[ She doesn't get busy, although she does inform him where she lives.
Wesley and Zoya live in a small house somewhere in town. Its small outdoor garden is modest, with the flowers bright and looking healthy and lively as though someone's been watering them a little more than the rest of the town's gardens. It's not overgrowing or unwieldy; the house is simply bright.
Zoya's seated on the porch. Once she spots him, she smiles and cocks her brow slightly. ]
[Eyebrows raised as he walks up. There's a pack over his shoulder and a basket in the other hand, the smell of fresh baking rising warm from it. He glances back at the garden.]
I can feel the way the air moves around you. I'd have known if you got lost.
[ Rather than linger on why and how she knows that (it involves a little study of him, something Zoya's begun to do with a lot of the people she—
The people she tolerates. So many of them have disappeared over the last few months.)
—she instead wishes to focus on him. In another way, of course.
Looking at his basket, Zoya easily catches the thick scent of what he's stowed away inside. ]
That smells better than you.
[ Though, she does rise; while she likes sitting on her steps, she doesn't particularly want him to sit beside her, not when more flowers are in her courtyard and a better seating arrangement. She turns, smiling now that he can't see her, and opens the front door wide - ]
Hurry up. We don't have all day.
[ She'll lead him through the small townhouse to the courtyard in the back. It's bright, bursting with flowers and their natural scents. There's a small wooden table off to the side with two chairs. ]
[Knowing the way the air moves around someone is a hell of a thing to say to someone, and Murphy's caught blinking on the steps for a second even as she's already opening the door. Catching up, first on the smell comment - complete with not-so surreptitious checking of his pits, but he'd used the banya this morning, he's fine - and then in pace behind her.]
Why, you need to be somewhere? [He heads for the table as soon as he spots it, setting the basket down, but not unpacking it yet.] Cause I'll be honest, I'd kind of planned on having you for a while.
[ But Zoya says that with a glowing smile. Pulling out the chair opposite to where he stands, she sits. She doesn't feel the need to invite him to do the same; Murphy can do as he pleases as long as it doesn't involve trampling her flowers or taking his basket of nice, warm smells away.
Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms casually against her chest. ]
Don't tell me you intend to feed me with your bare hands.
[His own smile's more the sly tug at the corner of his mouth as he opens the basket, carefully lifted out a cloth-wrapped oblong from inside. Setting it on the table, untying the cloth to reveal the - thankfully still intact - coulibiac he'd made for them. Or for Zoya, specifically.]
Look, you can tell me I'm an idiot if you want, but after the Void, I realised I we don't exactly talk much when we're together. [Pausing, to gesture pointedly with a plate.] Not complaining. [Plate set on the table in front of her.]
[ He is an idiot, but not for the reasons he might think.
Her protest is on the tip of her tongue, but Zoya doesn't release it. She's an idiot. While she knows he's from space (an "air castle") and that he's survived an ordeal she's only scratched the surface of, and that he loves his mother despite her flaws and how she hurts him intentionally and unintentionally… she doesn't know if he likes the colour blue. Or if he writes in cursive or block letters (the memories are vague). Or if he likes flying or gets sick on the sea.
All important things one would know about their friend, right?
She settles back in her chair and concedes. (Look at that; John Murphy did the impossible!) ]
I want to get to know you, too.
[ Yes, that was painful to admit, although Zoya softens the awkwardly said words with a genuine, small smile. There's nothing to lose in admitting as much. Her pride remains intact—and so does he. ]
[The smile she gets in reply is a little bigger, a little brighter. He doesn't linger in it, though. There's an inherent awkwardness in coming at learning about a person like this, and looking at her like a sap isn't going to help.]
Well, we could start with your favourite flower.
[This smile is a little slyer as he serves a generous slice of the coulibiac onto her plate, some relief at seeing the layers of fish and vegetable inside are pretty much perfect.]
Or, you know. [Passing her a knife and fork.] Begin at the beginning.
[ She likes his dumb smile. Saints help her, this town has done something to her.
With a roll of her eyes, Zoya decides she won't be starting at the beginning. The beginning is where she prefers to end her tales of who she is. It contains too many landmines she doesn't wish to set off. ]
I like orchids. Any colour, although I prefer blue. [ What a surprise. ] They're very rare.
[ Zoya smiles, leaning back in her chair a touch smug. ]
[The look he gives her for that is a little flat, a non-verbal come on, seriously. But it isn't like he doesn't understand how hard it is, peeling it all back and laying it all out. At least, when he isn't using it as a weapon, as armour.]
Don't really have one. [Is what he settles on, shrugging.] Apocalypse, space.
[He serves himself a slice of the coulibiac, takes his seat. Decides to lead by example.]
I grew up on farm station. Algae was the first and only plant I knew for a long time.
[ It's so easy to continue giving him such non-answers that reveal a little but not much about her. But he tells her of a farm station, and all she can think about is Pachina, her aunt's chickens, and the dirt beneath her nails her mother used to resent. Did he ever have dirt beneath his nails? Did he ever get to make his hands so dirty his mother would scrub them clean until his skin was red?
But she doesn't wish to speak of Pachina. That's in the past—dead, gone, buried. Instead - ]
My aunt had chickens. [ She glances down for a moment, ignoring the food despite it being a perfect way to distract herself. (If she does that, he'll give her another one of those looks.) ] She had a very small farm. You probably would've found it overwhelming—I don't think there was algae, but she liked growing strawberries, peppers, and potatoes.
[ Many things. She should've opened a vegetable shop instead of tea. Zoya looks at Murphy, curious. ] Have you ever had them?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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What kind of flowers would you give him to make him go away?
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[ But it bears saying: ]
I want the food. You offered, and I accepted. You can bring me flowers next time.
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I'll be about twenty minutes. Don't get busy.
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Wesley and Zoya live in a small house somewhere in town. Its small outdoor garden is modest, with the flowers bright and looking healthy and lively as though someone's been watering them a little more than the rest of the town's gardens. It's not overgrowing or unwieldy; the house is simply bright.
Zoya's seated on the porch. Once she spots him, she smiles and cocks her brow slightly. ]
I wanted to make sure you didn't get lost.
[ She can be such a kind person sometimes. ]
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[Eyebrows raised as he walks up. There's a pack over his shoulder and a basket in the other hand, the smell of fresh baking rising warm from it. He glances back at the garden.]
I don't think you need more flowers.
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I can feel the way the air moves around you. I'd have known if you got lost.
[ Rather than linger on why and how she knows that (it involves a little study of him, something Zoya's begun to do with a lot of the people she—
The people she tolerates. So many of them have disappeared over the last few months.)
—she instead wishes to focus on him. In another way, of course.
Looking at his basket, Zoya easily catches the thick scent of what he's stowed away inside. ]
That smells better than you.
[ Though, she does rise; while she likes sitting on her steps, she doesn't particularly want him to sit beside her, not when more flowers are in her courtyard and a better seating arrangement. She turns, smiling now that he can't see her, and opens the front door wide - ]
Hurry up. We don't have all day.
[ She'll lead him through the small townhouse to the courtyard in the back. It's bright, bursting with flowers and their natural scents. There's a small wooden table off to the side with two chairs. ]
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Why, you need to be somewhere? [He heads for the table as soon as he spots it, setting the basket down, but not unpacking it yet.] Cause I'll be honest, I'd kind of planned on having you for a while.
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[ But Zoya says that with a glowing smile. Pulling out the chair opposite to where he stands, she sits. She doesn't feel the need to invite him to do the same; Murphy can do as he pleases as long as it doesn't involve trampling her flowers or taking his basket of nice, warm smells away.
Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms casually against her chest. ]
Don't tell me you intend to feed me with your bare hands.
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[His own smile's more the sly tug at the corner of his mouth as he opens the basket, carefully lifted out a cloth-wrapped oblong from inside. Setting it on the table, untying the cloth to reveal the - thankfully still intact - coulibiac he'd made for them. Or for Zoya, specifically.]
Look, you can tell me I'm an idiot if you want, but after the Void, I realised I we don't exactly talk much when we're together. [Pausing, to gesture pointedly with a plate.] Not complaining. [Plate set on the table in front of her.]
But I'd like to... get to know you.
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Her protest is on the tip of her tongue, but Zoya doesn't release it. She's an idiot. While she knows he's from space (an "air castle") and that he's survived an ordeal she's only scratched the surface of, and that he loves his mother despite her flaws and how she hurts him intentionally and unintentionally… she doesn't know if he likes the colour blue. Or if he writes in cursive or block letters (the memories are vague). Or if he likes flying or gets sick on the sea.
All important things one would know about their friend, right?
She settles back in her chair and concedes. (Look at that; John Murphy did the impossible!) ]
I want to get to know you, too.
[ Yes, that was painful to admit, although Zoya softens the awkwardly said words with a genuine, small smile. There's nothing to lose in admitting as much. Her pride remains intact—and so does he. ]
What do you want to know?
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Well, we could start with your favourite flower.
[This smile is a little slyer as he serves a generous slice of the coulibiac onto her plate, some relief at seeing the layers of fish and vegetable inside are pretty much perfect.]
Or, you know. [Passing her a knife and fork.] Begin at the beginning.
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With a roll of her eyes, Zoya decides she won't be starting at the beginning. The beginning is where she prefers to end her tales of who she is. It contains too many landmines she doesn't wish to set off. ]
I like orchids. Any colour, although I prefer blue. [ What a surprise. ] They're very rare.
[ Zoya smiles, leaning back in her chair a touch smug. ]
What's yours?
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Don't really have one. [Is what he settles on, shrugging.] Apocalypse, space.
[He serves himself a slice of the coulibiac, takes his seat. Decides to lead by example.]
I grew up on farm station. Algae was the first and only plant I knew for a long time.
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But she doesn't wish to speak of Pachina. That's in the past—dead, gone, buried. Instead - ]
My aunt had chickens. [ She glances down for a moment, ignoring the food despite it being a perfect way to distract herself. (If she does that, he'll give her another one of those looks.) ] She had a very small farm. You probably would've found it overwhelming—I don't think there was algae, but she liked growing strawberries, peppers, and potatoes.
[ Many things. She should've opened a vegetable shop instead of tea. Zoya looks at Murphy, curious. ] Have you ever had them?