Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Soup

Posted on Sun Apr 16th, 2023 @ 3:42 by Sarah Bright & Reagan D'Angelo & Cameron Johnston

Chapter: Prologue: Dawn of Avalon
Location: Sarah's Room
Timeline: The day after 'The Stairway of Doom'
8072 words - 16.1 OF Standard Post Measure

"By that logic, though, Gazpacho wouldn't be a soup. Temperature isn't really a factor, ingredients are difficult to categorise, consistency falls within a spectrum."

The sound of footsteps moving down the hallway gave no immediate hint to the size of the group, tending towards a syncopation that masked participation by matching tempo almost exactly. At least one culprit had fallen into the habit of measuring his pace against another's but then he had always determined a need to judge appropriateness by the speed in which others around him moved. Left to his own devices, it became anyone's guess.

"And then there's soup that has a broth with chunks in it, and soup that isn't soup until you put it through the blender. Sometimes it's the whole meal, sometimes it's just the start. If you let the ice cream melt, doesn't it also stand a chance of becoming dessert?"

The perplexed figure, waist-deep in his own philosophising, held a poorly-wrapped parcel in one hand whilst the other reached up to push his fingers through his hair, creating an upswept cowlick that was nobody's favourite.

"This moves beyond the confines of the breakfast argument. It's not even about food anymore."

The pair, for it was a pair and not a galivanting hoard, arrived at the previously-determined room number just in time for confusion to have peaked, the ridiculousness of the conversation scattering the final attempt at logical dissemination of fact in much the same way the individually-wrapped candy stuffed inside the parcel as a kind of useful filler had spent a small amount of time spread across the autoshop floor not twenty minutes earlier. Cameron shook his head, not sure he was a fan of being posed existential conundrums by cavalier 13-year-olds, and frowned at his companion as he used his free hand to knock on the door.

"It has to have been something you said."

And, when the door finally opened, the room's occupant was greeted by several impressions all vying for prominence. The long-suffering resignation of a blonde biology teacher, the tenacious puzzlement of an ill-equipped mechanic, and the topic of the moment, presented without the normal amount of obligatory social discourse that might have, at least, started with introductions.

Cameron looked Sarah directly in the eye. "First thing's first, a speculation; is the ocean soup?"

Reagan had spent another cool October day much like she did any other when she had little work to do, or had just eaten, or just awoken, or... when she just had an excuse to really; Out on a long jog. Today's path had taken her on a roundabout route that was best ended by entering through the garage rather than circling to any human entrance. Lucky for her, the door had been wide open and even inviting with the sound of music emanating from a stereo inside. Grey sweatpants, a white sleeveless shirt, and despite the crisp air, the blonde had worked up quite a sweat on her trip. Even as she'd slowed to a walk to cool off, pacing about the auto shop like panther on the prowl, she'd located the face she'd expected to find and immediately questioned the origins of the mysterious music. She had no idea he liked Depeche Mode!

One thing led to another, him fixing an old cassette player, a tale of a librarian who'd nearly succumbed to gravity's merciless wiles, and... soup? Even a solid twenty minutes later, following him down the hallway, she was utterly baffled by the topic. It had been her student that asked it, but how had it come up in the first place? Tangential as their wanderings on the grounds, such went their conversations, one random hop to the next.

Her overall strategy had to turn to wearing him out though. Cameron was good at being passionate, rapid firing a bunch of points as quickly as he could think them up, which anyone who really knew him, was very quick. So she let him punch himself out, like Apollo Creed. Absorb the information, nod to some, wiggle her head in uncertain gestures to others, but always save herself up for the end in one, decisive sweep. Right? Over soup? Reagan regretted the look she must have had on her face the instant that door opened and someone she'd never met before got a look at her. Cute glasses.

She'd been about to speak, quickly trying to compose her features like a manic sculptor with telekinesis, when Cameron did that for her. A deep breath, hands clutching at the two ends of the towel draped around her neck under the tight ponytail kept back and away from the light sheen still on her skin. "Knew I shouldn't have called the scum we collected off the loch shore 'soup'... But it is. Can be food too. Two definitions. One for people who eat, one for scientists." She managed an apologetic smile at this stranger then, avoiding outright nudging the lug of a man next to her.

Sarah had had a feeling about who it might be knocking at her door. She hadn't fully expected Cameron to have her Walkman ready in only a day, but she'd definitely been wondering. So in that regard she was not at all surprised to see Cameron, but it was a surprise to see that he'd brought a friend. Still trying to process the realization that she might have visitors, Sarah was caught completely off-guard by the conversation that had been brought to her door next. It was a lot to unpack.

"You're asking this to a girl who had jello in her hair when you met her." Sarah deadpanned, making it very vague as to whether she'd made a statement or posed a question. "If the ocean's soup, then I guess I'm dessert." She said with a sigh as she opened the door a tad more, as if to study her visitors in greater detail. As usual, the librarian was dressed looking like she was an exchange student from some other private school. This time it was a wine red sweater, paired with a near-matching red and black plaid skirt. She wasn't actually wearing any shoes, just her ubiquitous black tights, which were opaque enough that only the tips of her toes showed through.

"You two look like you're here to try and sell me a vacuum cleaner." Sarah said, suspicion clear on her tone and features, though whether feigned or real was anyone's guess.

"Well, actually..."

An elbow to his ribs changed Cameron's course immediately. He held out the bulging package, lovingly wrapped by someone who was apparently responsible for the road-worthiness of all the Institute's vehicles. "Personal delivery, complete with gymnastics instructor." An open hand presented Reagan as if she belonged on a pedestal with her back leg outstretched whilst someone inspected her teeth. "Sarah, meet Reagan. Reagan, meet Sarah. At least one of you is exceptionally good at impromptu tumbling routines."

"I mean... the ocean's not not soup?" What did that line imply though, based on Sarah's obviously humorous statement? Not liking the implications, she cleared her throat and released one side of the towel to smooth over her already tightly pulled hair, as if something had gone amiss in the ten minutes since she'd last checked. Then she found herself smiling, head back on straight, quip ready to go. "Hear that, Cam? She thinks we suck."

She pursed her lips after that in thought, self-critique finding the attempt earnest but the delivery wanting. But leave it to Cameron to derail her again with his... introductions? Is that what that was? For a moment, she had to double take, remind herself Sarah was in fact faculty and not a student. Certainly dressed the part, though it was more the attractive adult style than simply a uniform code. But instructor? She must have missed that part of Cameron's retelling of events.

Shaking her head, redoubling not looking like a total goofball, she put on another smile and offered a hand to the librarian, making sure it was dry off her towel first. "Nice to meet you. Not sure what he's said about me, haven't practiced falling over professionally for a long time now. Definitely wouldn't help on stairs. That particular case is tricky though, don't sweat it."

Seeing the package thrust toward her, Sarah immediately grabbed it with a modicum of childlike enthusiasm that her years of adulthood had yet to fully extinguish. Clutching it towards her tummy, she noticed it was noticeably larger and heavier than what her Walkman should've been alone. But as much as she wondered what else was in the package, at least half of her attention was also diverted toward the pretty lady that Cameron had brought with him. A gymnastics instructor? The man's particular wording almost made it sound as if there would be a gymnastics lesson included? Maybe it was all in her head... which was entirely possible, in her excited state. Sarah had never done gymnastics before... never even thought about it really. The closest thing to it that she was familiar with was ballet, which was really only similar in that both involved wearing leotards.

After the introductions Sarah had been about to offer her hand to Reagan and maybe try to say something of a more complimentary nature than... well, calling her a door-to-door saleswoman. As the librarian fumbled for something memorable to say, Reagan showed her how it was done.

"No... that's not..." Sarah laughed as she attempted to reply to what Reagan said about thinking they sucked, but her excitement boiled over and the laugh evolved into the giggling that she tried so hard to avoid. Worse, trying to cut it short produced the dreaded piglet snort. Mortified, and very much wanting to crawl under her bed to hide, Sarah saw Reagan's hand, which may as well have been a lasso around her waist. She realized she'd been hesitating, and she didn't need to think too hard or long for the reason why. Her strange powers were usually activated through touch, and she was afraid that she might use them by mistake... who knows what abilities the others had, some of which might very well be able to detect hers if used. Normally keeping her active abilities in check was not a problem for Sarah, but then again, it had been a while since she'd enjoyed the presence of a pretty lady in her bedroom.

But then again, Sarah really had no reason to believe that Reagan was available, let alone remotely interested in another woman like her. For all she knew, her two guests were a couple, though in this case she kind of doubted it. In her experience, she'd found that men could be expected to let people around them know if the woman with them was more than 'just a friend.' And if they were friends but he wanted them to be more? Bringing her to another woman's room to drop of a present was probably the dumbest move he could make. Secret low-key lovers? Maybe. But Sarah had the feeling that they were just close friends

Still, that didn't make Sarah any less nervous about shaking Reagan's hand. She shook it, but left out the gentle squeeze that she usually added in, as if afraid that would trigger her mutant 'gaydar' scan... even though it had never worked like that before. Thankfully nothing happened. Her mutant powers stayed quiet.

"Nice uhh, to meet you too, Reagan." Sarah said, surely earning no more than a participation star for her half-baked conversational skills. "You uh... heard that, huh?" She murmured next, wondering if there was anyone who now hadn't heard of her most recent near-death experience. Ohmygodjustpleaselightningstrikemeandgetitoveriwth. Looking around, Sarah then realized that she'd been unconsciously retreating into her room ever since the package had been thrust into her hands. She was now almost halfway into it, and realized that it was really not in a proper state for guests.

Given one of the corner suites, Sarah had a smaller room than most of the staff, but in exchange it did have two windows offering two different views, one facing north and the other west. This time of day, the room was true to her namesake in offering in plenty of sunlight. If she was lucky, it might soon offer a halfway decent sunset. Her pairs of Converse and wellies sat by the door in a haphazard arrangement, just waiting to impede anyone who tried to veer once through the doorway. A stylish wool pea coat hung over a chairback pulled close to the room's only steam radiator, and her fancy black pumps sat on the chair seat, along with a travel-size shoe polish kit. Between the windows in the corner was a cozy looking wingback chair with a cat pillow on it. Her bed was made, but only just enough to qualify for the term. It featured a penguin plushie snuggled up against the pillows. Her desk was covered with papers and folders--the same ones that had spilled out of her satchel the night before--and Sarah had been trying to reorganize them. Her adjacent laptop computer featured an embarrassingly girly screensaver consisting of pink, red and purple pixelated hearts. There was a small bookshelf which for the moment was pretty much empty of books. Her wardrobe was open, revealing an ensemble of thrift-store schoolgirl themed outfits which were arrayed and color coded in a manner that made them reminiscent of a secret agent's safety deposit box full of passports--all in a variety of colors but all essentially the same thing with the same shape and size.

Lastly, but not least, as it commanded the most attention with the added sensory call of sound, was her radio, which sat on top of her bookshelf and looked like it predated the second world war. Possibly even the first. So far its ancient antenna only reliably picked up the local oldies station, which currently played 'She's Not There" by the Zombies.

"Uh, please, come in. Make yourselves comfortable." Sarah said as she looked around. "Or try to..." She cradled the bundled package in her arms, but almost seemed as if she'd forgotten it was there. She'd certainly forgotten to thank Cameron for it! For the moment, anyway.

A sideways verification check with the brains-trust saw Cameron defer acceptance of the offer to his best friend. He had, after all, only intended to follow through with a promised deadline and had inherited Reagan as an accomplice as a natural evolution of how most days tended to wind down. In the days, now stretching to weeks, since the attack at the station, it had become all the more common for the pair to seek each other out at regular intervals, a continued nonchalance dressed up as normal camaraderie to allow well-being checks without actually noticeably checking. Every now and then, when it came to their powers, particularly how they intersected, they hit a moment that became the first time. There weren't any preexisting guidelines for predicting how life continued after those points and so they circled each other as if unwilling to trust that recovery was permanent.

Though, if he were honest, Cameron might always have enlisted Reagan's help eventually. Wrapping paper was the devil's work.

"We can always head up to the staff lounge if you'd prefer," he offered, sidestepping into the room and forced to quickly adjust his footing as a shoe he'd stepped on whacked him in the back of the ankle.

The hand hovered there for a time, through a laugh that Reagan decided was cute, and even the little snort at the end, like a silly punctuation mark. No doubt embarrassing for their acquaintance though, so she played it off as if she'd never heard it in the first place, simply giving a pleased smile that she'd managed to illicit laughter in the first place. She saw eyes notice her hand at that point, and then the interaction was there. Hasty, nervous? She couldn't blame Sarah, though suddenly Reagan was acutely aware that maybe post workout hand, sweat or no, might not feel the best, and quickly executed a little shake before releasing, hiding her modest embarrassment behind an answer to the question she was asked. "'fraid so, but not in a bad way, promise. Cam and I tend to overshare with one another. I'll admit, the bit about him mistaking Jell-O for actual brain matter made me giggle though. Hope that's alright?"

Of course she could ask for permission in hindsight, right? That'd make it all better. Was still a funny image to consider. As the offer came, it was finally time for Reagan's eyes to peel from the fascinating human being, star of the story and the objective of this whole trip, to examine her natural habitat. The shrug given in response to Cameron's statement told him all he needed to know, and if it didn't, her assured steps inside while eyes scanned all the details while trying to maintain some decorum surely did. "A little smaller than ours, isn't it, Cam? Guess that's perks of arriving years early, you get the good seats to the show."

Reagan's eyes took stock of any good sitting spots, but she chose to stand. She hoped that wasn't weird or somehow insulting, but she was just the sort who always wanted to be on her feet if she could help it, ready to move or work. Even her quiet, contemplative moments were spent standing, usually in front of big windows. Quiet running shoes stopped her motion before the shelf with the radio, blue-grey eyes examining the piece appreciatively. "You know I caught him listening to your mixtape while he was working. Knew it wasn't his pretty quick." Her eyes shifted to the tall man in the room, lopsided smile on. Did she even mention the part where she teased him about getting a mix tape from a girl? Maybe not in front of that same person. "Good stuff, from what I heard. Know it's silly to ask you after you gave it, but would you be okay if I borrowed it from him?"

Inquisitive eyes regarded Sarah again, all the more intrigued for the composition of the woman's living space. She tried to remember the last time she'd kept a stuffed animal of any variety on or near her bed, and decided against further inquiry when the answer was just kind of sad, causing a brief wrinkle in her otherwise neutral features.

Sarah shrugged as she plopped down onto the edge of her bed, as if that would maybe break the ice. They could stand if they wanted to, she wasn't going to force them to sit... even if she was secretly hoping that Reagan would come sit next to her on her bed. That could still happen! She thought, if Cameron decided to take the wingback and no one had the audacity to move her pumps off of her desk chair.

Get a grip, Sarah. You're not sixteen, so stop acting like it. She told herself firmly, taking a deep breath. It seemed to work, for the moment anyway.

"It's..." Sarah was about to start about the status of the mixtape, when she reconsidered exactly what Reagan had said and realized something. Oh my god. She wants to know what my intentions are with him. The librarian reasoned this sort of thinking was probably common for straight women when a man came between them, but for Sarah it may as well have been Greek. Except she could read and write Greek. Like Sumerian then! Better analogy, if less cliche.

At that point Sarah decided that Reagan was straight. And secretly wanting more with Cameron. And probably not happy that he'd brought her to this new woman's room. It was right there in her body language, as she just stood there, not wanting to relax. Unfortunately for Sarah she relied upon her mutant gaydar way too much, and was unable to notice the subtleties of Reagan's appraisals of her and her living space.

"It's just a mixtape." Sarah said, cocking her head slightly to the side so that she could wink at Reagan, hopefully without Cameron seeing. As if to say. He's all yours! "I just made it to listen to for the flight here from Boston." She shrugged again, than abruptly straightened up, startled. Wait, her Walkman! She remembered the package in her hands and carefully began unwrapping it with reverence, offering Cameron a coy smile as she did so, clearly wondering what else was in there.

For a man with a mind that could process at remarkable speeds, Cameron's uptake when it came to certain things was alarmingly lacking in priority. It aided sincerity, of course, because he was otherwise a terrible liar and wouldn't have been able to pull off feigned disinterest even if their lives depended on it. (A constant concern, if not relegated to slightly different application. Cameron's tenacity under interrogation might not have seen him buckle easily but all an effective operative needed to do was ask him the right questions and read the response in the way his eyes shifted.) It did nothing to improve his situation awareness when it came to emotional exposition, however, and the only thing that probably wouldn't have surprised him about the unspoken undercurrents was the assumption regarding his relationship with Reagan. It had been awkward for a very brief time, amusing for a much longer one, and not at all aided by his occasional attempt to readdress the rumour mill. They're just close cousins, for example, had not been met with the kind of intuitive understanding he'd been aiming for. Reagan had eventually told him to stop, and as he typically did when she used that tone on him, Cameron listened.

Mostly.

Even if he had been in possession of just enough clairvoyance to guess at the procession of self-damning conclusions marching behind Sarah's eyes, his anticipation of gift-opening was more than enough to override an attempt to explain. Shoving his hands into his back pockets, he scrunched his shoulders upwards as he tended to do when excited and grinned with unwarranted pride at his wrapping efforts. "Added a couple of things I thought would be useful." He eyeballed Reagan. "There was some contention about favourite flavours but, don't worry, I put plenty of the correctly coveted orange in."

Reagan's trend of looks of utter confusion continued as Sarah winked at her. Was that disinterest? Not that she was interested, but she remembered any tapes she'd made, or especially received being... some of her more fond memories. Certainly more intimate ones, even in a platonic sense. She deflated abit, looking at Cameron then as he brought up the flavor argument again. A good distraction from her confusion, as strong as her competitive side could be, especially when it involved him. "Orange is good, but it's potent, acidic, sends the wrong message! I told him to try strawberry. It's sweeter, and the color is nicer, less aggressive."

Reagan nodded firmly and considered her seating options again. Standing for the sake of not wanting to sit was one thing, but now that they were de facto 'settling in' for conversation and she was the only one over the five foot line now that Cameron was comfortable, she felt out of place. Sure, Sarah had a lot of interesting things to look at, but she was hardly going to start perusing the woman's wardrobe for inspiration. That'd really make things weird, especially when and/or if Sarah ever got the news that Reagan was into women 'in that way.' She took the opportunity from Sarah's distraction with finally unwrapping her gift to shuffle on over and find a seat. The chair wasn't an option, if Sarah liked her shoes right where they were, and that left the bed as a logical choice. It wasn't large by any means, but she'd gone to college, spent time in dorms for one or two residents in a whole gaggle of friends. Seating got creative, but they always managed.

Another brief glance at Sarah was used to calculate the optimal side of the bed to leave some space between them, nice and casual. In the end, Reagan settled on sitting just near the pillow end, partially pivoted to put her back to the headboard. In her clumsiness, she managed to make a certain penguin tilt and fall over, and her heroic nature couldn't let an innocent suffer such a fate. One hand carefully scooped it up and set it upright in her lap to be properly coddled, a goofy little smile given Cam's direction.

Then, eyes were back on Sarah and her gift, another opportunity to talk and maybe not feel dumb or end up confused? Sure, why not! "Caught glimpses when he was working on it. Older model, right? Think I remember having something similar as a kid."

Sarah was so engrossed at the wrapped bundle that she missed much of the conversation about candy flavors. It was only simple brown parcel paper tied with string, but the presentation reminded her of picking up special ordered or rare books from her local bookshop, and they'd often come wrapped and bundled just like that. She tugged at the string to untie the knot, and then gently picked at the taped edge of with a fingernail.

Just as she was about to unfold the paper Sarah felt added weight on her bed, and saw that Reagan had sat next to her. Somehow, she didn't freak out. Didn't show much of a reaction at all, except a slight blush and a smile as she saw the other woman pick up her penguin plushie. Contrary to what one might assume, it was not a holdout from her childhood. Sarah had never really been big on stuffed animals. It was actually fairly new. During the last summer, before moving to the UK, she'd invited her eleven year old nephew Trevor to stay with her for a few days, giving her sister and her husband a much needed weekend to themselves. She'd taken Trevor on a 'date' to the local fairgrounds, where he'd won the stuffed penguin for her at a carnival game. Penny the Penguin she was called. It was a sentimental object, but keeping it next to her in bed had also saved her from a more than few neck- and shoulder-aches, as she was the type of sleeper who started out sleeping on her back, but often woke up on her left side.

Sarah glanced forward for a moment, so as not to stare googly eyed at the adorably sweet sight of Reagan cradling her stuffed penguin. It was harder to keep her cool about that. She swallowed back a contented sigh, and noticed her fancy shoes on the chair. Finally, they'd done her a favor! Though ironically, not while they'd been on her feet. Sarah had just been about to polish them when Cameron and Reagan had knocked at her door, and the chair had been the closest place to set them down.

As she began to unfold the paper, Sarah sensed that there might be some loose things that would roll out of the bundle and off of her lap. She couldn't have that, so she set the bundle aside then scooted back on her bed, just far enough to tuck her legs in to sit cross-legged. Though she had honestly not been trying to, Sarah was nonetheless quietly pleased to find herself sitting just a little bit closer to Reagan.

As foreseen, batteries and candies tumbled out the moment Sarah unwrapped the bundle, thankfully they rolled into a dip in her skirt, where she was able to scoop them out and set them on the bed. They were a mixture of individually wrapped chocolates, hard candies and starbursts--which were her favorite! She grabbed one and quickly unwrapped it, popping it into her mouth before beaming at Cameron.

"Oh yesh! The ninety minute tapesh!" Sarah exclaimed--with a mouthful of candy--when she saw that the blank tapes were the extended length ones, which allowed for more songs per side. She'd heard people say that the extended play tapes weren't as high quality as the standard sixty minute ones and wouldn't last as long, but she'd never heard any real facts to back that up, and in her experience the ones she had had for the most part held up just fine.

"I think its the first model. The first sold in the states, anyway." Sarah said after chewing and swallowing the candy. She held up the pièce de résistance for close inspection. Even though the dings and blemishes were still there, somehow it looked newer. There didn't appear to be a tape in it, but she activated the rewind button for moment just to test it out. It worked! He'd even replaced the rubber band she kept around it. Not that the door was broken, the thing was a tank, but sometimes the door could pop open after a minor fall, and possibly ruin a cassette.

"Aahw, thank you so much!" Sarah somehow managed to say with grace. She almost felt like a kid at Christmas, and then the memory hit. She had gotten it for Christmas. And she'd been more excited now than she had been back then. She wished she could go back in time, if only to tell her grandma how much that gift would mean to her. But she couldn't... rewind. The symbolism hit her like a wrecking ball, and for all the control she had over her body, she couldn't help but tear up at that. "Hey, I've got something cool to show you." She said quickly, bouncing off her bed quickly enough for the batteries and candies to scatter across her comforter. She didn't really want the two of them to see her cry, so she turned her back and headed toward her radio as a diversionary measure.

Cameron, for a host of very different reasons, was likewise preoccupied by Reagan's newest acquaintance. There seemed very little logical connection between her hugging a stuffed penguin and him fixing her with narrow-eyed, albeit exaggerated suspicion, but he had every reason to be cautious. She was the only person to have sprung him with his own stuffed companion, a very definite relic from childhood in the form of a well-loved teddy bear wearing an ill-fitting great white shark outfit. The bear had been a gift from his grandparents at his birth, the outfit had been his aunt's best attempt at creating a line of fashion to appease an exacting three-year-old. Somewhere there existed an entire box full of transformational costumes for Sprocket, but right now he was perpetually geared for terrorising the high seas. He slept in Cam's sock drawer and represented just one of many reasons for why he'd happily hang out anywhere other than his actual bedroom.

He was, therefore, ensconced in the throes of anticipatory retaliation when his carefully-planned and poorly-executed package was finally opened. Stuffed into his back pocket, now a little melty from losing control of its shape by dint of proximity to his backside, a lone Starburst was piffed across the room at Reagan. There was a pantomime of eyebrows and then, sporting the kind of expression that attempted, in haste, to pretend it hadn't lost focus, he watched the pivotal moment of gift receipt more as an afterthought. He certainly only got to view it as a strewn abandonment over the bed as the back of Sarah's head requested redirection. Wisely, because he could sometimes be accused of it, Cameron said nothing but merely pulled a face at Reagan that took responsibility for the wobble in the other woman's voice. It seemed, on the balance of things, better to own it now and avoid a punch to the arm later.

The little factoid about the Walkman actually managed to impress Reagan on some level, a sideways glance at the man in the chair across from the bed accompanying those slightly wider eyes, the head bobbing in a series of small nods. She hardly ever reacted like that when he tried talking about technology or mechanics. Perhaps that was the reason why a partially melted Starburst thumped her in the upper leg? Jealousy. Then again, he just had to talk about the right tech to peel her rabbit-like mind away from whatever track it was on for a good distraction, like motorcycles. So at least there was only some confusion in this instance. And it came from him. Progress? Hardly, it seemed.

Sarah was happy with her gift, plucky even, eating candy and reminiscing. And then she was up, her tone... off? Reagan couldn't quite tell as she'd had more of a side view of the whole thing before Sarah was on her feet and facing generally away from her altogether. The blonde's brow knitted, regarded Cameron as she plucked the Starburst that had hit her from its wrapper and popped it in her mouth, half expecting it to taste like motor oil or pocket lint. Instead, the only unpleasant feature was how soft it was before she'd even worked it over. She cleared her throat, shifting the melted square into one cheek before she dared speak. "Oh, your radio? That is pretty neat. My grandparents had something similar, except one of those big ones that used to go where a whole TV stand goes in today's living rooms. Nonna used to tell us how she laughed at all her siblings for being scared during the original War of the Worlds broadcast. Because she knew it was just a story and Martians weren't really invading." Not even trying to guess this time at the mood or any cues she was missing, she just let herself go off on the tale, amused smile on as her eyes shifted between the two bodies in the room like a good storyteller did with their audience. "Or maybe they were and that's where we got our special genes? Spooky thought, huh Dash?"

Finding herself hugging the penguin a little too close, being a little too familiar in general (maybe?), Reagan decided her rescue of the stuffed animal had gone smoothly and it was time to let Lily be free to live her best stuffed life. Carefully, she settled the stuffed animal back in its original spot, nice and neat. A cute one, maybe not as cute as Sprocket, but still... She considered herself, posture having relaxed, even her head settling on the wall at a bit of an angle to keep her from just resting on the base of her ponytail. She was getting comfortable, and had to remind herself she was in potato sack workout clothes with (mostly) clean sneakers and a towel around her neck, all in need of a good wash now. Hardly the time to kick back, definitely no removing of the shoes either. A hand scratched at her cheek, pushed at the soft pink blush spots in hopes that blood would retreat back where it belonged.

As soon as she'd turned her back, Sarah concentrated and gave her tear ducts a silent command to simmer down. That usually quelled the other physical end emotional reactions that came with crying. The downside was that such concentration, especially with anything to do with facial reactions, sometimes made her look cross-eyed for the split second she needed to issue the command. Unfortunately, it only took a split second of cross-eyed oogling to derail whatever gains she made have made when it came to establishing herself as a pro in the realm of social bonding. At least she wasn't wearing makeup. Then she might end up looking like a cross-eyed sad clown.

"My grandma told me that story too! She claims she had to convince my grandpa not to go grab his shotgun." Sarah laughed. She had no idea if the story was true or not, as she'd never met the man. Her biological grandfather had been a merchant marine who'd been lost as sea during World War 2.

"Dash! Oh that's perfect. I love it." Sarah said as she set down her Walkman and thumbed through a stack of tapes. No. No. Definitely no. Sure, why not? She put in the tape, then reached behind her radio for a custom output jack and bypass switch that some clever lad (or lass) had wired in at some point in the recent past. The Beatles had started playing next on the radio, and it almost felt like sacrilege to cut their song short, but she really didn't feel like standing there like a goof for any longer than was necessary. She flipped the switch, which cut out the music from the radio, leaving only a soft humming. She pressed play, and another fairly recent mixtape began its musical journey, starting off with 'Velouria' by the Pixies.

Approaching the bed, she gracefully slid onto the foot of it and settled in laying catercorner from Reagan. The position seemed far more relaxed and intimate, but made it easier for her to divide her attention between the both of them. With her head and shoulders propped up on an elbow she could casually glance over to Cameron, then glance back at Reagan with ease. Plus the position would offer Reagan a more... panoramic view of her, should she be interested in looking.

"So how long have you two known each other? If you don't mind me asking." Sarah inquired, realizing that it was probably one of the first memorable attempts at conversation she'd provided so far, as until now she'd felt herself rebounding from expecting alone-time, so suddenly having multiple guests.

"Oh, about two, three hundred years?" Cameron hunched a shoulder as his gaze wandered back and forth between the pair in an attempt to finally absorb the inherent awkwardness of the current arrangement. His claim might have been an exaggeration but the very fact that Reagan was inclined at all to step into someone else's bedroom, let alone take up residency on their bed, spoke a decent testimony to the effort that had gone in to getting her to relax. First-Year Reagan would have thrown actual daggers at him for even suggesting anything so casually intimate and then likely tried to avoid him for days. "Which is to say we're part of the old guard," he continued, gaze settling on Reagan with the slight arch of his eyebrows asking silent questions. Their attempts at non-verbal communication in the midst of communal congregation was hardly a new development but Cameron was about as subtle as a sledgehammer and his twitchy interrogation translated more as a sudden inability to control his facial muscles. "Started work here at the same time, it was a much smaller cohort back then."

No nickname in return? He didn't even seem too bothered when Sarah commented on her use of it for him. Just more little bits of the conversation that seemed to make her more aware. Why had she gotten so comfortable? Sure, Sarah seemed nice, and cute, and her room was all sorts of interesting novelties, but bit by bit, that old, heavy-handed modesty nagged at her. Blame Cameron's company for just always making her feel relaxed, even with strangers (especially with attractive ones). Blame the endorphines from all that running still gradually dissipating in her system, making her feel happy and at ease. By the time the question came from the one she could more firmly look in the face, a sort of dented triangle of a shape between the three of them, Reagan found herself sitting up straight, tucking minute hairs behind her ear, and gazing at Cameron for an answer. Why did that question make it sound like she and Cameron were a couple? Not that she wasn't at least partially used to others questioning them. "Er... Cam?" As if Sarah had just spiked the ball, and she was volleying it up for him to return.

She found herself laughing a bit at his answer, eyes averting. A bright orange little square on the bed came into her line of sight and she plucked it off the blanket to lob at him with a playful little smile meant to hide those creeping insecurities. "We're not that old. Feels like we've known each other long enough though, huh? Never understood what my younger sister always complained about until I got this rogue for an honorary big brother." She found herself nodding in agreement, a hand pulling the towel from around her neck to rest in her lap, more fidgeting. "Wouldn't trade him for the world. But yeah, part of the original hire group when Claire first started this all. Best decision of my life." She dared look at Sarah again then, get a good glimpse of the eyes behind those adorable frames, and maybe, just maybe she'd be able to see a reaction coming, not get blindsided by awkward confusion again.

Sarah couldn't help but notice the looks her guests kept shooting one another. There seemed to be a lot that was left unsaid in those micro-expressions. The librarian wasn't really worried about what she couldn't hear or understand. She didn't need to. Cameron had summed it up well in his initial jest, which had been later clarified by both. Though she was officially a part of the Avalon Institute, Sarah was still more or less an outsider, and though she was letting people hang out in her room, sit on her bed and look around at her stuff, she too had a lot going on inside that she wasn't being very forthcoming about.

In a way Sarah was jealous about what they had. She'd never had anyone that close in her life. The dedication required to complete her education had left no time for cultivating memorable friendships, and her romantic entanglements had always been of the easy come, easy go variety. Her family knew all of her secrets, but to them she was more or less the stray cat that wandered in from time to time. There was always a plate set out for her if she came, but the door was always left open for her inevitable departure. There wasn't much stronger a connection than that.

But however envious she might have felt, the feeling didn't last long. There was a silver lining in the clear revelation that the two of them were not romantically involved. And there was also a moment where Sarah got to catch a glimpse of her own little world of unspoken things. She looked at Reagan, and saw the woman looking back at her, and she knew. Knew exactly what she was thinking.

Who are you? And why am I still sitting here on your bed?"

Sarah would've bet money that the look Cameron shot Reagan was asking the same thing.Why were they still there? They had to have their own list of things to do, and if they were best friends, they probably had their own daily routine, like those two kids, Ben and Julia, who always finished out the day in the library. All of the adults were far too busy to be lounging about in each others rooms like students. So why were they still there? Sarah knew the answer. She looked back at Reagan, and bit back a tiny smile, chewing the edge of her lip and adjusting her glasses with no lenses.

Bright's Fourth Rule for Success: Once you've got what you want, get out before it slips through your fingers.

"Okay I'm sold!" The librarian blurted out. "Your finest vacuum cleaner. Take my money!" She scooped up a handful of candies from her small dragon's hoard on her bed and fountained them up into the air, just high enough to be dramatic. Thankfully most of them landed back on her bed. She might actually need a vacuum cleaner before too long.

"Seriously though. You two want to grab some coffee? Decaf, obviously, for me. I should probably show our chef that I'm capable of showing up for my evening cup at a reasonable time." Yes, she might gain the reputation for being fairly unhinged and possibly insane, but she was a librarian. She could get away with it. Everyone knew that librarians who fit the dull and awkward tropes were not to be trusted.

"We may be the wrong company if you want to persuade the Monsieur of good intentions," Cameron responded ominously, inserting the concept of we into a situation that was far more applicable to a singular I. "I could do with some food though," came the unsurprising addition to Sarah's master plan, stepping into the co-collaborator role without any clue that he'd signed up for it. "Maybe some...soup." His gaze flipped back and forth between the two imminent deadpans. "Did you sea what I did there?"

The waggle of his eyes was entirely unwarranted self-praise.

There was a look, several in fact, and while she'd been prepping for it, the small fountain of candy caught her off guard all the same. Reagan couldn't help but smile at that, even as she sat back to avoid getting rained on. Not entirely unwelcome then, at least. And those looks... nah. Still Cameron putting her at ease, still endorphines. Wishful, wistful thoughts. "Coffee sounds great, er... what he said though. A fresh bowl of pond scum for the man." She gestures widely to Cameron and grins to match, finally settling up from her seat to stand up.

"I'll uh... meet you two down there in 30? Getting some unpleasant reminders that I haven't showered after my run yet." As not to seem awkward, or to feel it so much, she had already started moving for the door. Her hands gave a half-hearted, slow attempt with the towel to snap at Cameron's leg, hitting with all the force of a wet noodle, before she slung it back over her shoulders. Then it was time to look at Sarah again, thank their host. But words escaped her, replaced by a big, shy smile when she dared make eye contact again, and she had to clear her throat as she opened the door. "See you soon." Why did that sound like a cheesy line from a rom com. Gross, Reagan. Before either of them could analyze or ridicule (no doubt ammo given to Cameron at the very least), she made her exit, door closing softly behind her.

Once Sarah was alone she counted to ten, barely holding it together while she waited just to make sure her guests had moved well out of earshot. Eight. Nine. Ten. "Oh my god, Sarah why did you say that?!" The librarian couldn't help but whine aloud. "Now they both think you're a total spaz..." She pounded at her bed while kicking her feet, throwing a little microtantrum that sent a couple more pieces of candy clattering off of her bed. She rolled around for added effect, ending up on her back nearer the middle of her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She reached out for Penny the Penguin to give it a quick cuddle, if only because Reagan had just done so, but missed and came up with the pillow the woman had been sitting up against instead. She pulled it close and couldn't help but give it a sniff. It smelled like girl-sweat and strawberry-banana Bubble Yum.

Giving her stomach a quick command to remind her in twenty minutes time, Sarah contented herself with hugging the pillow, and thinking about how badly she'd handled that last interaction. And about how much she was looking forward to badly handling the next one too.

Bright & Grungy Mix