children [bel]

[elliot]

I used to think that there were such things as heroes; men who fought to keep the balance. They would save damsels in distress and win the hearts of many. The summers were always warm and bright, and the women beautiful in those stories, too. There would always be a way out of the horrid. There was always a way to live and triumph over others who would beat you down.

This, though, was reality.

"Shh," the soft murmuring of children fill the air and press upon his ears. "He's asleep," another states as hands grasp the edge of the table. They nearly swing from the edge then and there; noses pressing upon the table as they peer over their small hands onto him. They are as quick and nimble as monkies as they launch onto the table across from him. Then his eyes flit open from their persistence and the sudden scraping of chair legs; awakening with the knowledge of being watched only to stare down on two young girls. They giggle and grin; eyes alight with mirth.

His own eyes fall down at the back of his hand where his knuckles had been marked with a black marker. The two suspects continue to sit across from him and his own eyes narrow at them. He bares his teeth at them and off they go with a giggle and squeal of fear. They bounce on each third step; flying down the hall of the library until their mother was upon them.

...children...

He sniffs the back of his hand and his nose wrinkles at the offending scent of a strong marker. His tongue smooths from the corner of his mouth only to run down the length of his lower lip. How long had he been asleep? He wasn't too sure. The library was still open though. He felt weary then and there for good reason. It seemed that a lack of sleep had begun to plague him; ruining his nights thoroughly. He knits his brows and presses his palms against his eyes; elbows propping upon the edge of the table simultaneously. Certainly falling asleep in public was embarassing.

He didn't look horrid at the very least though.

Sure, there was a semblance of weariness clear within his eyes as day, but his clothing was well off. Stonewashed denim adorning his legs and faded brown shoes; even a awning stripe rugby shirt of white-and-blue. The collar, though, lingers undone and the sleeves rolled to his biceps with a wrist watch on his left. His stubble might speak of a few days having gone without a shave though. That wasn't enough to dub him as anything horrid and much less a bum. Yet, little did he know of the markings made upon his cheek by two certain little rascals that had gotten away...

...children!

[bel]

Miss Annabel Lee wasn’t quite oblivious to those small children across the room from her. The ones who seemed to have been nothing but trouble since they stepped into the library. They probably needed a nap, or so Annabel thinks. Though maybe that was simply the teacher in her saying that, then again, watching kindergarteners could hardly be considered teaching. Maybe babysitting with an excessive amount of schooling under her belt.

Still, over-tired kids seemed to be nothing more than trouble, as these kids were.

Annabel had opted not to do anything, though, to simply watch those brats from behind the binding of her book. All whilst doing her best to keep from laughing with those little hellions. They weren’t her kids, so they could hardly be considered her problem, or so Annabel has come to decide. And then, they were off, though shot out of a cannon; obviously they had a good number of hours logged in the ways of misbehaving.

Annabel was sure that she’d acted much the same when she was a child.

Those pretty green eyes of hers tear away from that man’s sleeping form, only to eye the clock set upon the wall, still peeking from behind that musty smelling book of hers. Treasure Island. something she’d likewise read when she was younger.

“Hey,” Annabel whispers, her voice more than audible despite that raspy tone a whisper is generally associated with. Her best attempts to garner this boy’s attention. Meanwhile the girl lowers that book away from her soft mouth, all whilst jamming a sheet of paper within the binding of her book to mark her place before hesitantly slamming the covers closed.

Annabel tucks that book under arm before sliding from that ancient table.

Make no mistake, Annabel was a forward girl who seemed to lack any semblance of embarrassment, or care for that of others. Still, she steps closer and gestures to her own face - more specifically her cheek, “Ya got shit on your face,” Bel informs him, all whilst offering up a shameless grin, with no hint or attempt at stifling such.

“Let me see,” Annabel demands of him, dropping her purse to his table top and thereafter fishing out a tissue - something all women seemed to tote about. She presses that pseudo fabric to the flat and slick surface of her tongue before catching up his chin with her free hand. Assessing the damage.

Expo marker, fantastic.

[elliot]

He hadn't noticed anyone else near him. Mayhap he should have though. There had been a time within his life that he could have sworn his keen awareness had made him the better choice amongst other guides. Now, though, was a different story. He wouldn't admit that though. One could call such a thing a matter of pride, really. Either way, he couldn't help but stare at her.

She's a pretty woman with a soft mouth that's made for kissing and other such things; things that should be kept his own mind. Yeah, he's a man and he couldn't help but think about that. It's slipping from his mind soon enough though when he realizes that she's talking to him; whispering, rather. He looks surprised with the way his mouth hangs there gaping and eyes settle on her.

"Huh?" He asks dumbly of her when she does draw near and speaks to him more properly. He could hardly believe what she had said. Who could blame him? "Ya got shit on your face," wasn't exactly a proper greeting. So, he stares at her with knit brows. Yet, she's grinning without shame and there's even a hint of amusement within those eyes of her. Yeah, she didn't hide a thing.

All the while he's watching her dumbstruck. His gaze flits from her face to her hands and then to the motion of her purse. She moves and within moments she's wetting a tissue with her tongue; her warm, pink muscle. Then her hand upon his chin brought him down to earth and he fought with ease like some squirming child. It's expect...almost, rather. Ah, well...

"Wait!" He begins and reaches up to catch her wrist before she could drop that saliva slick tissue onto his cheek. He didn't even know this woman! He didn't want to be treated like a child, either. He's a grown man! He narrows his eyes at her. "I don't want that shit on my face," he states firmly. "Are you mad?" He asks of her and continues to stare at her like she truly was crazy.

"I'm a man, you know," he adds.

He's not a boy. That's what he doesn't say.

Yet, he doesn't even move. He doesn't pull from the touch on his chin. He does hold her other wrist though rather firmly within his rough and calloused hand. He swallows and licks his lower lip as his gaze settles on her own. What made him different other than that black-marked cheek of his was that undoubtedly Irish albeit subtle accent that riddles each word that falls from his tongue.

[bel]

“You don’t want this shit on your face?” Annabel asks of him. Though there’s no doubt she’d properly heard out his argument, “Maybe you’d prefer I drew a fuckin’ pair’a’glasses to go with that game of tic tac toe those brats played on your face,” Miss Annabel Lee argues, all in a hushed, and library appropriate tone. Her brows, though, are knit.

Why was she being so adamant about fixing the markings upon this young man’s face? Perhaps it was the mother in her, or the teacher. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he was making such a damned fuss over having a little spit on his face. It was an amusing thought, overall, considering most men she knew wouldn’t quite mind her spit elsewhere but not on their face, and not with a tissue. Still, Bel wriggles her hand within his own touch, flapping that tissue almost madly in some attempts at touching it to his face and those markings, or at the very least get him to release her.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, boy,” Miss Courcel makes a point of calling him boy this time about, biting back a grin as she does so, “Ya look quite the fool,” she informs him, pinching a single eye shut. That smile’s quick to creep across that soft mouth of hers; clearly amused with the current happenings between the two, “It’d be quite the shame if your face got stained,” she comes to argue thereafter.

Her free hand lifts from beneath his chin only to slip her thumb between those soft and almost impossibly pillowy lips of hers. Annabel bats her lashes and suckles upon such a digit for a short moment before releasing such and bringing her fingertip to swipe upon his well stubbled cheek and scrub with ease. It’s obvious she’s done this a time or two before.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asks of him, then, hand falling away to clean her fingertip upon the hem of her skirt, blotting any remainder of ink away and onto the light fabric. Annabel bites to the lower tier of her pout and eyes the boy almost critically. From his handsome features, to the smudged ink upon his face. There was no doubt that he was attractive, though an undeniable mess.

[elliot]

"You heard me," he states more firmly than last time and eyes her critically all the while. What was his argument? Well, he didn't want her spit on his face but more for the fact that he didn't want her treating him like a child. Then her argument came through and he didn't exactly want to admit that she may be right. Yet, was she? He didn't know. He couldn't see his face but judging by the marks on the back of his hand and the sudden abruptness of her trying to clean his face...

...well, anything's possible, no?

She calls him a boy and Elliot pulls a face at the mention. He certainly was no boy. He wrinkles his nose at the mention of looking like a fool and he simply narrows his eyes at her further. He attempts to evoke a semblance of a threatening look and nearly manages but even then...well, she's certainly different, and she's right. "I..." He trails. Would it be a shame? Yes, it would. He purses his mouth and wrinkles his nose once more. Anymore and it may stick that way!

He continues to hold her hand despite their arguments. His face tips away and gaze flits to her hand that seems to wallow within his grip. She's attempting to clean him with every ounce of her and he had to keep from laughing. Yet, when he suddenly catches sight of her suckling on her thumb...ah! He stares wide eyed and then whines faintly when she finally laughs her thumb upon his stubble-covered cheek. He lifts a hand to touch gently upon her other wrist.

"Argh!" He groans and his face tips away only a slight. Her hand falls away, though, and his own lifts to rub at his cheek. He shakes his head at her words when realizing he was still holding her other wrist. He releases her hand then and gnaws on his lower lip. "I suppose not," he says and lowers his hand from his cheek as he stares up at her face. "Do I look fine now?" He asks suddenly. That was the question now, and truth be told, he did. So did she.

"Do I owe you one now?"

[bel]

Annabel finds herself smiling this whole time. Her soft lips parted, and those teeth of hers exposed along with the press of her tongue against the backs of her teeth.

Her hand had been released, though, and it takes Annabel a moment to realize this, before her hand is falling to place that piece of tissue back within the confines of her almost-undersized purse. Her brows furrow for a moment before she’s likewise stuffing that copy of Treasure Island within. Needless to say, it doesn’t quite fit, and more than hangs out from within that zippered top. There’s a chance it would simply fall free when she attempts to leave.

Her hands tuck to her hips, and soon enough she finds the rise of her hip nudging upon the ledge of that table, all the while she’s eyeing him. More for the fact that he’d questioned her of his appearance than anything else. Her lips purse and she even goes as far as to squint as she scrutinizes his appearance, her hand lifts once more to cup upon his jaw and overturn his face, “Y’look fine,” Bel compliments, “Handsome even!” Miss Courcel compliments thereafter.

She offers up a warming sort of smile, her hand falling away from his jaw to press against the curve of her side.

“You can buy me dinner,” Annabel offers, her brows lift along with a slight pout forming upon her soft mouth. Though she gives a quick shake to her head, dismissing the idea of him taking her out, let alone buying her dinner. Sure, Annabel was a forward girl, but she wasn’t about to force him onto a date with her. Aside that, she wasn’t even sure that she’d even enjoy his company! He seemed snaky, to say the least of him.

“No, though I expect if a couple of brats decide to draw on my face you’ll have my back, too,” Annabel offers up a look which would imply that she’s all too sincere, “Alright?” she questions, thereafter, just to be sure that all had been made clear for him. Though in all truth Miss Annabel Lee wasn’t too afraid of her, likewise, being subject to this strange fate.

[elliot]

He watches her then and there; gaze searching her face all the while. She's a lovely woman and that's something he certainly cannot deny. Yet, there's something that's entirely eccentric about her, too. He couldn't help but make note of the book she sets within her purse. It doesn't even fit and looks ready to fall free and onto the floor. He stares then and suddenly becomes drawn away at her sudden utterance. He couldn't help his sudden albeit slight smile.

"Is that so?" He asks of her and muses, too. It's then that stubborn and serious look seemed to melt away toward a semblance of merriment. "You aren't so bad yourself," he offers his own compliment and rubs his cheek once more to assure that his cheek was clean of her saliva. Then suddenly she was speaking again and...well, what could he say?

"I...Are you --" No, she wasn't serious. He swallows and gnaws on his lower lip once more. "I'll watch your back," he suddenly says and nods curtly. He wrinkles his nose and slowly comes to his feet. It was then that he was reaching downward and flipping a book shut. Yes, there had been a book pinned beneath his arms beforehand. It was what he had been reading before falling asleep.

The Odyssey

Every boy had a hero.

"What about coffee?" He asks of her suddenly and offers her a slight smile before reaching over to the seat beside his own. It was there where his messenger bag had been laying; faded and strewn over with patches that would be expected upon a pilot's flight coat. They depicted the names, and banners, of different countries. He lifts such to his shoulder and reaches for the book thereafter.

"It's the least I could do. You could of let me walk around like an ass, after all."

"Elliot," he suddenly says and offers his hand; the free one.

[bel]

“Good,” Annabel agrees when he admits to having her back. Though this would, more than likely, be a more than useless agreement. Though, if need be, Annabel had insurance policy taken out.

“I could live with coffee,” Annabel comes to agree before she, too, is gathering up what she’d brought with her. That purse is lifted upwards and that book, as predicted, flopped dumbly to the floorboards below. Perhaps the noisiest thing this library has seen all day. Though no one bothers with a hushed “Shh!” perhaps it was far too late in the day for the librarians to hold that sort of passion. After all, Annabel could only imagine how absolutely dull it was spending hour after hour behind those desks. Refilling books, and stamping them alongside keeping an eye on everyone. She’d long since have run out of vinegar, too.

“Annabel,” she finds herself introducing, turning in place, mid step so her hand may slip within the boy’s grasp, “Prefer Bel, though, t’be honest,” she finds herself confessing. There certainly was no beating around the bush with this woman.

She offers a more than pleasant smile to make up for what could be considered blatant rudeness.

“Do you have a place in mind?” she finds herself asking. Annabel had lived her some few months, and still she didn’t quite have a hold on what could be considered The places to eat. To get coffee. Which clubs to frequent. Perhaps running into this boy was a stroke of luck. After all, Miss Courcel was a self-proclaimed people person.

Still, she didn’t expect this Elliot to have a place in mind. To be more than honest he didn’t exactly sound like he was from around these parts! Perhaps the two of them would be doomed to wandering the streets together until they found a place.

Her neck cranes to eye the book beneath his arm. And then, his bag, “Cute bag,” Annabel chooses to compliment instead. It was certainly unique, to say the least.

[elliot]

She could live with coffee. Well, that's good then, because he wasn't so sure whether or not a nice dinner would be worthwhile with her. That's not to say she wasn't a kind woman but who knew within this day and age of sketchy folks? They could turn out hating one another and finding eachother to be horrid company at best. So, coffee was cheap and Elliot certainly needed caffeine.

"Good," he says but then the thump of her book becomes all too audible as striking within the silence of the library. He looks from her and toward the book, and even stoops to eagerly help her. With that he wrinkles his nose and smile that assures her all was well. Everyone made mistakes; even those who think small purses can hold big books, too.

"Annabel," he echoes her and smiles wide as he grasps her hand. "Bel," he adds to her benefit. He was fine with that nickname albeit he hadn't give any to her in turn. He didn't really have one though. Sure, he had been called Drake before, but that's certainly no pet name to go by. Ah, well.

"Ah," he looks thoughtful. "There's a place around the corner. It's small and local, but the coffee's well and there's hardly any lines when compared to Starbucks," he assures her. Sure, he wasn't from around here, but Elliot knew where he could find a cheap meal and caffeine. It's what he practically lived on nowadays. That was another story for another time though.

"Do you need to check out your book?" He questions and lolls his head toward the book she now held. He smiles. "I can carry it for you, too," he adds. "With your luck you may lose it with that purse of yours," he says and grins somewhat. It's around that time as he settles his bag around him; strap across his chest and bag settling at the small of his back. His brows suddenly lift with a scoff and faux-offense. "It's not cute," he assures her and wrinkles his nose at her.

"Anyway, are you ready?"

[bel]

“Thank you,” Annabel breathes in return as that book was passed in her direction. Her brows furrow as she eyes that book she’d previously selected. Was it worth checking out? Heaven only knew how many times she’d managed to read such a text throughout the entirety of her lifetime. Dozens more than likely, or at least a good handful of times.

Handsome, and polite, to boot.

There was hope for modern day men, yet.

“Sounds delightful,” Annabel seems eager to agree. And who could blame her? She didn’t so much mind coffee, nor the company she was currently keeping. So what exactly was to keep her from simply enjoying her night? Nothing, or so it seems, and Annabel was always eager to enjoy her evening, whether it be on her own, or not.

Still, there was the matter of her own book to tend to. Once more she finds herself eyeing that old and faded cover, a single ivy shaded eye pinching shut as she addresses the simplistic black-on-blue title. Did she want to finish it? Well, sure, she did, though she supposed it could wait for another day, when a long wait at the check out counter wouldn’t matter so much as it may now. After all, not everyone had the patience of a saint. “I think it can wait for another night,” Annabel finally decides, motioning to simply drop the book upon one of those stationary dollies, which all other books awaiting placement sat.

“Do you?” she questions of him then, once more eyeing that bag of his. Perhaps he’d checked it out before deciding to take a seat within the quite confines of that library.

“It is so,” she finds herself arguing eagerly. Seemingly just to spite him. Still, she finds a warming smile taking to her soft mouth, though to imply that she was simply teasing him. Even if she did think the bag was cute, it wouldn’t be something worth arguing over.

Annabel finds herself eyeing him once more, her tongue smoothing against the lower tier of her pout in an almost thoughtful touch.

[elliot]

He watches her discard her choice of book. It was unfortunate, really. He had half-expected her to bring that along. Ah, well. He looks down upon her book and only looks to his own selection thereafter; shifting such within his grasp, even. "I suppose not," he says suddenly and looks up to her face then; brows lifting, too. "We can leave that for our next date, eh?" He asks of her with a boyish grin. He's teasing, of course. Who knew what might come of them? Again, they might hate one another. There was no rule that they needed to like one another. Plus, he didn't want to make her wait for him to check out a book if she wouldn't be checking one out herself.

So, he drops his book onto her own.

Her mention of his bag, once more, leaves him to grunting though. He wrinkles his nose. He refuses to argue that note any further. There was no point if she wasn't going to listen anyway, really. "Come on," he says and grunts once more before tossing his head toward the exit. Why should they wait any longer? It wasn't like they were picking up anything and caffeine was calling to him like a moth to the flame; ah, he definitely needed to wake up! She helped though.

He didn't catch her look though; after all, not only men can give it.

It really wasn't that long until Elliot was leading her down the main hall and toward the exit. Outside, though, was where the surprise lingers. It's nearly night with the sun already trailing from the sky and the moon taking up her mantle. Had he really been asleep that long? It couldn't have been past eight though. Why had he forgotten he had a wrist watch? He looks down at his wrist and knits his brows. Ah, well. That didn't matter. He could have coffee first.

"Are you from around here?" He asks suddenly and looks thoughtful. "Not that I am, but I can tell from your accent..." He trails and eyes her with mild amusement clear within those blue eyes of his."You're definitely from somewhere different, eh?" He asks of her as he touches the strap of his bag; leading her along all the while down the sidewalk and away from the library.

[bel]

The fact that he didn’t seem to willing to argue the point made it a victory in her eyes. Whether it was a legitimate one or not didn’t so much seem to matter. She simply chalked it up on her end of things, and continued onwards without any more mention of that bag, and whether it was cute or not. Instead Annabel simply grins like some sort of a fool.

‘Come on,’ he says then, and that smile of hers only widens, “I was waitin’ on you, Sweetheart,” Bel reminds the young gent with a tip to her head. Still, she hesitates but a moment longer to hoist her purse upwards and over her shoulder to settle the small bag against the curve of her side. The bad thing about small purses, aside not being able to carry books, that was, was the simple fact that they were damn easy to lose, or at the very least drop.

Though soon the two were being escorted outwards and from within that wide library they’d previously occupied, and Annabel can’t help but loll her head and simply peer skywards. What time was it? How long had she been in that damned library? Though none of that truly mattered, as it wasn’t as though Annabel had anywhere else to be within the span of the day. That was, unless she chose to go somewhere.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Annabel questions before even thinking of addressing his own question. After all, with the realization of how long she’d spent indoors came the realization of how long it’d been since she’d last gotten her nicotine fix. With or without his answer Annabel is rifling through her purse to retrieve a cigarette - Newports, mind you - from within that tiny purse only to lift such to her lips. Still, she wouldn’t light it without his consent.

“Nah,” she utters thereafter, “I’m not from here,” nor does she plan on sticking around for very long, “I’m from Boston,” that’s Bahstahn, mind you. “What are you? Irish, ‘er some shit?” those british isles all sounded the same, or at least somewhat. She looks toward him for some sort of confirmation. Heaven knew why, it wasn’t as though he were about to sprout shamrocks.

[elliot]

She smokes.

He wouldn't have pegged her for a smoking woman, truly. That's not to say that he hadn't known women that did though. It's part of the reason why he had brought a lighter once within his youth. There were women that smoked and some women liked the thought of a man lighting their cigarette. Then there came a time where he had tried himself, and truth be told, he did find a semblance of pleasure with a nicotine fix. The moment's not about that though. It's about her.

His hand motions with ease and reflex, and with the stroke of routine, as fingers settle within his left pocket and removes a stained lighter. It's worn with age; the black paint chipped at the edges from use and the ravaging of time. It's undoubtedly been used time and again within his life time. That, and the motion of his hand spoke of a lad who had far too much time on his hands.

His middle and forefinger pinch over the hatch, and with the snap of his wrist, the lighter comes open. Then within moments his fingers work the lighter to roll within his palm as the calloused pad of his thumb rolls the striker. Sparks take flight and a flame fills the air. He leans closer to her and nudges his lighter beneath her cigarette as the wind hardly budges the flame; the stained chimney worn and black from the many years of use.

"I don't mind at all," he assures her.

His brows lift at her suddenly admittance though as he finishes lighting her cigarette and rolls such to both middle and forefinger once more. It's another snap of his wrist and the body of his lighter snaps shut to the hatch. It effectively smothers the flame as he tightens his grasp over such and listens. She's not from here. Well, that's expected. He hadn't heard anyone else with an accent like hers from around the neighborhood albeit he hadn't been around so long.

"Boston?" He questions to make sure he had heard right. Her accent made certain letters, and words, rather different from the norm. "I've never been," he confesses then nods to her words with a short laugh. "Yes, Irish. Born and raised in Ireland then moved around a bit when family had to. You don't much have a choice when you're a child," he says and offers a toothy grin.

"I suppose that hasn't changed much, though, considering I'm here," he adds and gestures to the city with one hand. "Are you staying here?" He asks of her next and lolls his head to give her a sidelong glance.

[bel]

Bel wrinkles her nose with a widening smile. It’s all she can truly do within that moment as this Elliot motions almost extravagantly to light her very own cigarette. And truth be told she’s grateful for it. It’s not as though she’s incapable of doing it herself, nor that she’d forgotten her lighter, but it speaks of some strange form of manners lost within this new age.

“Neat trick,” Miss Annabel Lee comments, whilst tonguing that cigarette toward the corner of that mouth of hers. “I bet it brings all the girls to their knees,” blunt, if naught else, but the grin upon her lips and the mischief alight within those pretty green eyes of hers hint toward a semblance of teasing. Annabel tosses him a side-long glance, just to be sure she hadn’t offended him with that simplistic - if not crude - joke. One thing’s for sure, Bel was Bel, and she most certainly wasn’t changing to impress anyone.

“Boston,” she confirms his seemingly pointless query before simply listening to his own tale. “So that’s where you got that cute accent,” Annabel notes, that smile on her face broadening for a moment more before her mouth purses upon that cigarette for a deep drag. “I wouldn’t know much about moving,” Annabel confesses, then, especially when she’d been a child, that was. Her parents had loved Boston, after all, and it was painfully obvious in the name the two of them had shafted her with. “This is my first time away from home,” to be quite honest, Annabel was fond of her hometown, also, though probably not to the extent which her parents had been. Truth be told, she probably would have been content growing up anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” after all, RavenBlack was some ways away from Ireland, as it was from Boston, though not nearly as far. “Yeah,” she confesses thereafter, “I’m here for awhile, anyway. At least until my rent’s up,” it’s obvious Bel isn’t too fond of this new city. A small hand lifts upwards to draw that cigarette from her pout, and with a flick of her tongue billowed a small number of barely discernable smoke rings. She needs practice.

“I heard there was work here, but I guess not,” Annabel knits her brows with a lazy lift to her shoulders.

[elliot]

"Sometimes," he admits and offers a sly smile thereafter. He wouldn't deny such a thing although Elliot's far from a proper womanizer. He did like women and wasn't ashamed of flirting with them, but his belt, though, wasn't as notched as many others. Either way, he wasn't offended. If anything, her mirth was met with his own that gleams within those blue eyes of his.

"Ah," he wrinkles his nose somewhat as she assures him that she's from Boston. She had a peculiar accent. It wasn't unattractive but certainly different from what he's used to. Her mention of his accent made him look up and wrinkle his nose once more. Cute? Men didn't like being called cute. Maybe he'll let her slide with that. "Somewhat," he says and smiles. He watches her swallow smoke deep within her lungs and his own ached for the taste once more; that relief.

"Your first time, huh? It must be adventure for you then. I know the first time I was out and about...well, I'll have you know that I took advantage," he says but doesn't elaborate on the matter. At least not yet. He smiles and looks sweet but there's no doubt that he had been an impish child within his heyday. Even now felt somewhat strange to be within one place for too long.

"I suppose you can say I'm here for a little ar-and-ar," he says simply enough. Rest and Relaxation. That definitely didn't hurt. "At least for a while. It's a ways away from being a mountain guide," he confesses; in fact, it's a ways away from the truth. Guide, yes, but fortune hunter extraordinare, ah! Now that's the life. It's not a easy life though. His eyes flit over her hand and then that soft mouth.

Drawn like a moth to the flame; Elliot stares as that warm mouth and tongue of hers works to blow rings. His own smooth along his lower lip thoughtfully as his brows knit and his head sways to and fro. "You shouldn't be so negative. You're bound to find something even if the economy's complete shit," he says and smiles. "There's always one of those fast food chains, eh?" Then he grins; after all, no one wanted to work within one of those death traps!