scurlock | oom: room 25

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oom: room 25

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Doc leads the way upstairs and then unlocks the door to his room, holding it for her.

It looks very much like the room she got a glimpse of the last time, but as she enters it's likely she'll get a better look at things. It's decorated simple, and for the time you would expect -- his own. At the foot of the bed is a large trunk, and standing in one corner is a longbow, as well as a large sword. That one he got from Will's world. The one in the trunk is from Brand's, but it still is odd to handle it without remembering the power connected to it, so he hasn't.

Various books litter the bedside table, and the desk has a leather bound journal as well as some loose leaf papers stacked roughly on a corner. The dresser has the two paper cranes on it, and a barrel sits atop a wooden crate in another corner, fitted with a tap.

"She probably left 'em in the washroom," he says.

His gunbelt, with Colt Peacemaker holstered in leather that's been worn smooth with age, hangs over the back of a simple chair at the desk.

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Katherine thanks Doc for holding the door and timidly steps inside, almost as though she's afraid that once her feet stand inside a man's room, her entire hometown is going to burst out of the closet and reprimand her.

But once she's well within the room, her eyes find far too many things to alight upon for her to continue on awkwardly. So she meets Doc's eyes, asking silent permission to have a look around.

Doc nods, with a bit of a smile. There really isn't anything that he doesn't think she should see, since he did clean up before he was planning on heading back to Green Lake.

Of course, the fact that his latest workings of poetry are sitting on the desk slips his mind. And his closet only contains a long coat and a few scarves, and not the fine citizens of Green Lake.

While she does, he wanders to see if the scissors and towel are indeed in the other room.

In that case, Katherine wanders slowly around the room. Not surprisingly, the first thing her fingertips find is the rich brown leather holster slung over the desk chair. She eyes the glistering Colt carefully, moving past it to the desk of items.

Her eyes squint slightly as they fall upon the paper cranes, and she touches each very carefully. She might have asked what they were (birds of some sort, she can at least guess), but the loose leaf pages catch her attention. It's impolite to read another person's documents, so she doesn't, but her eyes do manage to catch a rhyme or two, and she smiles. She'll be asking Doc about that later.

As she turns from the desk her fingers trail lightly across his leather journal, falling from the soft cover only when her eyes catch sight of the longbow in the corner of the room.

"You have quite the collection of weaponry," she comments, loud enough for her voice to carry to the other room.

She pauses as her gaze shifts.

"What's in the barrel?"

Doc comes back from the washroom with a white towel draped over one shoulder, and pauses in the doorway.

"The bow I use just for sport, practice really. Will's been teachin' me but I'm still working on just having the strength t'draw it proper without my hands shakin'."

He rubs at the back of his neck.

"Ah, the barrel? Well, that's a long story. Friend of mine, a pirate, his ship got sank out on the lake last year, taken down by the Flying Dutchman. I dragged most the floatin' wreckage out and that there's a barrel of fine Caribbean rum that won't run dry. Captain Jack's never asked for it back."

A smile.

"Sword's from when I went to Sherwood to help Will and his Robin."

She turns to look at him, eyebrows hiked high atop her forehead and a teasing expression on her face.

"Your pirate friend's cask of rum?" she repeats. There are so many things in that simple sentence that she could question him on. Let's not even get into the shipwreck, and what is a Flying Dutchman, precisely?

She turns her face back out onto the room of souvenirs, chuckling quietly.

"As I said before, you appear to be a man of many varied hobbies."

We'll ignore the fact that she's dying to pick up the bow herself, for the time being.

Looking back his way, she asks: "Do you have a comb and a basin?"

Doc realizes something that she doesn't, and it makes him smirk just a little.

"One of the nice things 'bout Milliways is the washroom," he nods his head to beckon her to follow him into the room. There's a chair near the sink, and comb and pair of scissors sitting on the counter.

"Left handle's hot and the right handle's cold."

The wonders of Milliways.

Curious, she follows him into the room--

--and practically rubbernecks at what she sees.

Granted, Katherine has seen Bar's kitchens, and those were impressive in and of themselves, but...

"...Left hot, right cold?" she parrots.

This... could get interesting.

"The water," he reaches for the tap and pulls the plunger so the sink will fill, then flicks the cold on easily, then off again. To demonstrate.

There's also a proper tub, but a shower as well.

Doc combed his hair prior to heading downstairs, so it's easy enough to run his fingers through it as he wraps the towel around his shoulders.

Katherine watches the demonstration carefully, duly impressed with the modern plumbing.

She sneaks a glance at Doc from the corner of her eye. "Well, aren't you just the clever one," she teases, motioning for him to sit.

She rolls her sleeves up carefully, and when Doc is seated in front of her with the towel around his shoulders, she begins to rake her fingers gently through his hair.

To assess how much needs to be cut.

Not enjoying it at all.

Doc does sit, with a respectful nod of his head, that smirk still tugging at the corners of his lips but it doesn't break free.

"Been known to have my moments," he admits, almost like a student who's been caught red handed. Almost. Because that smirk's still there, just a bit.

"Last time I had it trimmed proper was back when I was in New York City, so it's been quite a spell since I've had it done," as she can tell, by the fact that it's falling a bit past the collar at this point.

Doc glances up at her (which doesn't help the assessing effort at all) and nods. "I appreciate this."

There's a smirk tugging at her lips as well as she bends a little closer to him.

"Stop squirming," she commands playfully.

Katherine has dealt with her fair share of naughty schoolboys before. She's long past the point of being intimidated by their little smirks and devious words.

"Don't mention it, Josiah," she manages sincerely, picking up the comb and dipping it in the drawn water. She picks up the scissors with her other hand, and carefully starts combing and separating his hair.

"Yes ma'am," he says with an effort not to laugh, and he manages and he sits up straight so that she can actually separate and comb his hair without him throwing off the lines.

It's nice to have someone do this for him.

Extra nice since it's...well since it's...

Doc doesn't blush much, at the thought, but her gentle touch makes him smile and his ears do blaze a little.

She has the grace not to say anything when she notices the tips of his ears redden slightly. She simply bites back her smile, concentrating on the project at hand.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

She separates a bit with her comb, brushing it up between her forefinger and middle finger, and then holds the hair taut as she makes her cuts. Always three at a time, and then she combs again.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"It's really not so bad, considering how long you say it's been since you've had it trimmed," she comments absently, pulling her fingers through the damp locks.

Doc wonders if he should mention the Old Kingdom but really would prefer not to get into that part of his life here at Milliways, or scare her off of wanting to come to the bar. Part of his heart aches at his conversation with Kate the other day, regarding Mary, but he doesn't let it show.

"I had a hackjob done to it," he finally settles on. "Wasn't a proper cut, so the ends are all shaggy in strange spots," as she might notice.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"And hell, ain't at all like Chavez, he's got hair down his back," a pause. "But he's Mexican-Indian, so 'suppose that's alright."

When Doc is quiet for a spell it makes Katherine flick her eyes over to his face curiously. He doesn't look particularly bothered, but she can see the wheels in his head quietly turning nonetheless. Her eyes go back to her work.

"Was it here, at Milliways?" she asks. She had noticed the frayed and uneven lines, and didn't think them up to Bar's, so far, high standards.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

As she moves around in front of him, combing his long bangs down in his face so she can trim them, she smiles at the last statement he makes. Sounding rough, like a true outlaw.

"He's one of your friends back in New Mexico? With Billy's gang, right?"

Doc almost nods, but he stops himself as she's cutting his bangs and he'd rather not mess up the job she's doing.

"Yeah, Jose Chavez y Chavez. We got Billy, Chavez, Dave Rudebaugh -- people know him as Arkansas Dave -- and Henry William French."

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The hair falls to the floor and Doc idly brushes a lock of it off his knee when it lands.

"We're pretty good friends, all of us. Ain't nothin' more important than bein' pals, really. Watchin' out 'fore each other."

She lifts her eyebrows at the names, but doesn't break her concentration away from his haircut.

Katherine stands at a simple 5'1, so she honestly doesn't need to bend or hunch much to get the lines right; she can see just fine at her full height. But she tips her head to the side nonetheless as her clear eyes appraise his bangs.

"That's important, I think. Having those bonds," she murmurs as she combs and snips, combs and snips, trying to get the length just so. "Those are some pretty impressive names, all the same. Good to know you boys aren't as ruthless as some might like to claim."

Her eyes skate to his briefly before returning to his freshly cut bangs.

Doc looks at her and smiles a little bit.

"We ain't all that ruthless. Ain't all proper gentlemen but we ain't half bad."

Once he's pretty certain that she's gotten his bangs finished, he reaches up to lightly comb his fingers through his hair, raking it back to test the length. It's just fine.

"Ain't lookin' like a ruffian either," he quips.

She chuckles quietly. "At least for the time being you're not," she smirks.

She drags the comb through a time or two more, just to make sure there isn't anything she missed, cleaning up a spot or two here and there. She's left his hair still fairly long, but at least now it smooths against his neck well before meeting the collar of his shirt, laying softly against his ears, but not obscuring his eyes.

She inclines her head toward the mirror.

"Take a look at yourself, Doc," she smiles.

Doc turns his head as he studies the cut and he nods. "It's much better," he says, before he runs a hand over his face. "I gotta take care of this though," he studies the beard before he stands up and carefully peels the towel off, blond hair falling to the floor. The Loompas will take care of it later.

"Thank you," he says again. "If y'want, you can keep lookin' around while I shave, ain't sure what books I got right now but I'm sure there's somethin'," though he's got a feeling she'll be more interested in the other oddities.

She nods, proud of her handiwork. "I'm glad it came out well."

She brushes a few lingering bits of hair softly from his shoulders and neck, and smiles at him through the reflection of the mirror.

"You sure you don't mind me poking around, what with your books and poetry laying about as it is?" There's possibly a wicked little glint in her eyes as she says this.

Doc thinks on that a moment, and shrugs. "What's the point of tryin' to be an author if you aren't willing to let people read what you've written? Don't mind it one bit."

Even with that glint in her eyes.

There's only one way to properly describe Katherine's expression at that.

:D!

"I promise to be gentle, then," she smirks, patting his chest conciliatorily as she moves toward the door. "Take your time, though," she adds as she steps out of the washroom.

Doc chuckles under his breath as she steps out of the washroom before he glances at himself in the mirror, looking at his beard and the spark in his eyes.

It doesn't take long to fill the sink again and wet his face, then reach for his shaving kit and straight razor. He probably could have gone ahead and gotten a more modern razor from Bar but there was something about taking his time and doing it right that he enjoyed.

Of course it means it's more time for her to read and explore.

And Katherine will take full advantage of that time, believe you me.

She's still smiling ear to ear, even after she's left the bathroom and can hear the faint sounds of the sink filling with water and things shuffling around. She thinks it perhaps impolite to make a beeline straight to the papers on his desk, so she pauses to survey the room again.

It's simple, all things considered. A modest bed, end tables, a trunk, a desk. But it's the things scattered around that make Katherine smile, especially the books stacked high atop the table.

She glances at the titles, even cracking one or two of them open and smoothing her hands over the pages. It reminds her of the book of poetry he lent her, and she grimaces a bit at the recollection of dropping it in the dirt. She prays it cleaned up well enough.

Eventually, she settles at the desk, and that's where Doc will find her when he emerges, sitting with her back against his gunbelt on that little wooden chair, papers held carefully in her hands.

He takes his time shaving, using careful hands to keep from nicking himself, and when he's finished he rinses off the soap and towels off his face.

There. Much better.

Doc puts away the razor and kit and then checks his shirt in the mirror, and when he's satisfied, he emerges from the washroom looking much more respectable.

He catches the sight of her at his desk, reading through the poetry, and he smiles a bit as he walks over and settles a hand on the back of the chair. Not her shoulder, because it wouldn't do to be forward, but it's close enough.

"Now that one there I wrote 'bout a year ago," he comments, quietly, as he leans down a bit to look at it closer. "Nothin' quite like a blazin' sunset to give you somethin' to write about."

His skin smells like soap, and lime, and his fingers are itching to lightly rest on her shoulder but he keeps them still against the back of the chair.

She's poring through the poetry with great interest, so she doesn't notice Doc has entered the room until his hand comes to rest at the chair. She breaks away from what she's reading to look up at him.

He really does clean up nicely. His freshly trimmed hair falls forward a bit as he leans down, resting across his brow. The scent of his shaving soap is still strong. And she can just barely feel his knuckles against her shoulder, at the back of her chair.

She turns her head back to the page in her hand in an attempt to hide her blush, but it crawls all the way up to the tips of her ears.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs. "You write beautifully." Even if she did notice a few Poe-esque verses here and there. At least it's from the heart.

"Just write what comes to me," he says quietly. "Most of 'em are still works in progress, but it's good t'hear that someone likes 'em."

Doc reaches for the page she's holding and leafs to the one behind it, and taps lightly against it with his fingertips. "That ones more of a Asian-inspired style. Bit more freeform," he offers, before he stands back up fully and removes his hand from the chair, moving to the dresser near the desk to rummage through the top drawer. As he walks back over, he slips his glasses on and then leans back down.

"Lying on high seat in the south study,
We have lifted the curtain - and we see the rising moon
Brighten with pure light the water and the grove
And flow like a wave on our window and our door.
It will move through the cycle, full moon and then crescent again,
Calmly, beyond our wisdom, altering new to old.

Our chosen one, our friend, is now by a limpid river -
Singing, perhaps, a plaintive eastern song.
He is far, far away from us, three hundred miles away.
And yet a breath of orchids comes along the wind."

He eyes the words on the page and nods, slowly. "Chinese," he says quietly. "It's a favorite of mine, after the likes of Poe and so on."

She lets out a breath she hadn't even known she was holding, feeling a chill down her spine at his soft recitation in her ear.

"Oh, Doc," she breathes, eyes flitting over the page again. "They're wonderful, really. Just... heart rending."

The last poem makes her sad, and she's not sure why.

She glances back over her shoulder at him, blinking when she sees the glasses.

"Why, Mr. Scurlock, this desperado isn't having trouble with his vision, is he?"

The words are modestly playful.

"Just when it comes to reading, sometimes," he says honestly. "But only with stuff up close."

He's got a small, proud smile on his face because she likes the poems and she's not like the other boys. Obviously in many ways, but she likes his work.

Doc straightens his stance again and pulls the glasses off his face as he does so, tucking them carefully into his vest pocket. He's already getting ideas about what he'll talk to her students on, and is filing them away for future reference.

"'Sides," he drawls, quietly, almost playfully. "They make me look a bit more like that teacher from New York City rather than the outlaw from Lincoln County."

She chuckles softly, standing again herself while straightening up the pages in her hands and laying them neatly on the desk, right where she found them.

"Oh, quite," she smiles as she turns to face him. "Very fetching, especially with your new cut."

And her smile widens, just a bit.

"You shine up quite nice... for a ruffian."

"Why thank you, Miss Katherine," Doc says with a bit of a laugh.

Hopefully he's not too shined up, but he has a feeling this town picnic will be quite the gathering for Green Lake and he's excited.

"So were you hopin' to stay a bit in Milliways or did you want to get back to Green Lake? I'm not certain what you've got planned," he asks.

She shakes her head noncommittally.

"We can leave whenever you're prepared, Doc. I know time isn't moving by outside, so I'm in no particular rush."

To be completely honest, she can hardly wait to show him around town, but she doesn't want to sound too eager. It wouldn't do to be pushy.

Besides, she's perfectly happy spending her time with Doc, wherever he might like to be.

"Well suppose we could go now," he offers. "That way I don't get lookin' like a ruffian in the meantime," he adds.

Doc moves to the chair behind the desk and lifts the gunbelt from the back of the chair, carefully settling the leather around his hips. It's something he's done thousands of times, but this time it's not for a day of running from the law.

Plus, he actually took the time to clean and oil the leather and the gun, so it has cleaned up quite nicely.

"All right," she beams at him, laughing brightly at his last statement.

She watches as he carefully buckles the gunbelt. It hangs right smartly from his hips. She imagines what use that Colt has seen, eyes following the scar on his left hand as he tightens the belt into place.

She lets Doc lead her out of his room and down the hall, back to the bar downstairs, where he retrieves his bag and drops off a few notes. He sets his hat atop his head, and they're ready to go.

Her door is waiting for them, and it's a strange thing to Katherine to be the one who leads them through it, out into Green Lake.

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oom: room 25

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