veilbreak | (no subject)

WHO: Maryle Bone & Sloane Lynfield
WHEN: Saturday January 24th
WHERE: Their Room
WHAT: Roomies Bonding; Unpacking
WARNINGS: Questionable Liquor

A full evening into her first day, Sloane decides it’s finally time to unpack. It’s not like there’s a lot to do. She has a big knapsack, a smaller one, and that’s it. All the belongings she has left in the world. She remembers, idly, her little house in Jackson, and how full it was of art, books, scented candles and a little herb garden that was probably long-dried up and gone. This is enough to send a pain through her heart. Sadness, probably. Not regret, though. Never that.

She’d rather have her two little backpacks over all those false luxuries, anyway. She folds away her scant outfits with real care, places her Yellowstone rock on the little shelf by her bed. All that’s left are the five or so books she’d managed to scavenge and purchase. Absolutely assorted, not very indicative of personal preference at all, but she intends to change that. She sees the slightly larger pile of literature from her roommate, and tilts her head at Maryle, who she hadn’t addressed at all in this process, yet.

“Mutual or individual library?” She asks without prelude.

Maryle has been dutifully ignoring Sloane until she speaks to her. She's sprawled across her bed on her back, reading a journal article she's read a thousand times, but even so she only momentarily flits her eyes from the page to the other girl. She's trying to decide how much to interact, but then she thinks about the fact that this is yet another one of Dom's children and she'd sort of promised she'd be nice. Also they have to live together, which is probably the bigger thing. Tossing her magazine to the side, she rolls over onto her stomach and scooches closer to the end of the bed to look curiously at Sloane's belongings.

"Mutual, if it's all the same to you." Not having to ask to borrow more books seems nice, and she's not precious about her collection of reading materials.

"Might as well make our books feel as cramped as we do, right?" There's no annoyance in this statement — she's thoroughly used to the close quarters now.

The idea of a mutual library cuts a grin across Sloane’s face, and she begins the process of tucking each of the volumes onto the shelves, peppering them between the existing ones in order of height. She looks over her shoulder at her new roommate to see her face, and while no, she doesn’t seem to be actually irritated, Sloane frowns a little.

“I’m sure I won’t be here very much. There’s a lot of training to do. Your equipment’s all new to me. I hope you won’t feel too cramped.”

Watching with interest (what does this expanded library now include?), Maryle is at an angle where she catches a glimpse of Sloane's smile. It's good that such a little thing can cause that. She certainly wasn't easy with her smiles that close to being unVeiled.

The following frown and not-quite apology make Maryle shift her weight to one elbow so that she can wave a dismissive hand.

"I'm not worried about it at all. Six years here means I'm used to no space and no privacy."

Which is maybe not a shining review of the Mnemo, but, well. She offers her own smile, a little crooked, and clicks her tongue in a tsk.

"Also, this room is half yours. I didn't even bully you and you're already ceding land?"

The books are an old copy of The Man in the Iron Mask, the Devil Wears Prada, one of the Redwall books, a medical text and one about snakes, and Sloane aligns them each with care. She looks over the other books just once, decides there’s no time for reading yet, and looks back to Maryle instead. Six years. She wonders how she’d feel after all that time in such an enclosed space. Some people have been here longer. Sloane doesn’t think she’ll have to worry about that. She won’t be here long.

“I’m not ceding.” She argues for the sake of it, “I just know I’ll be busy.”

All the books are ones Maryle hasn't read, which she's surprised to find is a relief. They're just books, and there's more going on here than New Books, but she'll take the contentment that comes with them.

This little bit of argument straightens out her smile, glad to have a tiny bit of pushback. A roommate that just rolls over seems sad.

"Can't be that busy, even with all the getting up to speed. There's enough downtime that people plan little things. Have to stay ready most of the time, of course, but…" She thinks back to her life before all this, managing to keep her expression completely even.

"Boredom is a thing up here."

“Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Sloane sighs. The number of people who had asked her about hobbies or implied she might be not fighting all the time on the network is alarming. It implies she’ll actually have time to sit with her thoughts. Someone had even said therapy. She doesn’t think she will ever be that bored.

Still. It’s only in a few seconds that her task is done, and Sloane’s forced to stand back, admiring it as though maybe there’s something to tweak.

“Does that look okay?” She loops Maryle into this pastime, too.

Unaware of all the things going through Sloane's head, Maryle has contentedly settled with her legs up in the air and her head nestled comfortably in her crossed arms. The other woman's question is a bit of a surprise, though. A bit funny. She laughs.

"Do our like… eight books combined in a shitty makeshift shelf look ok? Yeah, they look perfect."

“I don’t know. Maybe aesthetics are important.”

This is fully tongue in cheek. This room isn’t decorated at all. Regardless, there’s nothing more to do with it. In her old life, she would have found something cute to put on the ends of the shelf. Maybe a little flower vase, or strange curio, or crystal. Stupid.

She turns away and places her two backpacks carefully on hooks. That’s it. She’s not sure what to do after this, because there’s really no place to sit except her top bunk. She opts for the floor instead, sinking down, and letting the day hit her with all its surprises and turns.

“I hate to ask again about the mystery bottle. But I think it’s official now.”

Maryle closely watches the completion of this unpacking, pushing out thoughts of how bleak the room really does look, and how depressing it is that they come here with so little that unpacking takes two minutes. She was never a collector of things, both before and after being Veiled, but it still feels strange. Sits in her oddly.

Sloane gives her an easy out from thinking, and she rolls over so she can sit up and dig out the bottle.

"We should make a reading nest," Maryle suggests as she starts digging around the back of her bed. It's difficult to see what she's doing, but she doesn't try to really hide her hiding spot, despite calling it that.

When she sits back a bottle is in hand, a thick, warbly brown glass that has a long neck and no label but is exceptionally clean.

"Behold, the mystery bottle."

Sloane, despite herself and her commitment to a Spartan lifestyle three seconds ago, shoves herself experimentally into a corner where she could see this nest living, right under their makeshift shelf. “If we got some blankets. But I’m sure those are hard to come by.”

That’s too much luxury to consider, though. And there’s a mystery bottle on the line. She cracks a grin at the sight of it. “Oh, that looks lethal.” Sloane sounds excited.

"I can get us blankets and a pillow or two. Been here long enough." And, honestly, a reading nest sounds nice. Sloane's excitement about the bottle has Maryle, a little bit against her will, grinning.

"Unless you want to go to mess I don't have glasses, so we're drinking out of the bottle."

It's offered to her first, since she's the newbie.

Sloane reconsiders for just a second, remembering suddenly that she’s in the first day at her new job and could be technically called in whenever to fight. She shouldn’t be altered for that. But it’s been such a long day. And her brain is spinning in so many directions. She takes the bottle and tips it at Maryle.

“To book nests.” She takes a generous shot of the mystery liquor. It does indeed taste like herbs and paint, but she doesn’t make a face.

"To book nests," Maryle agrees. "And to us getting along. You're not the worst roommate I could see myself getting."

She holds her hand out for the bottle, feeling almost a little proud that Sloane remains impassive.

Sloane offers it accordingly, only shaking her head a little.

“It hasn’t even been one night yet. But. Thank you. You aren’t the worst roommate I could’ve found either.” She considers the aftertaste in her mouth once more. “Unless this poisons me in my sleep.”