The young woman looked to the bag as he pushed it towards her, the scent of cinnamon and sugar hitting her nose. There was no denying that it smelled good, and her stomach perked up a little at the thought of it… He was right about the adrenaline drop, of course…it would hot her and it would hit her hard, after all she had been through that night, but the sugar might help to take some of the edge off.
She thanked him quietly, finally reaching for the paper bag in question. The rest of the roll was carefully pulled out, the young woman slowly nibbling on it. It was good, as she’d expected it would be.
The pair sat in silence for a bit, which she didn’t mind in the least, even if the silence allowed her to drift back into her own head. Which, in retrospect, wasn’t a great idea, considering what she’d been through. She didn’t need that reminder just yet, didn’t need to dwell on that trauma, as she was sure it would replay in her mind for the foreseeable future.
But she nodded a bit when he asked if she wanted to get out of there. Yeah…it might be for the best, because there was no telling if or when The Black Dog would pop up again, when he’d terrorize her once more. Part of her wanted to decline the man’s offer, truth be told, as it wasn’t fair of her to drag him into all of this, but the louder part, the part running the show at the moment, just wanted somewhere off of the grid to rest for awhile. “Y-Yeah…yeah, please.” she murmured, packing away what was left of the roll for later.
He was right. She didn’t want to be alone. As much as she didn’t want to involve anyone else, she really didn’t want to be alone right now.
Glad that he didn't have to awkwardly try and coax her into eating some of the cinnamon roll... he let the silence between the pair of them grow. Really, he wasn't much of an idle talk kind of guy. And they didn't know one another -- literally, he hadn't even bothered to ask her her name yet, and there he was, sitting in a cafe with her like they were friends. Maybe that was just the backlash of surviving, and witnessing the tail-end of a traumatic experience? The grave robber witnessed a great deal of things, actually. Had seen people in their lowest moments, and had countless tale of the mangled corpses he waded through on a daily basis. And still, he wasn't entirely certain what was the protocol on something like this. If there was one at all.
It was nearly a sense of relief, when she had agreed to get out of the cafe. Even though he frequented, there was something about all of this that made him feel so out of place. Or maybe it was reaching out her, they way he had. There was nothing that he could really offer in the way of comfort that didn't come in a glass vial -- so what the hell was he doing? A small part of him wanted to just back pedal. Let her have whatever cash he had on him in the moment -- which was a pretty good sum -- get her set up somewhere safe, and be done with it all. But part of him, maybe whatever humanity was left within a sinner's heart, wanted to see that she really was safe. Not alone, especially after all that she had gone through that night.
Standing once she'd packed up what was left of the roll, he'd let her have his coat again, even if it was big on her. She'd need it more than he would, considering the state of her. Getting the door, he held it open for her, and made a soft rolling sort of gesture in the direction that they needed to go. After a long few minutes, he broke the silence.
"It's not much, but you can stay as long as you need." She could come and go as she needed, he'd show her how to pop the lock to make it easier, if she wanted. However long she needed to feel safe again. Whatever that took.
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