the next words are more honest, more telling about herself than anything. Maybe he'll take it as just a stance on life, or maybe he'll see it for what it is, read into it and she's not sure yet which she prefers. "I don't like not having control over myself like that. It's why I don't drink either." 

He takes another sip of the tea and she gives a laugh leaning forward and lowering her voice as if she's letting him in on a secret. "You don't have to drink that if you don't like it," she tells him, her look knowing and honest. He doesn't have to suffer just to try and not offend her because he doesn't like her tea. Leaning back in the chair, the next question catches her a little off guard. What made him think she wasn't having fun right now? But because he asked, she gives it some actual though, giving a slight shrug. "I have a lot of fun every day. I read or listen to music." She perks up, pointing a finger at him. "I play ping pong." 

[elenafontainex]

She’s glad it’s the pretty blonde, Robyn, although she probably would have been happy with any other tenant, too! Elena just remembers her being as sweet as can be, with a lovely bedroom, and a soft voice. There have still got to be others in this huge house that she hasn’t met yet, there’s got to be. The werewolf remembers seeing a few strangers around, but only once… maybe twice. She wonders for a moment if Robyn has met them all, but the question fades at the sound of her voice. “Did I? Great minds must think alike.” She gives a quick grin, before watching Robyn claim the other mug.

Looking over at the illuminated clock across the room, she realizes just how late it is. She knows why she is awake, but it makes her wonder what’s kept Robyn up. Maybe she’s just another night owl. “Any time.” Elena says quickly in reply to her thanks, before taking a few seconds to think about her question. “Settling in just great, I think! This place is so much better than motel rooms. Going so well.” She explains, before taking a sip of her hot chocolate… that’s still a little too hot, but Elena refrains from making a scene about it. “What about you? Not the settling in, but how are you?”

[robyn-atwood]

Robyn blows on the hot chocolate in her cup, trying to cool it before she takes a sip. It's good, just what she needs and hopefully it will help soothe her enough that she'll be able to find some sleep tonight. Though she doubts it will be restful, even if she does. "This is really good," she compliments the chef, giving the girl a warm smile as she looks up at her. She leans against the counter, tugging at her sweatshirt to try and warm up here in the kitchen. The house is a drafty one and tonight it feels just as restless as she is. Colder than it should be, even with the weather outside. Noisy and energetic and she can't tell if it's because of all the new housemates or because sometimes the house just gets that way. 

"I'm doing alright," she answers. It's a timid answer, almost. She's normally good at faking her moods or if she's in a poor one, she knows when to excuse herself as to not let it rub off on other people. But tonight, she's walked into this. She can't just take her hot chocolate and go, it would be poor manners. She gives a soft shrug, looking down at the mug in her hand. "I just have trouble sleeping sometimes. I really should be drinking tea to help out, but I couldn't pass up this." 

[captainmarcuszeng-blog]

Vivian lets out a light laugh at that, “Well, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Though, maybe if you offer me a few lessons in return, it would guarantee that I won’t say a word to any past tenants should they show up.” she says with a smile. Vivian then glances around and glances at the clock and sees how late it is. She, herself, didn’t need the sleep, but Robyn probably did. And she was certain that Robyn had shown her as much of the house as she could at this point. If there were any other locations in the house she had yet to explore, Vivian could do that alone and on her own time. “Well, Robyn, thank you for the lovely tour, but I’m sure you’re exhausted and I should probably let you get to bed.”

[robyn-atwood]

Robyn's smiling as the woman says the secret is safe with her. At the comment about past tenants showing up, that smile falters and she has to look down. No one's ever come back. People have come and they've gone, but once they're gone, it's for good and if she finds that weird, she keeps those thoughts to herself. So she forces herself to smile and nod at the comment. "I can definitely give you lessons." She moves the subject along to how late it is and the end of the house tour. "No problem. If you need anything, just let me know. This house is big, but once you find your way around, it's really easy to navigate. You have a good night, Vivian." 

[ingrvd]

Iggy catches the joke, but she doesn’t do much to acknowledge it but nod. There’s a very particular sense of humour behind her skull, or at least a particular level, just to make her smile. Even more so to make her laugh. But it’s not as if some part of the world and conversations alike doesn’t amuse her. But the rent is cheap and she agrees, which is part of the nod.

It only occurs to her how long she’s been standing there, talking to the blonde, when the washing machine switches cycles and she’s not an expert, but she’s gathered how long it takes for washing machines to work, gathered, from sitting in laundromats and sleeping in them, what cycles and what sounds meant what. This one was just particularly loud. In every cycle, it seemed. She doesn’t want to offer back anything said about her without being asked, but it’s how to keep the conversation going and though she’s been antisocial for as long as her heart beat, she knew enough social cues to get her by. Had she dressed a little better, everyone would think her attitude made her a successful business woman. She was akin to that disguise.

But at the last minute, she realises she can offer something else. She can delve deeper into the blonde’s mind and stay out of her own. There seemed safe. “Then you’re not tired of so many people?” she asks, voice more monotoned than quizzical.

[robyn-atwood]

The washing machine switches cycles beneath her and it's just as loud as the last one. Robyn doesn't hop off, trying to keep it as quiet as possible and if they thought the washing machine was loud, she wonders what they'll think of the dryer. The machine practically rattles around the entire room if it weren't tethered to the wall by the gas line. She checks it every so often just to make sure there's not a gas leak with how much it moves. The last thing she wants is for them all to die in their sleep due to leaking gas into the house. 

At the question, Robyn shakes her head, giving an honest answer. "I like the people," she tells Iggy. "It's my favorite part about this house. I mean, sometimes people come through who aren't so...nice." She puts it mildly. "But I really like getting to know all of them." The smile falters at the end, because in all seven years, she's made an effort to get to know every single person who's come through here. And she thought that people had a tendency to do the same with her. Yet who among those people is someone she still talks to? None of them. They've all moved on, all gone one with their lives and Robyn's still here, just making new friends and losing them before she can open up to them. She shoves the thoughts aside, not ready to go down that depressing path. 

[callumxsinclair]

Would he? No way— but it’s lightyears better than working for a law firm, or anything along those lines. Inept when it comes to dealing with sophisticated (as he lacks both manners and patience with the elderly and the spoiled rotten), Cal is fully aware just how screwed he’d be if his job options narrowed down to becoming a lawyer or starting an internship. “Nah, can’t say I’d love it.” But even fixing things sounded better than the latter - it was a miracle that he’d landed a position at Death & Co. Who knows just how long it could’ve taken to find something worth waiting for? When he barely has the patience for patrons with strong opinions, it doesn’t take much to guess that pushing said limit would make the brunet snap. Or worse.

"Not the worst thing that could happen, though." Really, it isn’t. In a world of possibilities, helping people out isn’t anywhere near his list of priorities, but the job in its simplicity doesn’t make Cal want to ring his neck. Immediately, he runs a hand through already-mussed curls and stifles a laugh with a shake of his head. "Maybe grumpy things like getting sat on. I wouldn’t know." Then again, plenty of people would probably consider him grumpy - he simply doesn’t. "Nah, not your job… not what you’re here for, so I think that’s pretty fuckin’ legit." 

[robyn-atwood]

"Me neither," she laughs. "I really suck at fixing things. But the repairman's pretty handy." She keeps smiling, keeps joking along. Truth be told, she's never given much thought with what she wants to do for a living. Working in a clothing store is great, but she barely scrapes by. Barely makes enough to pay rent and if she lived anywhere else, she wouldn't be able to afford it. She has no money in savings and any extra spending cash is usually spent on candles or incense. Books and CDs or self help tapes. Though right now she's a bit strapped for cash and she's been recycling through what she can. 

"I don't think grumpy things like getting sat on," she gives a chuckle, tipping her head back. She reaches down to pat the washing machine. "I think if this machine could talk, it'd be very upset with me." It's a silly notion, but at least he's playing along. Maybe if she had enough money, she'd actually pay for a new washing machine. A new dryer too. And dishwasher while she was at it. It wasn't her responsibility to buy those things and the landlord didn't seem inclined to buy new ones. The repairman said his instructions were to make sure they work and that's it. If it was broken, he'd replace, but because it was just loud, he couldn't buy a new one. "So what are you up to? Just coming down to see what the noise is about?" 

[elijah-vestri]

"Your joke was bad." He smiles a little wider when he says it, glancing up at her briefly before he gets done steeping the tea. He’s not sure how long it’s supposed to be in there for, but it’s a different color than when it started so he puts his pizza down on a napkin so he can give it a shot. Immediately he makes a face, trying to hide it behind the glass itself, but he’s not sure how successful he is at it. It doesn’t taste like Snapple, that’s for sure, and he can’t help but think he likes coffee better. Still, he doesn’t say anything, putting it down and curling his fingers around it because it’s something to do with his hands if nothing else.

The silence that settles in between them is faintly awkward, and there’s a moment of debate whether he should say anything else. She says she wants to help, he still wants to know who helps her, and he’s not very good at that communication thing as it is. There’s a moment where he debates just making smalltalk, asking how her day was, but this time he lets the comment slip out instead of biting it off. “Mine’s just funnier when you’re high.” It’s not something he makes a habit of going around admitting, and he doesn’t begin to guess if it’ll change her opinion on him. But she already knows he’d kill her in a heartbeat and it’s only something like self-control that’s gotten him this far. He’s trying, and maybe if he says those words enough times it’ll mean more. He doesn’t really know what that means at all sometimes, but she’s just trying to breathe and he’s just trying to get by and he thinks the state of the people in this house is one of the funniest jokes of all.

[robyn-atwood]

She scoffs playfully, tipping her head like it's the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. "My joke was a classic," she tells him, the small banter unfamiliar, but nice. At least it was something playful, something light between them because it seemed all of their conversations up until this point have ended in hurt. She doesn't want to associate those emotions and those feelings with him. She watches him sip at his tea and there's an amused smirk on her face at the blank look on his when he just freezes afterwards. She almost tells him he doesn't have to keep drinking it if he doesn't like it, but if he wants to will his way through the cup, she'll let him. It's healthy for him, though now she wonders if any of that matters for what he is. It's a question she never thought to ask any of the others who came through here like him. 

The comment he makes about the joke being funnier when he's high makes her chuckle, but when the words actually stick with her, she looks up and watches his face. It's like he was testing them out. Admitting to something, though she's not sure the depth of that admission. What it truly means. She's known people who get high when they come through here. Mostly pot. It's not her thing, though most people try to tell her she seems like a stoner. She wonders what it means for him. If it means he's one or he used to be or if it's something deeper. She smiles politely, not pushing for more, but offering what she can. "I wouldn't know. I've never been." 

[elijah-vestri]

He half smiles when she sets the cup of tea in front of him, but he ducks his head because of the proximity and he keeps himself that way until she sits down on the other side of the table. He lets his hand curl around the cup, the warmth seeping through his fingers. The slice of pizza gets shoved in his mouth before he grabs for the tea bag, tearing it open and dropping it in the cup and already he can smell it, sharper than he would have before. Every sense was intensified, and he thought distantly he should be grateful for that at least.

Her words had his head lifting towards her again, shifting a little in his seat, but more in thought than because it made him uncomfortable. “Ah, alright.” He chews on his lip for a minute because the only jokes that come immediately to mind are foul, and he thinks he’d feel weird sharing them with her. It’s that or stoner humor, because those are the only people he’s seen in years, aside from the dead guys. And they didn’t exactly tell jokes, not the kind that people should find funny. Offhand comments that ring like cannibal jokes. He doesn’t want to get himself thinking about blood. “Two muffins, sitting in an oven. One turns to the other and says ‘Is it just me, or is it hot in here?’ So the other muffin says ‘Holy shit! A talking muffin!’”

[robyn-atwood]

Robyn watches, trying to see if he likes the tea or not. He's eating the pizza, but he's yet to try the tea and she doesn't think it's really a pizza type of drink, so she won't take offense if he doesn't like it. She takes another bite of her own and at the joke, she almost chokes on it. She swallows the bite and tips her head to the side, rolling her eyes because he'd called her joke bad, but she thinks his is far worse. And definitely not the type of joke he usually tells. It means something to her that he kept it clean. That he kept it in her style and whether he did it for her or for himself, she doesn't know, but she'd like to pretend she does. 

"And you called my joke bad," she says with a small chuckle, sipping at her tea again. She sets it back down on the table and runs her thumb along the rim, The awkward pause she's been trying to avoid finally sets in and she's not sure what to do with it. Where do they go from here? When they'd agreed he should stay, but neither of them know how that's going to work. She doesn't know what he needs from her and he hasn't officially told her that he's going to accept her help. Not that she wouldn't offer it even if he didn't. 

[elijah-vestri]

The noise that escapes him isn’t quite a laugh, but it’s close to it, and he shakes his head before he goes back to his pizza. He rips another piece off of it before he points it at her, and there’s the distant thought that it’s easier to pay attention when he’s chewing on something else. Maybe he needs to invest in gum, and the thought’s close to ridiculous as soon as he has it. “That’s terrible,” he tells her, but the words aren’t judging, almost playful, or at least the closest he gets to it anymore. If nothing else, it makes him think that if there’s any bad blood here, she’s either really good at hiding it or really good at letting it go. He doesn’t ask in case it’s the first one, because honestly he doesn’t have a lot of people to talk to, and less who actually know what he is. Vivian, but she’s a hell of a lot older than him and he doesn’t know if his presence is more of an annoyance than anything.

He shifts in his seat, legs kicking out and one settling across the chair opposite him. It’s helped relax him at least, and on the upside he thinks there’s less concern about forcing smalltalk at this point. Granted she knows more about him than he knows about her, but he’s almost nervous about pushing because he doesn’t think there’s much good in her history. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to know, but that he can’t promise he won’t use it against her on a bad day. He can do his best and swear here and now that he won’t, but the next time he snaps and hurts someone he can’t promise she won’t feel the backlash of it. So he offers her what he can. “I’m sorry you’re sick.”

[robyn-atwood]

She laughs at the noise he makes, smiling brightly at him. It's not quite a laugh, but it's almost there and at least she can tell he doesn't mind the joke. "One of the worse, but it's still funny," she says. Behind her, the kettle starts whistling and she turns to take it off the stove. She pours them both a cup of water and she's very neat, very precise as she puts the cups on plates and carries his over to the table, setting it down in front of him. She puts the tea bag next to him, reaching across him to grab a slice of the pizza before sitting down at the table across from him, careful not to take the chair he has his foot propped up on. 

She pulls apart the packet, dipping the tea bag into the cup of water, looking across the table at him as he says he's sorry she's sick. She takes a bite of the cold pizza, chewing it away as she watches him. "Thanks," she says when she swallows the bite, taking a sip of her tea instead. "It's not bad, though. I have some herbal remedies to help out with it." She leans back in the chair, watching him and another awkward silence threatens to fall over them. She smiles. "Do you have a joke for me?" 

[elijah-vestri]

He half smiles when she says it, but doesn’t agree or disagree either way. Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he won’t feel anything about it except that it’s a cup of something to keep his hands warm. He’s cold most of the time, but it’s not the sort that bothers him. As far as he can tell, it’s just a fact of his existence. The only time he feels really warm is when he’s feeding, and it’s better if he doesn’t dwell on those thoughts right now. He takes another bite while she gets tea ready and there’s the brief thought that he should’ve told her no, let her have her cup in peace and go back to his room or go outside for a smoke, something to put him in a different room because no matter what she says, he can’t tell what she thinks about him. Chances are nothing good, and while he’s not sure it would hurt him either way, he could at least try and respect if if she’d rather him stay the fuck away from her.

The question derails those thoughts, because it’s nothing he expected her to ask. It leaves his mind blank for a moment, equally as unsure what she’s going to say next, so he just swallows another bite of cold pizza, nodding his head. “Sure,” he tells her. It’s enough to keep his eyes on her a moment longer than usual, and then he frowns, the words leaving his lips before her joke. “Are you sick?”

[robyn-atwood]

She bites her lip when he agrees to hear the joke, but it gets derailed when he asks if she's sick. She gives a slight shrug, sniffling again because she thinks yeah, she's about to wake up tomorrow and be sick, but it might just be the cold. "Maybe," she says, shaking her head. "My co-worker was sick yesterday, might have caught a bug." She doesn't mind being sick so much as she minds not being able to go to work. She doesn't get sick days or anything of the likes, and missing just one or two days would really set her back for being able to pay rent and buy groceries and do all the things she needs to do. She doesn't make enough as is. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, she returns to just smiling, dipping her head to the side because the joke is a lame one, but when she heard it today she'd laughed pretty hard. Maybe she'd just needed a joke and maybe he does too. "Why did the orange stop at the top of the hill?" she asks, watching his face because for once he's looking back at her. It doesn't slip by her that he rarely looks at her face, usually looking anywhere but her. But right now, his eyes are on hers and she's looking back at him kindly because he needs some kindness, she thinks. She doesn't give him much time to answer the joke before she's answering it herself. "Because it ran out of juice." 

[elijah-vestri]

He nods his head, bringing the box over to the table and it doesn’t occur to him to heat it up, or if she even wants it that way. Either way, she’s at the stove and it’s better right now if he keeps his distance from her. It makes it easier on him and better all around, but he thinks for a minute that he misses that and the sense of nostalgia is almost surprising. He doesn’t miss a lot of things, but she’s pretty and blonde and he thinks there’s a point where he would’ve hit on her shamelessly. Probably sloppily and with all the grace of a dumb, lame dog, but he would’ve given it his best shot. Smiled at her and said crude things, and now the thoughts are second to the hunger and the rest of it isn’t something he can really allow himself to contemplate.

He sits down in the chair, slumping against the back of it and reaching for a slice. The question doesn’t quite catch him off guard, but he stops with a mouthful of food before he focuses back on her. He swallows hard and then nods his head, not so much because he likes tea, but it’s something, no better or worse than a coffee or a beer. All of it, little distractions, and he wonders if she already knows that about him or if she’s just being nice. “Yeah, alright. Whatever’s good.” He clarifies before she asks, because the closest he’s come to tea is Snapple and he’s trying to keep the ‘I don’t know’s to a minimum. “Thanks.”

[robyn-atwood]

She smiles happily when he agrees to the tea, probably more excited than what he'd meant to make her, but she can't help it. Rarely do people taker he up on her offer to share the teas she has and she pulls a tin out of the cupboard, leafing through the tea pouches and picking out one that reads honey periwinkle. "You'll like this one," she says and whether it's a guess or not, it's a soothing one, one that doesn't have a strong taste, but something rather sweet. Most of the teas she's picked up in a specialty shop where they sell flavors she's never heard of before. She doesn't mind sharing them with him or with anyone else who wants some. 

Waiting for the kettle to whistle, she turns and leans against the counter, sniffling slightly again as she works on warming up in the kitchen here. The stove going feels nice at her back, but the kitchen has always been a drafty room in the house. She smiles over at him, watching his face. "Do you want to hear a joke?" she asks, just something to fill in the silence as they wait for the kettle to boil. She'd ask him how his day went, but she doubts he'll say much of anything. There's an awkwardness there because there are personal demons floating out there between them, but Robyn won't ever dwell on them if he doesn't want to. She won't use them against him and won't dig in to hurt him. 

[elijah-vestri]

Eli glances up at the words, watching her for a moment as she moves around the kitchen. There’s an ease there, because she’s been here so long that this is more her place than anyone else here, probably even the landlord. It leaves him with the vague sense like he’s just a guest in her house sometimes, and he wonders for a moment what she thinks about all this. About all these people here and he wonders if she’s aware that there’s another dead person and a dog under her roof. She knew and understood what he was without him spelling it out, and he hasn’t asked what else she knows about. It wasn’t a conversation for that moment, and he’s not sure if it ever will be.

His gaze doesn’t linger long, because he’s not at his best tonight, if he even has such a thing. But he’s more restless at any rate, the last vestiges of something like withdrawal with its hooks under his skin and making him squirm. Threat or not, urge to snap at the offered hand not withstanding, he doesn’t want to kill her, doesn’t even want to try. He wants to be okay in his own skin, wants to be in control of his life because he’s not sure he remembers what that feels like. He’s not sure he ever really knew. And for now if that means keeping his head down just to get out a box of pizza, that’s what he’ll do. “You want some?”

[robyn-atwood]

As Robyn pulls a cup and some tea pouches out of the cupboard, she reaches for the kettle, putting it beneath the faucet and turning to look at him. She can't help but smile at him because he's still here and she thought that today he wouldn't be. After their last conversation and everything that had happened, she thought she'd wake up this morning and there would be someone new in his place because people tended to disappear. He fit the bill. The kind to just up and leave without a word, to go on with their lives somewhere else and leave everyone else behind. Only he was still here, for now, and she thought that was saying something for how much he was trying. 

"Sure," she says happily, finishing filling up the kettle and moving over to the stove to put the kettle on. She turns around to look at him, knowing he doesn't really need the pizza, but she understands it. He doesn't need beer or coffee either. "Do you want some tea? I have some different flavors." She keeps her voice light, the smile on her face genuine because as long as he's here, trying, she'll do her best to make him feel welcome. 

[elijah-vestri]

Elijah doesn’t need to eat, he’s figured that much out at least, but there’s a hunger in him that wasn’t eased by blood bags this time. He knows it’s because he killed someone, because he left a body behind and now he wants to leave more, but maybe if he finds something else to eat then he can try and forget that for a night, or at least a moment. He’s been dodging most of his housemates, keeping to himself because it’s easier than having to pretend he’s not thinking about killing them, and there’s still the thought in his head that it would just be better if he left now and went back where he came from. Better for him too maybe.

Right now though, he’s just digging through the fridge for something he can chew on. The contents make him frown, no small part because none of it’s his and while the living, breathing him wouldn’t have given a fuck about stealing his housemates food, it was because he was too high to care. He’s not sure that care is the right word now, but he doesn’t want problems and it leaves him eyeing the pizza with no name on it for longer than he would’ve normally.

[robyn-atwood]

Robyn's just getting home from work, the sky darkened outside and snow still heavy on the ground. She'd just shoveled it yesterday and already it needs to be done again, but tonight she's not feeling up to it. The walk home had been bitter cold and as she comes inside, her cheeks are red, nose cold and stuffed. She's feeling tired, wiped and her hands are burning as they warm up when she steps inside the house. It's far too cold to be walking home from work these days and she can't remember a winter that has been this bad for as long as she's lived here. She can't remember a winter this bad ever, but weather had never been the first thing on her mind growing up. 

Pulling her coat off, she hangs it in the hall closet when she comes inside and then heads into the kitchen to go make some tea. There's a tissue in her pocket she pulls out to run across her nose and she's in the middle of doing that when she steps into the kitchen and sees Elijah. It makes her stop where she is to suck in a breath before continuing over to the cupboard to grab a cup. She looks over her shoulder to see what he's looking at and gives a smile, talking with a stuffed up nose and a sore throat. "You can have some if you want. It's leftover." 

[callumxsinclair]

Grouchy? With an earnest enough smile, Cal duly notes that humanistic adjectives are far better words to use in regards to mechanical appliances. At least, when the blonde is using them they seem like they’re worth a smile - though she has one of those personalities that makes it easier to cough one up. A smile, anyways. Clumsy, halfhearted, off-kilter, the type didn’t really matter. Any display that wasn’t a tight-lipped one was, without a doubt, reserved for an occasion where someone earned it. Perhaps he’s a harsh judge that doesn’t give those around him much of a chance, but just how harsh can he be? He’s smiling now, after all. That’s gotta count for somethin’. "Geez, sounds like he loves his job." Most repairmen probably didn’t, nor would they ever grow to do so.

It’s worth it, though, as she starts to explain the process. No one had to, there certainly weren’t any obligations (well, there shouldn’t have been) around anyone like Cal. He wasn’t polite enough to make others feel guilty about not helping him out. In fact, they might just have been happy to do the opposite. He’s glad that for Robyn, that doesn’t seem to be the case. “That the solution to all the ‘grumpy noise’?” A nod at the last bit, and he’s already catching on. Jimmying things had come to be natural for him - late night shifts often left doorknobs cold and uncooperative. Either way, it’s more than enough of an explanation and he stuffs each hand in a pocket of his hoodie. “Thanks, huh? Appreciate it.”

[robyn-atwood]

Robyn gives a slight laugh at the comment about the repairman. "He's okay. Would you like it if you were a repairman?" she asks jokingly, knowing she wouldn't be able to repair most things if that wound up being her job. She made it a point to speak to the repairman every time he came around. It seemed to be the same guy for the past couple of years, whenever he was available. But sometimes it was someone new who showed up and took care of the things around the house that needed fixing. Robyn tried to do as much of it herself as she could, just to help out the landlord, but sometimes there were just things she didn't know how to fix on her own. 

At the question, she grins over at him. "Just the washing machine," she says, tapping the machine beneath her. "If anything else is making grumpy noises, then I don't recommend sitting on it being your go to solution." She's laughing at her own joke, even if he won't find it funny. At the thank you, she blushes slightly, ducking her head and pushing her hair behind her ear. She doesn't get thanked much these days and it's still unfamiliar for her to hear it coming from someone with such a genuine tone. She nods her head. "Hey, that's what I'm here for," she gives a shrug. "Just trying to help out." 

[ingrvd]

It doesn’t faze her and her face doesn’t change when she hears the number, but she’s aware it’s a while to be in one place. After the time has already passed, however, for whom it passed, the time seemed like nothing. The time seemed like a chance to look back and say, ‘Oh, look how time flew by.’ and any other cliché the person can think of. “Why so long?” Iggy questions, not too sure of what answer she’d be expecting. The girl seemed very cliché — blonde and pretty in all the conventional ways and kind to match along with it. But it was no judgement she had latched onto. There’s no judgement toward anyone kind, especially anyone kind to her.

It strikes her then that she’s never really left the city. Once, she crossed a border over because she was young and had no idea where she was going, lost by her parents, but that’s it. Instead, she stayed comfortably numb inside of this city, tired of the people around her the same as any New Yorker. She nods, an almost solemn answer to the question. Were she more expressive, maybe Robyn would see that there was a realisation for her behind that question. She wasn’t sad, not now, but it meant thinking. It meant possibly changing in the near future because restlessness could only be changed so many ways.

[robyn-atwood]

The way she asks the question is different than most people would ask. It's more direct, not a statement that she must like it here, but a statement of why she's been here so long. There's no guess one way or another, just a simple question and Robyn's not sure which one she appreciates more. When people assume she likes it here, it's easier to pretend that's the reason she hasn't moved on. But when it's just a question like this, it leaves room for her to be more honest about the answer. "I'm just comfortable here," she says, probably the most honest answer she's given to the question of why she's still here. She's comfortable. 

The girl is quiet, her expression neutral more than anything. She barely reacts and if Robyn had to guess it, she was just being polite with the conversations. Just carrying them on because she'd walked into the room and was thrust into it. Not because she particularly cared or was interested in having a conversation. Robyn didn't mind, though. If the girl wanted to leave, she could, if she wanted to keep having a conversation, Robyn would let her do that too. "Plus the rent is cheap enough," she gives a small joke, letting the girl take it as an opportunity if she wants it.

[captainmarcuszeng-blog]

Vivian continues to trail after Robyn, quietly enjoying the tour and committing every twist and turn to her memory in the hopes that it would make her transition into living here much smoother. She lets out a quiet laugh at the idea of past tenants challenging Robyn to ping pong. She imagined that they were caught by surprise when the bright blonde young womman bested them match after match, hell, if Vivian decided to take her up on a challenge and Robyn hadn’t told her, she probably would have been one of them if she opted not to use a few of the extra powers and abilities that came with being what she was. “Is ping pong difficult to play?” she asks, her question honest because even though she knows the sport she hasn’t played it once in her long, long life.

[robyn-atwood]

"It's not hard at all!" Robyn says excitedly, leading them out of the living room and into the main room, where the front door is. They don't have much more to go looking for and she wonders what else she should show Vivian. She could take her out and show her the garage, but it's bitter cold out and it won't be getting much use until the days get warmer. "It's all hand and eye coordination," she says, waving her hand around as if she had a ping pong paddle in her hand and was swinging at an invisible ball coming her way. "It just takes practice and focus. Besides..." she lowers her voice as if she's telling a secret. "Not many people who've come through have been that great. But that's between you and me."