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oom: room 25
[Follows this thread.]
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.
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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"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."
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"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?"
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"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."
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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Even with that glint in her eyes.
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: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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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"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.
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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."
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"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."
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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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.