finley scott

finley scott twenty five | interior designer

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

Archer wasn’t surprised that Finley was confronting him about the photos. He tried to keep his attention focused on the food on the stove top as he answered her, deliberately ignoring her full gaze as she turned to face him. He supposed there was no work around to it anymore. He was gonna have to either give her a little bit more to work with or likely lose her trust. And, although they’d just met, he would prefer a life in this new purgatory that wasn’t so alone. The radio silence was starting to drive him mad. “What did I lie about? My family? I don’t have a family, anymore. I’m divorced.“ He paused, drawing a long sigh in debate before he just came out with it. "My daughter is dead. I wasn’t lying.”

She returned the knife to the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t sure if any answer that he gave her would be satisfying... she wasn’t even sure why she bothered asking in the first place. But when he did answer, Finley was taken aback, unsure how to respond to his candidness. “But you keep pictures up anyway...” And then he dropped what may have been the biggest piece of information yet. “I -- I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. No more questions. You’re right.”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“Could be both. Who knows? Maybe I like bossing you, specifically, around,” he answered. “Yeah, I’ve been there. Used to go regularly.” He watched as she chopped, momentarily, something within him kicking into protective mode. He might not have wanted to tell her all about his past, but he sure as hell didn’t want her to hurt herself either. She seemed to be doing fine, so he turned back to the stovetop and began working on double frying tofu as he waited for her to finish the curry paste. Something about what their dynamic had suddenly shifted into felt easy. Unfamiliar, but easy. Like an echo of the nights he and Anna had, cooking together, except the experience now was hollow, because he hardly knew Finley. But then again, what better way to bond than over some food?

As the tofu was cooking, he left momentarily to get the fireplace going, and throw on some music. His playlist had last settled on a contemporary blues song, and the soft harmony drifted through the apartment. Before he turned back to the kitchen he took a moment to look at that photo of him and Vera on the mantle again, sighing softly before he abandoned it again and joined Finley. God, he was starving.

He leaned on the side of the island, plucking chopped bell peppers from the pile. “Thanks for staying,” he started, deciding to let his gaurd down if even just a tiny bit. “Gets lonely, sometimes.”

“Kinky,” she joked, her sense of humor returning to her slowly, now that she was starting to feel somewhat comfortable in his apartment. Finley continued chopping up the chilies, her knife work inconsistent and sloppy at best. “You know what? You’re the expert, here. You should be the one making this.” She wasn’t going to flat-out deny that she didn’t know what she was doing... but she didn’t want to mess up what they were making, either. But once she’d turned to face him, he was gone, off by the fireplace, staring at a picture there. When he returned, she decided to say something. “Must be, if you don’t have any family in town. Especially now.” She glanced down at the cutting board, then over to one of the pictures, before facing Archer again. “So... are you some kind of pathological liar? Or did you decide you just can’t trust me?”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“That’s correct,” he answered mindlessly, turning the stove on to heat up the pan as he gathered all the ingredients for a red curry. “Good thing I’m vegan then. And, yes, I can handle actual heat. You can decide how many of these,” he held up the small red thai peppers before setting them down on the island in front of her, “to add to the paste. Do you know how to make the paste?” He asked, noticing which knife she’d chosen. It was one of his sharpest knives. In his lonesome he’d began teaching himself how to cook in the last few years, and in his quest to master knife skills, he’d invested in some extremely sharp knives.

“Be careful with that knife,” he advised. “Here, actually… let me show you, so you don’t hurt yourself. Use your knuckles, like this–” he demonstrated, before grabbing a pepper and placing it onto the cutting board. He grabbed an even sharper knife out of the drawer and looked to her, to make sure her attention was on him. ”Okay, now – watch me, you have to keep doing this while you chop so you don’t hurt yourself. Watch my hand.” In a slower tempo than he normally would have cut up food, he showed her how to properly use the knife, balling up his knuckle against its backside as he chopped up the pepper, then tossed it into the pestle. “You go ahead and give it a go… like I taught you,” he requested, setting the used knife down now, so not to worry her. Cautiously, he took her hand to show her exactly how to go through the steps, guiding her with his own slowly. “Okay… try on your own.”

She was expecting him to give her a hard time about her requests. But when he obliged, it caught her off guard. She really felt like she didn’t have a firm read on Archer... and that was fair enough, considering they’d only met that afternoon. She moved to set aside a few of the peppers as he spoke. “Of course I know how to,” Finley asserted. A lie. But she wanted to seem capable -- to prove Archer wrong, to show him that she wasn’t just some prissy woman who wasn’t able to do anything on her own.  But she let him guide her, eventually his hand over hers. She couldn’t help but smirk. “You like telling people what to do? Or do you not trust me with this thing?” Finley turned towards him before returning to the food, doing what he’d shown her. “There was this great Thai place before all of this happened. Off of Lilac and Kingsway? Have you ever been there?”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

Archer finished up opening the last window and then made his way back into the kitchen. His apartment was rather lackluster. Nothing glamorous. It was an updated unit so at least the countertops were granite and the floors were stained hardwood, but otherwise his decoration skills were lacking. He had a single painting hung above his couch of an old time-y world map, and the rest was just pictures of the family he no longer had, clustered atop the mantle. “I’m not a serial killer, Finley.”  He tried to reassure, pulling pots and pans from cabinets. “Do you like thai food? I’ll even let you handle the chopping if it makes you more comfortable for me to not hold a knife,” he joked, but he was being serious. He leaned on the island now, looking her way expectantly. She was afraid so he’d give her control of the situation now. He wasn’t a complete asshole.

She had to remind herself that he hadn’t raised all of the red flags in her mind. There was something about him that seemed safe. Something that felt trustworthy, even if he hadn’t said anything to back that up. Finley glanced around, noticing the pictures around the apartment and how bare the rest of it seemed to be. “Right. You’re a paramedic. You save people. That’s kind of the opposite. We’ve been over that,” she replied, more for herself than for him. She nodded at his question, biting down on her lip as she moved into the kitchen. She immediately opened a few drawers until she found a knife, holding it in a way that clearly showed her lack of culinary skills. “Thai’s fine. As long as you can handle actual heat. I like spice. And low carb, and no meat -- I’m trying to stay healthy til all of this blows over.”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

Finley’s question actually took the man aback. He wasn’t thinking. For a woman, all by herself, being invited into a man’s home who she didn’t know and could easily overpower her, his offer must have held a real threat that he hadn’t thought about. “Oh – sorry.” His first apology of the night, one that was probably long overdue. “Leave the door open if it makes you feel more comfortable.” He paused, finding her eyes now, from across the room though she stood in the doorway. “I would never hurt you, Finley.” He was dead serious. Even if she had been joking, he wanted her to understand that he wasn’t a threat to her. “If you want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you.”

Leaving the door open wasn’t going to offer much protection... but it was something. She’d taken self-defense classes before -- she was smart enough to do that, at least. But it had been months, if not at least a year since the last one, and she couldn’t be certain she remembered much of it at all. “That’s what all the serial killers say,” she pushed back, keeping her tone light. “I’ve seen the movies. A man with a troubled past lures in a pretty girl with hints of his mysterious backstory... and weeks later, she’s found floating in a river somewhere.” She took a tentative step inside his apartment, if only to take a better look at how he’d set it up. “Good thing we’re not in a movie.”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“What changed?” he paused, stopping as they neared the steps that ascended up to his building. “I realized I was hungry,” he answered, then began walking up. Once he unlocked the door and walked inside, he left it ajar for her to follow after him if he wanted. But as he walked in and threw his keys down on the island in the kitchen, he realized that he hadn’t thought this through. He still had pictures of him and Vera everywhere, some with his ex-wife Anna in them as well. And the one sitting above the fireplace on the mantle, right beside his daughter’s urn, was the last one of them taken together. Him smiling through the pain in his chest, knowing that his little girl was dwindling into nothing, as he held her weakened body in that hospital bed. She had all types of tubes and wires attached to her, but she’d slumbered, bald and adorned in hospital gown, peacefully in his arms. Just an hour prior, what had prompted him to lay down in the hospital bed with her, she’d been huffing out weak sobs. She was in pain, even through all of the narcotics. She was in unimaginable pain. And when Archer had held her, she’d cried into his chest, whispering that she loved him, until she fell asleep. Anna had snapped the picture. A few hours later she flatlined.

Archer tried to expel the memory from his head, willing himself to return to the refreshed state the fresh air had brought to him. In an attempt to regain his composure he walked around the perimeter of the kitchen and living room, pushing open all the windows to let the cool air in. “Make yourself comfortable,” he called out behind him, gruffly, not actually knowing if she was in the house.

He was hungry -- and though she wasn’t necessarily hungry herself, she was tempted to take Archer up on the offer. He was inviting her in, quite literally, and it almost felt rude to decline or to push him away again. But she couldn’t ignore the red flags that popped up -- the fact that he was aloof, that she barely knew him, and that he was inviting her into his home. She could only imagine what Tristan would say if he was there... and surely he wouldn’t have approved. She followed him up the steps, stopping right outside his door. “How do I know you’re not going to tie me up and kill me or something?” she called back, half-teasing. “Joking, of course...”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

Archer raised his brows, impressed. Not many people could surmise much more than that he was an asshole out of his stoicism. “Yeah, that’s pretty close,” he allowed, cerulean eyes glancing over at her to study her face.His tongue traveled his inner cheek as he debated. She seemed… flustered, almost? “So, have my assumptions about you been correct, too? Or are you too prideful to tell me?” He paused, seeing that the few blocks they’d travelled had disappeared quicker than anticipated, and they were nearing his apartment building. “You hungry?” he asked, following very uncharacteristically with: “I’ll make us dinner.” Whether he would admit it to himself or not, he was beginning to enjoy her company, and now didn’t quite want their little interaction to end.

If Finley was anything, it was full of pride, unable to give in to a man simply because he asked her to. He’d been pretty spot on in his analysis of her, in figuring out that she came from money, that she thrived off of attention, that she found him intriguing for his eyes, his beard... and the way he distanced himself, too. But instead of answering, she looked past him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer. “Why? You didn’t want anything to do with me ten minutes ago. What changed?”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“I never said that,” he responded calmly. “What are your assumptions of me, then, if you think I’m just as easy to read as you are.” Truthfully the man was curious if she could pinpoint what he was hiding. Though he wasn’t going to directly let her on.

When he turned the question back to her, Finley had to stop for a moment to get her thoughts together. She had plenty of thoughts about the man during their brief interaction -- but now that he’d asked her to share them, she had a hard time thinking of anything specific. After a moment of quiet, she decided to share what little she’d been able to get together. “You don’t like talking about yourself -- even answering little questions bother you. You think it makes you attractive. Mysterious. Even if it actually makes you an ass. Something... or someone hurt you, and that’s why you can’t take five seconds out of your day to engage in a little friendly conversation. You judge people who can have a good time just because you forgot how. Happy?”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

After he’d thrown the trash bag into the dumpster and Finley had apparently been offended enough to stop walking with him, he stood with her for just a moment, smirking down at her. “You’re not a difficult person to read, Finley.” Then he turned and kept walking, confident she would follow. And if she didn’t, he didn’t care either. He wasn’t going to let the woman tie him down in any form. Mostly what he was thinking about was food. He hadn’t eaten at all that day, and a cup of lukewarm coffee wasn’t going to cut it with nutrition.

“What, and you’re this great master of disguising what you feel? You’re not better than me just because you refuse to have a conversation that goes deeper than your name and how you make your money.” She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing in frustration. 

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

It was dusk out, and the air was cooled tones and painted skies. The hum of crickets calling out to each other was beginning, and the wind rushing past his face felt refreshing. He breathed it deeply in as they walked, exactly to where he wasn’t quite sure. His body was naturally steering him in the direction of his apartment. “What chord did you strike wrong?” he echo’d to give himself some stalling time, to figure out how to respond. “None,” he answered stiffly, deciding to try to shut the conversation down again rather than explain himself. “You like being bossed around, don’t you? Didn’t show you manners but here you are, walking with me anyway. You like being bossed around.”

Finley followed him, wondering where this would take them. Clearly they were going to the dumpster to take out the garbage... but she couldn’t tell if she was further bothering him or indulging him by following along. He said that she hadn’t done anything wrong... and yet... she felt like she hadn’t done anything right, either. When he finally spoke up, she stopped in her tracks. “We were having a conversation. It would be rude of me not to.” She frowned. “You make a lot of assumptions for a man who barely knows me. Sorry for trying to be kind.”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“Someone needs to step up and start delegating things around here. Turn this back into at least something of a society again.” Archer looked Finley’s way now, releasing a small but forced snort. “You must be something of a big wig then. Or, at least hang out with big wigs. Sure. Maybe you do… Or maybe you don’t. Don’t wanna settle down and get married?” He paused. “That was not me proposing, by the way.”

To his dismay, it seemed his poker face was unusually weak today. Something he’d probably primed himself into, with his downward mental spiral before Finley had broken the silence. The man chose to ignore her second musings. He didn’t want to let her in, and he’ wasn’t going to entertain the idea of a fairytale purgatory somehow becoming their reality. Instead, the man grunted as he suddenly stretched out his arms and legs. His legs were starting to tingle from sitting for so long.  “Go for a walk with me,” he demanded, gruffly, as he pushed back out of his seat and swooped up his empty coffee cup. After dropping it into the overflowing trash bin, he took out the bag and tied it up, making a beeline outside towards the dumpster. He was leaving with or without her. He’d get his answer when she followed after him.

Of course he was one of those people. One of the many who thought that things needed to be put back into some semblance of an order -- as if things had been working out perfectly before all of this happened. “And let me guess -- it’s going to be you? You and your big, manly self are going to whip this place back into what it needs to be?” He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who had to do everything himself. But then again... she wasn’t counting anything out. “Your words. Not mine. Though I will say that I’m proud of what I’ve put together for myself.” That was her attempt at humility, anyway. When Archer got up to take out the trash, she was caught off guard with his brashness. “No please? Thank you?” Finley asked, getting up to follow him, anyway. “What chord did I strike wrong this time?”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“Not necessarily,” he began. “People still need emergency services. There’s just no system to it now. I’m the only one left from the station, as far as I know. So there’s no service to call us, no one to answer the call, and no one to drive the ambulance while I’m in the back. People are fending for themselves.” He tried his best to mimic the pep in her tone, albeit poorly. “That does sound like a silver lining. Didn’t know an event planner was an actual job. Assumed it was something HGTV made up.So what’s a girl like you doing single? These New Ham guys not good enough for you?”

“I’m, uh… yeah. Fine.” He answered, but he truthfully couldn’t remember the last time he felt okay. Or if he had ever felt okay. It felt like his life had been one big slew of sadness back to back, just constantly pummeling into him. And questionss like that brought him back to reality. Reminded him, brutally, that he was lonely to his very core. That bneath the seemingly endless layers of emotional unavailability, something deep within him just wanted to be held. Something deep within him just wanted to feel loved. But, instead, he perpetuated his own love starvation. And reassured Finley with a lie. “I’m okay.”

He had a point. She hadn’t thought about the fact that there weren’t any operating hospitals, that the ambulances hadn’t been running due to a lack of people to drive them rather than a lack of emergencies. “It’ll be back to normal soon, I’m sure.” It had to be. She wouldn’t stop asserting that until it came true. “Someone has to put together galas, dinners, election parties... bat mitzvahs. And people are far more likely to trust someone who knows what they’re doing than their vodka-soaked aunt.” Finley shrugged. “Maybe I like my life this way. Ever think about that?”

It was clear that he wasn’t fine. He was anything but fine. But Finley didn’t know if he wanted to be pushed to answer, or if he wanted her to shut up -- so she settled on something that she felt was in between. “Lying’s not good for the conscience,” she murmured, her tone half-joking. “That can’t be good for you if this is actually purgatory like people are saying...”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

Archer heard Finley, but not truly. He was quickly slipping right back into the state he’d been in when she’d first spoken to him. When he’d been staring at her. Only now he kept his gaze away, afraid that if he looked at her face it wouldn’t center him like he needed so desperately in this moment. Instead, he feared he might find an expression of worry staring back at him. He just wished she would stop prying. Stop trying to know him more than he could let on before he felt the need to push her away. “Yeah, well… Used to be at least. Haven’t put that uniform on since coming back. Do you have a job?” he tried, steering the conversation back towards her. “What about you? Husband, wife….. kids? Travels?”

He was still quiet. Too quiet for her liking, though something told her that pushing him to speak before he was ready wasn’t the best of ideas. She sat there, waiting for him to speak, hoping that he’d pick up the conversation again so that it wouldn’t all be on her terms. “That’s probably for the best, then, isn’t it?” she asked. At least if he wasn’t still working as a paramedic, that hopefully meant that nobody was getting hurt. “Of course I have a job. I’m not a heathen,” she joked. “I’m an event planner. -- Unmarried, and before you ask, no, I’m not dating anyone either. Tragic. I know. My next big trip was actually to go visit some family to work on a project... so that’s probably going to have to happen without me. At least I’m not losing a client, though. Silver lining? I guess?”

“Are you... okay?”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

Ah. How did he know she was going to pry further? The older man sighed, now frustrated and feeling the familiar blanket of defense wash over him. He was halfway to shutting her question down when her words stopped him in his tracks. She’d asked him about a lot more, but all he could focus on was “kids”. The word alone brought the memory of his little girl flooding back into his head. Their conversation had been going so well, keeping him so distracted. But now he felt that ache in his chest that he knew much too well, the one that always preceded a vulnerable reminiscing of his daughter. And suddenly, with Finley staring unknowingly over at him, in high spirits… he was on the verge of tears. He cleared his throat and looked away quickly, staring stonily back out the window. He didn’t answer her, in fear that his voice would shake, while he tried his hardest to mentally compose himself. To get Vera out of his head.

Several minutes passed before he felt confident in the steadiness of his voice, but he didn’t look at her again. “No. None of that.” He paused. “I’m a paramedic.”

She could tell that she’d pressed him too far again. Just as she thought she was making progress, just as she thought she’d seen him smile, he was back to being his sulky self, turning away so that she couldn’t see whatever face he was making. Finley was more frustrated at herself than with Archer. Why couldn’t she keep things light-hearted and fun? What had she said that turned him away like that? She glanced down at her lap, trying to think of something -- anything -- that could turn the conversation around. And then he spoke up. “None of that? Seriously? Okay, well... everyone’s got a past. I’m sure you’ve got some stories to tell once you get out of whatever funk you’re in.” She brushed some hair over her shoulder. “A man in uniform, then...”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“Alright, you’ve proven me wrong. At least your parents had an imagination. Hmm… A mommy’s girl then, huh?” Archer sighed, debating whether or not he wanted to share. The town was now more close knit than ever. Everyone knew everything about everyone, so if he didn’t let his own information out, maybe his darker past mistakes wouldn’t somehow resurface. There were only a few people in this world who truly knew the man, and the two that had lived in West Ham were now nowhere to be found. But, he decided, there would be no harm in sharing the basics. Though, sitting here with her, introducing himself – admittedly it reminded him of something of a first date. And he felt a very demanding urge for a beer to accompany their conversation. His large palm found his face and he dragged it down, as if to reset his mind. “You already know my name. Thirty-five, divorced. Born outside of Philly. Don’t know what else there is to tell.”

“They’ve got that going for them. And that’s about it.” That was hardly fair; Finley liked her parents well enough, even if they were no longer together, her father barely spoke to her save for her birthday and holidays, and her mother had jumped straight from one marriage to another. But all things considered, she wasn’t too unhappy, she supposed. She picked up her latte and finished it in a few sips. “Thirty-five, Philadelphia, divorced... and that’s all you have to share? I’m sure there’s something more you’ve done in your life. Traveled the world? Had kids, a nice house, white picket fence? What do you do? You’ve gotta give me something.”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

Archer chuckled now. “Woman, you’re about to make me just look you up on Spokeo.” He cleared his throat, pondering for a moment. “You look like an Isabella. I’m gonna say… twenty-two. Born here. And I bet you’re a daddy’s girl, too. Want me to guess your social security number too or was that enough demographic?”

“Don’t you need a little more to go off of before you can do that?” At least he was loosening up a little bit. The small laugh was enough for Finley to know that she was doing something right. “Isabella? Seriously? I’m hurt you think I’m that basic.” At least her parents had done something right by giving her a name that was memorable. “You’re wrong, though. -- Finley. Twenty-five. I might’ve been born here, but... two moms.” She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was, in fact, a daddy’s girl at heart, regardless. “Now it’s your turn. Share.”

[scott-finley]

archer-ivor‌:

“You caught me,” he answered dryly. And then for a long moment, Archer just stared across the table at her, cerulean eyes studying her features. Although he was still very certain of his earlier presumptions that she had to have grown up without struggle, he wondered if she had even a tiny sense of humility. “Not gonna tell me your name?” he prompted again. She seemed to be evading his question. Maybe payback for his teasing. “How old are you, Jane Doe?”

So he was interested. He wanted to know her name, either to know who she was so that he could stay far away in the future, or because he was secretly enjoying this more than he was letting on. “Why should I?” she teased. “I know it’s the usual go-to, but do I really look like a Jane to you? Be creative. Guess.”