2019-05-10 - Phenomenal Cosmic Powers, Itty-Bitty Living Space

It's not that long a drive. It's from one part of Gray Harbor to another; how long could it be if it tried? And despite a certain amount of singing along to the radio (he'd be great at karaoke, which is to say, enthusiastic and not actually good enough to make anyone feel intimidated) and general chatting, Aidan does seem to put a fair bit of focus into his driving. So they get there, and get there safely, without nearly dying. It's not very exciting, but it's a net positive where getting proper value of the money they just spent on eating is concerned.

The trailer-- I'm sorry, mobile home park is nothing to write home about, unless her home is particularly curious about how people with little money and fewer titles live in America. Rows, albeit neat ones, of single-wide trailers, mostly small ones. Not too much room between them, though enough to pass through, and enough that there are indeed no signs of squad cars or police tape just now. Some of the trailers are a little longer than others. Some seem a bit newer. All are maintained, though some are a bit more meticulous than others, and the degree of devotion to things like potted gardens varies.

It's Aidan's trailer they end up at first, if only because that's where he parks his car, but it does also put them nicely near the middle of the place, and that allows him, once the van's shut, to take the small number of strides necessary to be in the middle of the 'street' and do a breezy 360 degree turn there, arms out wide. And he does, in fact, exclaim, "Ta-da!" as if he'd just accomplished a pretty decent magic trick of some kind. Exactly as if, actually. "Huckleberry Mobile Home Park. I know there's a bunch available right now, 'cause I had a choice." And apparently, he picked one of the smaller, older-looking ones. It's bright turquoise. But unlike some others, it's also got a little porch and a bay window, so maybe that was the selling point! Or maybe the rent was just cheaper.

If she told her parents about the plight of trailer park living people in America and that she was associating with them, they'd probably be horrified. Plus, they'd have all their opinions about their wayward daughter confirmed. Baylee has learned quite a while back to just tell them she's fine, and that she might need to borrow a few hundred dollars here and there. It's the most painless forms of conversation that she can manage to have with her parents at this point in her life.

The conversation on the ride over is kept up with, she is quite good at small talk, honestly. No more wise cracks about how terrible the Hawaiian shirt is, either. Once there she gets out of the van and follows him out to the middle of the street, "Very nice. I love what you did with the place." It's amused, and teasing, but she does at least appear to be weirdly charmed by him, or maybe charmed by the trailer park in general.

Once in the middle of the street with him she starts to turn herself around in place, looking around for a moment before she points towards the neighbor with the plant wall, "That really is clever, though." She then reaches a hand up, gathering up her hair before twisting it into a bun, pulling a hair band off her wrist to quickly bind it into place, "Show me the ones that you know of that are, or I guess were, available when you were looking."

It's a fabulous Hawaiian shirt, thank you very much. Aidan doesn't seem to have held her clearly incorrect opinion against her, however. One'd think she might not be the first not to fully appreciate his sartorial splendor. To be fair, of course, certain ones might've just thought that by looking.

In any case, whether it's him or the park, he'll take it! He grins at her again, and sweeps a needlessly flamboyant bow in recognition of the teasing approval. "I try!" he replies, "I've tried for like fifty-some hours now, give or take errands and diner trips, so as you can see I've been really efficient. ...it is, isn't it?" That with another glance to the plants. "I might need to get some. Anyway! Let me give you the grand tour."

He leads the way, starting by walking backward down the lane in that drawing-someone-along sort of manner, and gestures to one the next row over, near the other end, with suitable (or unsuitable, depending on one's taste) drama. "Number 53! 1982 vintage, Fleetwood Festival according to that sticker over there. Kinda okay carpet. Pretty good bathtub. Otherwise kinda boring, but he says that one's never available long so I guess it must be pretty decent." It's also off-white and avocado.

There is so many, many things that could make this amusing. Everything, in fact, is really amusing about the situation. So it is probably no surprise at all that she's got amusement written across her face as the grand tour begins.

When they come to Number 53 she pauses outside it, her head tilting to the side, arms crossed over her chest before she reaches into a pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. In this day and age of vape pens and things she's clearly well outside the cool kids club with her mundane, uncool, way not retro-smoking habit. "I don't mind okay carpet, and a bathtub is good...but, I don't have to have one. Showers work just fine." One cigarette is tapped out and she tucks it between her lips, catching it with her teeth as she continues, "If you get plants, you should trim them into shapes. Like hearts and eggplants."

So totally uncool, and yet Aidan manages to find some more up to brighten. "Oh hey. Can I bum one of those? Meant to pick some up while I was out, but I kinda forgot." Because he got distracted by Baylee. So basically it's her fault!

He doesn't actually wait for an answer and to be given one or not, as he moves on, and glances again at 53 as they pass it. "I've got a bathtub," he says, "I think most of them do, actually. But some of them have better ones than others. Like, that one's got a big corner-shaped one. Whereas 67..." He leads her around the end of the row and into the next, down nearly to the end as he talks, "...it's got a kinda cramped tub and shower combo that sorta looks like someone killed a monster squid in there at some point." Or dyed their hair black a few times, more likely. Maybe weirdly, it looks newer than the last. "It's okay, otherwise. But it feels kind of..." He trails off, eyeing it. "I didn't like the vibe," he says, shrugging, and leaves it at that. Almost like he's decided that's less weird than whatever he might otherwise have said.

He looks down the others, and gestures vaguely, "You don't wanna live that far into the park," he decides, and heads back along past rows five and four. "Oh! There's a clubhouse," he says, gesturing to the one permanent building around as they go. "It's got ping pong. And Bingo, I guess, on Sundays, but I haven't been here a Sunday yet. Old dude in #1 runs that."

The pack is held out towards him, letting him dig out his own without any problem in the sharing. It's her fault that he got distracted, afterall. Even if she doesn't quite know that it is her fault, exactly. As soon as the cigarettes are shared, though, she pulls out a lighter and lights hers, then offers it towards him so that he can also light his.

When he moves around, she follows, absorbing anything that he has chosen to share regarding the trailer park without question. Until he says that she doesn't want to live further into the park and she glances in the direction indicated. "So, hold up." She reaches a hand out towards him, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket as she pulls her cigarette from her mouth, blowing smoke absently to the side, "Why don't I want to live further into the park?" She gestures in the direction that he did, her brows lifting upwards just a moment, "I mean, I don't think that I'd want to...further to walk or drive, or whatever. But why do you think I don't want to, or shouldn't."

"Thanks," Aidan says, tugging out the offered cigarette fairly deftly; there's a barely perceptible pause when she offers the lighter, and then he accepts it. He flicks it into burning as he walks, and watches the flame for a heartbeat or two before actually lighting up, returning the lighter as he exhales the first breath of smoke. Upward, where he can watch it climb for a moment as it dissipates.

The grab of his sleeve startles him, but it also works -- he stops, blinking at her once, with a brief tension that fades as she asks her question. There's one of those fleeting aside looks, this one less sharp and maybe faintly smug -- a 'see?' sort of thing, perhaps -- gone nearly as quick as it's there. "Mostly I figure driving or walking that far's more inconvenient, unless you don't like any of the ones closer to the front. Though maybe not TOO close to the front, like, I wouldn't want to live right by the fence, personally. Though #1 seems like he does okay. But..." He glances down further into the park, considering, and then at her. Still considering. Well. She asked. "The open ones back there all feel... off. Depressed, or angry, or--" He shrugs. "They feel like people left 'em for good reason." He watches her a little closer, now, as he takes another drag.

The observation that people left them for 'good reasons' causes her to frown, but then she nods, "Yeah." Baylee seems to accept this as a reason people might leave a place, "Like there is just a sort of...cloud, yeah? I've seen places like that before. So much sadness or whatever, sometimes like...just so much history in a place seems to weigh it down. Usually you'll find places like that back home that are hundreds and hundreds of years old....like..."

Then she realizes that she might just be sounding crazy, cutting herself off with a laugh that is almost audibly forced, "Nothing. Anyways. So the perfect spot, you're saying, is somewhere in the middle of things?" She gestures one way with an empty hand, then the other with her cigarette, "Somewhere neither too far in, and too far out? OK. Well, are there more places in the middle then? Not sure avocado is exactly my color."

Aidan does not look like he thinks she sounds crazy. He looks, in fact, both relieved and maybe a tiny bit excited that she's picking up what he's putting down there. "No, exactly," he says, "I mean, not that I've been a lot of places that had that much history, except for the land, but. Yeah, like that. Sometimes I guess it's a lot of history. Sometimes I think it's just... kind of intense history."

He starts them walking again, eyeing the cherry of his cigarette for a second or two before he smokes again. "...yeah, middle of things is probably the best. Like the filling of an Oreo, everyone knows the cookies pretty much just exist as an excuse to eat that. Or you'd have Half-Stuf cookies as well as Double-Stuf and Mega-Stuf. Or No-Stuf. Just plain wafers."

He turns them down the next lane, stopping beside a pale yellow trailer to look at her again. "I'm probably not gonna think you're crazy," he says suddenly, watching her again. "If you tell me stuff like that, I mean. Feelings off places. I mean, for one thing, I've seen a bunch of crazy. But for another? Stuff's true that most people think isn't. And I'm pretty sure you know that, 'cause you've got the... I dunno. Spark." It's a strange delivery, like it wants to be reassuring, like he knows it might be risky to say, but still with a certain intensity behind it he can't wholly suppress.

It is a pretty strange delivery, and her first reactions are probably the sort that would be expected from someone who has no idea what he's talking about. There is a bit of a smirk, then an almost amused look, but it rather quickly crumbles the longer he continues, and the pale yellow trailer they've stopped in front of is ignored as she stares at him.

Arguments about things like Oreo's, and the fact that the middle is not the best part, are best left unspoken at the moment. For more important things, right? More real things. Unreal? Baylee's thoughts are clearly at war with herself on which point it is that she's considering at the moment. Eventually she summons up the words, and puts voice to them, "What sort of crazy things have you seen?" There's a lot of tension in those words, but she looks mostly receptive to what it is that he's telling her at the moment, the cigarette lifted upwards so that she can take a pull from it, the cheery flaring brightly enough that in the dark it'd illuminate her face. But there's no dark yet, which loses some of the cool points there might have been.

Aidan hesitates. It's a noticeable one, not even covered by smoking, though after a beat he does that as well. A sudden quick glare off at nothing while he does probably doesn't do the absolute best job of supporting his initial disclaimer of, "I'm not crazy, okay?" Mostly an assurance, though it's a little bit defiant as well. "I know some stuff sounds weird, but. Anyway, that depends what you mean by the question, but what I meant by it? I knew a guy who did a big mural on his wall overnight once in blood and shit. His, which I guess is better than someone else's anyway. I knew this girl--" The tone's been more conversational than one would probably expect, but even so he breaks off there, as if it's just worked its way through his mind, "...you prolly don't want details." A vague gesture with the cigarette, dismissing it, as he glances at the yellow trailer again.

"Anyway," he says, looking back to her, "If you mean stuff that's true people think isn't? Psychic stuff. Like emotional residue kinda things, or people affecting stuff with their minds, breaking it or moving it or setting it on fire or whatever. Ghosts." Another drag, and he's very definitely watching her again to see how she takes this.

"No, you've already told me about your worst Tinder date, and the shit-artist....So what about this girl?"

Does she really want to know? Probably not. But she's going to ask anyways, because this is going to now drive her insane since it is half-way out there.

"Ghosts? Emotional residue?" Baylee looks immediately like she's regretting getting into his not-creepy-potentially-murder-rape van. But then she raises a hand up, hand rubbing at her forehead, "When I got to town I had a really fucked up experience. I kept hearing people whispering to me, and like...I touched something...and it rusted."

Yup. Aidan's told her about those, and this one he decided maybe don't. Was that wise? Well, she can decide for herself. There's a tiny pause, then, "Her folks left her home for like a month with no warning, taking care of her little brother. And when they came back, she was sitting on the couch watching tv and eating cereal, and her brother was... mostly on the dining room table. She said he was under the control of the alien overloads so she had to perform a mystic ritual on him to save the world." It's a touch flat, but that's it. "Major psychotic break, that's what they said."

He takes another drag, glancing up at the sky, then back to her, and gives her a half-smile, sympathetic. "See, if you tell doctors that, they'll say you're psychotic too. You're not, though." He seems sure enough about this, and glances sidelong at her, then knocks the cherry off his cigarette with a sharp little flick of one finger. He brings it back to his mouth; it's clearly extinguished. And then it isn't. A tiny flame appears on the end of it, he inhales, and it's properly lit again. "I never tried making something rust. But I can do that." Can he hear people whispering? No comment. "Have you tried it again since then? Like, on purpose? There's places this stuff feels easier than others, and it's... kinda easier here. If you've got the knack."

"No." Baylee is very, very firm about that no, in fact. Like the very idea of trying it again just fills her with all kinds of bad feelings, stress, anxiety. "I ended up in the ER." She points out, eyes following the end of that cigarette, frowning at him, "Evidently the Doc I saw was..." Oh, she's going to hate herself for this in a minute. "Like us." She takes another drag from her own cigarette before she drops it onto the ground, grinding it out beneath her toes, "Anyways...no. I haven't tried to rust anything on purpose...."

There is a frown, though, her eyes straying towards the yellow trailer before she looks back towards him, "I'm still pretty fucking convinced that this is all a bad trip and I'll wake up in a psych ward a week from now with my parents there telling me how much of a fuck up I am."

"I'm not gonna claim it can't land you in a psych ward," Aidan says, "'cause I like said. People think shit's not real. People like us, though? They know better. Even the ones that wish they didn't." The grin, suddenly, "And if it was a bad trip, would I be here?" Goin' for charming on purpose, this time, if mostly because getting a 'yes' would be sad.

Quieter a moment, more serious. Contemplative, even. "There's probably other stuff you can do, too. I dunno what, exactly, but the other folks I've met, they can mostly do more than one thing. Like, if you rust stuff... maybe you can also unrust it? I mean, nothing's probably going to make you," unless you have a ghost maybe, "but, I dunno. You'll know when you see people who've got it. And they'll know you do."

"Probably not." Baylee replies with a laugh, a hand reaching out towards him to slide a hand against his chest, "You're obviously here, too." It is a grave invasion of his personal space, but it could be argued that he practically asked her to, right? This is obviously how this works. Not that she keeps up that invasion for long, dropping her hand back to her side before she raises her other to her mouth for a drag....of a cigarette she'd already put out and totally forgotten about. She takes a moment to stare at her empty fingers, then sighs, dropping that hand as well.

"I don't know that I want to rust anything, what would be the actual purpose of it?" Baylee wonders, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown, "Seriously, though, what would be the actual point of rusting something? I could see that unrusting it might be helpful, though."

If someone wants to argue whether or not Aidan invited that, it's not currently him. There's a slight shift of weight toward her, subtle in itself but still clearly welcoming. "See?" he says, arching a brow, and when she stares at her empty hand, he offers what remains of his own cigarette to her.

"Well. Let's say you got kidnapped and shoved in the trunk of a car." Yes, Aidan, that's the example anyone would come up with. "You could rust the lock and open the trunk and get out. If they handcuffed you, you could make those fall apart first. Or, I guess if you didn't want someone you were tailing driving somewhere, you could rust their engine. Or give them a flat, if it's not just metal it works on."

The cigarette that is offered is taken, because her nerves might just be in need of something like that. The examples are all listened to, nodded at. She's not dismissing any of them, or finding any of it very weird at all, like someone shoving her into a trunk or handcuffing her are perfectly reasonable things that could happen. A quick drag of the cigarette is taken before she holds it back towards him, "Alright. Sure."

Bonus points for Aidan. He made a point, and the examples that are totally weird for normal people are just accepted. "I could also open someones door with this, right? Rust a lock or whatever." Which is probably not a creepy example of her own at all, right?

Well, not to him! "Yeah!" Aidan agrees, accepting the cigarette and gesturing with it as he adds, "Or the hinges, or whatever. If you can unrust it too, maybe you could rust the lock to get in, then undo it when you left, even." A tiny pause. "Now I kinda want to try this."

He takes a drag, then offers the cig back. "I don't totally know the rules for this stuff, just... what I've figured out I can do, and what I've seen other people do. I know there's a kind of, I dunno, balance a person has. And it can change. It's like there's three kind of flavours of it, or that I've felt, anyway." He gives her a thoughtful glance. "Mind if I see if I can figure out yours?" It's more like he's curious now than like he's been waiting for an opening, but it's... kind of polite he asked, maybe?

"Which one of these things is yours?" Baylee starts to look around, pointing back in the direction they came from, and where he parked his van, "Yours is where you parked?" She can not possibly be asking for reference on where to try and rust locks to get in, right? She accepts the cigarette back from him when he offers it back, taking another drag off it before she starts to step in closer to him, her smile fierce as she looks up at him, "You want to figure out mine?"

It is very clear that she's attempting levity on a subject that probably still scares the every loving shit out of her. But it only last for a minute before she flicks the ashes off the cigarette, nodding, "Alright, go ahead....this isn't going to hurt or anything, is it?"

"Yeah, the turquoise one," Aidan confirms, "...although I might paint things on it or something." Surely management and all neighbours will be cool with that. "Please don't rust it, though, you can just knock and I'll probably let you in, y'know." Another grin, if smaller, and he doesn't step back when she steps in, instead replying, "Oh, deeply." If you know what he means. If he knows what he means. It sounds about right in response, though?

The question gets a breath of a laugh, and he shakes his head. "Nah, it won't hurt. You might kinda... feel like something's happening. Or you might not. Mostly people don't, but I met a couple people that kinda called me on doing something, and that's-- awkward." He leaves the cigarette with her, and tilts his head slightly, studying her a bit more intently. This does not require backing up, clearly.

Baylee laughs when he responds to the initial question, like his deeply comment was all kinds of right and wrong in turns, a brow raising before she makes an mmhmm sound. "I bet." It's probably a very good bet that she knows what she means, although depending on what he meant first this entire back and forth could have easily gone way off the rails. "Only probably let me in? Kind of rude, don't you think."

But then she lifts the cigarette up, taking another drag off it before lowering it and her hand, carefully blowing the smoke in such a way that it won't blow right into his face while she waits for him to do whatever else he's wanting to do.

"Well, maybe I'd be in the bath," Aiden points out, "or right at a pivotal point in my plans to rule the world." These things have to be taken into consideration! They also sound about equally likely, the way he says them, and slightly more distracted than one'd expect if he were aiming to tease. Then again, he's got something else to focus on, and it's not that long before he has a diagnosis, as it were.

"You've got all three," he says, first, "You're not super strong in any of them, though like I said... sometimes it changes. But you're strongest in..." A tiny pause, and almost sheepishly, "If there's proper names for it, I don't know them. But I think of it as 'space'. The people I knew who were pretty strong in that could do telekinesis kind of stuff, and know where things were. Like, dude never lost his keys. Dude found other people's keys. Then you've got some essence, that's kind of... healing or hurting things. And fire," which deserves mention of its own. "And you've got a little bit of mind, so that's like telepathy and empathy, that kind of thing." Which is more or less Professor Aidan's Psychics 101; sadly he is not an accredited institution. And if he were, he probably shouldn't let his hand drift over to catch the buttonhole-placket of her overshirt between finger and thumb and let them slide down it.

"Sounds like I'm a regular mutant, huh?" Thank you, Marvel. She has a frame of reference of sorts, at least. Somewhat. But she at least accepts his diagnosis and observations with a bit of a laugh, then she hesitates, "The metal thing, the little shed that you stand in while waiting for the bus, it dented when I got angry at the voices." In addition to there being voices, and rust. She probably should have mentioned that little small bit of information at the beginning of things, but she didn't.

The catch of his finger and thumb on her shirt causes her to look down for a split second before she eases closer into his personal bubble, "So if you were in the bath, or I guess at a pivotal point in your plans to take over the world, and you didn't answer the door. Since you can't while you are actually in the bath, right? Then I'd say that a valid response would be to rust the lock and let myself in. Just to make sure you've not drowned in the tub, or something else. Wellness check, yeah?"

Aidan grins a bit again at the frame of reference she chooses. "Pretty much," he agrees, "Though we don't have to wear spandex unless we want to. But I'm pretty sure I could find you some if you do want to." That one definitely was teasing, at least, even if he's more serious about the little bits of information she adds in. "Voices are dicks," he says, "...well, can be, anyway. And mentioning them definitely gets people looking at you weird." You know. Like you're nuts. "Bus shelter," he adds, either supplying it for her or just finding the words for the concept himself at that point, "What exactly happened?"

This is a question he's genuinely interested in having the answer to, but at the same time, he's also genuinely interested in her threat of wellness checking. "I dunno, are you gonna fix my door again if you do? And what'll you do if you find me and I'm just enjoying an afternoon with Mr. Bubble?" He pauses, tilting his head slightly, and then just lets it go. It sounds how it sounds, he already said it. "Should I be planning the same kinda check if you don't let me in when you've got a place? You know, for safety's sake."

"Mr. Bubble?" It sounds exactly how it sounds, and she looks down, because her mind does not go towards bubble bath, beer, or any other sort of bubble. "I'm sure that I'd never come between you and Mr. Bubble. That'd be rude, and uncalled for." She then looks back up towards him, amusement spiking for a moment, "I'll fix what I break, sure....and I guess you can come make sure I've not drowned in my tub, too."

It's the possibly neighborly thing to do.

"So I got off the bus, and had this joint that Guy gave me...and I decided to light it up. Because, why not, right?" She shakes her head a bit, because there is obviously no reason why not. "Before I knew it the world tilted, I started hearing voices....and you ever just have that really bad trip where you're not sure you're going to sober up sane? It was like that. But..." She shrugs her shoulders, her hand lifting to tuck the cigarette back into his mouth as she adds, "I'm still going to find the bastard with the dog that called me a drunk slut. He is going to need an attitude adjustment."

It's that downward glance that does it. Aidan doesn't have the kind of complexion that lends itself to blushes, but if he did, it might be a possibility. What's definite is the way his lips press together, and the abbreviated snort of laughter that escapes his nose. He opens his mouth then as if to try to clear things up, and it hangs there a breath before it snaps shut again and he shakes his head slightly. Fuck it. "Much appreciated," he says instead, to the assurance of non-interference, the promise or repairs, the allowance of reciprocal home invasion, or any or all of the above. There's one of those aside glances again, though he's still too amused for this one to hold much venom. Or... whatever that generally is. It segues into a small headshake in a way one might actually believe was all just standard amusement.

He's looking at her again when she gets into the other answer, and finds himself still holding the bottom of the shirt. It gets toyed with, rather than freed, while he listens. Indeed, judging by his nod, there is no reason why not, and another one -- with a slight wince -- meets the question about the bad trip. Something a little tenser in that, though just for a moment, and he lets her return the cigarette, trying not to smile at the attempt. He fails when she gets to the bit about the dog guy, sadly. "Well, that's just rude," he says around the cigarette, "Should definitely have a word with him."

He lifts his hand, then, taking a drag and then holding it aside a moment, attention captured by the tiny glow at the end of the now rather short tube. And then his attention's on her again, and he gives her a smaller smile. "You're not going crazy," he says, just a bit more gently, "you're just different. Mutant pride." He bends his arm, free hand coming to shoulder height and making a fist. Low-key solidarity, yo. It's partly a joke. But only partly.

"So, I ended up at the ER, convinced I needed a shot of something to bring me down, that this dude had laced this joint he gave me. Which would be pretty rude, you know." As she starts to continue the story she lifts her hand up, giving him an appropriate fist bump in return for their new mutant solidarity. "I really was convinced that I'd had a bad trip...and that I was going to end up on a three day hold, right? But this Doctor comes in, asks some questions, then assures me....that's not going to happen. Even suggested that I could stay at the B&B for a little while, that it was cool...the owner was cool."

Which brings her to today, "So here I am." She glances around, smirking very faintly, "Standing around a trailer park when some guy that can light his cigarette with his mind."

"Well, I've definitely known some people who'd think it was a fun bonus," Aidan says, "...but yeah, I'd vote also pretty rude. Maybe not quite LSD in the water system rude, but Miss Manners isn't gonna approve." He looks amused again at the fistbump, and gives a firm nod of encouragement to it. "So, doctor like us, so he spotted you. B&B dude too?" He hasn't been there, clearly.

He grins a bit at her smirk. "You might've ended up standing around a trailer park with some guy that can light his cigarette with his mind anyhow, y'know," he points out, "'cause you didn't know I could do that 'til after you were here. And you probably still wouldn't know, then." Probably. "But I'd still show you around the trailers." He glances at the yellow one again, gesturing with what's left of the cigarette, "That one's pretty nice, actually. Maybe needs a little fixing up inside, but not bad. And it feels... content."

A small tilt of his head, taking a final drag before offering the rest back to her again; there's not enough left to be worth giving back again if she takes it. "Office'll probably get annoyed if we rust the door to tour it," he says, apparently having realised at some point that the office is, in fact, closed by now. Possibly when he pointed out the building it's in. There's a couple more rows not against the fence; there may well be at least a couple more empty ones over there. Still... "Want to see mine?"

"I might have." Baylee agrees in regard to the whole standing in the middle of the trailer park situation. When he offers the cigarette back she takes it, checking to see how many drags there might be left of it before she takes that final drag, dropping it onto the ground to grind it out, "That's sort of the thing about life, isn't it? You just never know really where you'll end up, or who....or what the situation'll be."

The comments could be somewhat profound, but Baylee is not exactly a profound sort of person. And it just comes across as amused, and almost dismissive of the possibilities of where life might take a person. "Content though?" She wonders, letting her attention turn towards the yellow trailer, taking it in, then noting which number it is before she laughs, "Right...the office. I can just talk to them tomorrow, I guess."

It'd be easy to just call them, right? "You can show me yours, yeah." No rusting of doors actually included. "Right, the B&B dude....yeah, I guess? He's weird like us, I think."

Aidan doesn't seem all that intent on gettin' profound either, at least at the moment. "Buncha waves and you just surf 'em," he agrees cheerfully enough, including the slightly more thoughtful, "Surfing's kind of fun, actually, I learned a couple years ago. I mean, I suck at it, but it's fun." He may have switched from figurative to literal. Probably?

Her phrasing of the acceptance gets another soft, amused snort, quieter than the earlier one, and he offers his arm in a somewhat exaggeratedly gentlemanly fashion, which is probably the only way he could get away with it, really. "Well, then, let's away." Not very far away, granted; it's just the other side of the row. And gesture accepted or not, he seems to intend to take them through the space between trailers as well, which shortens the distance further. "They show up at like... eight I think. You can crash here if you want; the couch I found's hella comfy, so I don't mind crashing on it." The B&B's probably a nicer place to sleep, though, all in all. "Doctor, B&B dude, dude with the cannibal ex, us... I definitely keep seeing more folks like us around here than usual, though. Like, go to the store? Every aisle and two of the check-outs. Most places it's not like that," he muses.

"So there is something about this place, then.....that attracts more weird people like us?" Baylee wonders, shifting towards something that is just a little more serious as she reaches for his arm, and follows his lead through the trailer rows, her attention several seconds behind as she tries to work out what it is about this place that might cause there to be more of them around. "You're sure, though...that it's more of them around here, and not just...Your ability to pick them up being better?"

Sounds reasonable! But then again, the weird offer to stay in the trailer of a dude she just met also seems to be reasonable because she shrugs at the offer, "Sure. Although I can just crash on the couch...wouldn't want to put you out of your own bed. Seems pretty rude."

"Might be," Aidan says, with a small nod, "...but I don't know what. And I'm... pretty sure. I could maybe be getting better, but I don't remember someone I didn't clock ever clocking me. Well. And letting me know about it, I guess..." It bears consideration. "But also? I've been other places it seems like there's more of us than usual. Maybe less more, but more. Couple places when we were touring through the southwest, some place when I was going through California, part of Portland. Dunno that they had anything obvious in common, just... more of us than, like, Poughkeepsie. So, yeah... pretty sure."

Unsurprisingly, he does not appear to see anything much odd about his offer, and just looks faintly pleased when it's accepted. "Either way, but I'm pretty used to couches and stuff, and I'm not lying, this one's comfy as hell." A slight pause as they reach his trailer, and he tilts his head to study it. "Yeah, plants," he decides, "and a grill, and something to sit on out here. Hearts and eggplants, huh?" A small pause. "No peaches?" He leads the way to the door, the lock of which seems like enough of a formality that she might not even have to rust it to get through, if she were determined.

"Touring...band? Theater?" Baylee has obviously forgotten his entire premise for why he was with the potentially-murder chick on that ill-fated date. She lingers out front for a little bit longer, releasing his arm to do so. Not because she's suddenly second guessing the invitation into his trailer, but considering his question about the peaches. "You could...But you'd have to be very careful about what order you put the plants in, so...I suggest peaches, heart, eggplant."

With that decision she moves to where he's unlocking the door, missing the cheapness of the lock as she leans in against the door frame so that she can peer inside once the door is open, "Grill is good, you want at least three lawn chairs, though. No more than that, or it'll invite too many neighbors over frequently."

"Theatre," Aidan replies, and either has also forgotten saying anything about it or is reminding, "I did tech stuff for them, lights and sets, that kind of thing. It all kinda fell apart a few years back..." There's a little regret in that, but, y'know. Waves, surfing. He pushes the door open, and steps aside to make a smaller 'ta-da!' gesture than before, suitable for double-duty as 'go on in'.

They say most people don't look up. If so, most people would miss the fact that the entire ceiling has been painstakingly covered with aluminum foil. Sort of a poor man's mirrored ceiling, maybe. And if the location didn't, the rest of the decor suggests the inhabitant is indeed poor. Suspecting his furniture came from Goodwill would be kind; most people's thoughts would run more to 'scavenged from the curb.' An orange recliner that's forgotten how not to recline and a lime green armchair with a random chunk of wood standing in for one leg frame a couch about which nothing complementary can be said at first sight. It's ugly. The shape is odd, with weird wing-like arms; the fabric is disturbing, someone having decided that hot pink and yellow argyle with black accents was a great pattern, which ought to be achieved in a rough and nubby polyester. The front of each arm has clear plastic covering where cats have scratched, and the cushions seem to have been inexpertly patched with whatever was handy. If one dares to sit on the thing, though, its redeeming feature becomes clear: it's sinfully comfy. There are a couple black chenille throw pillows on it, which could be considered Making An Effort. The coffee table is wooden and has obviously been through a lot in its time, as have the battered lamp in the corner and the tiny TV on a crate across the room. The kitchen is clean but barren, as is the bathroom -- the whole place is neat but devoid of much worth notice.

"So three exactly, then? Huh. Seems reasonable. Now I'm thinking it through, if the plants are just green, peaches and hearts might look too much alike..." He's studying the little porch as he waits to follow her in.

Unless that notice is that the colors are tragic, and the furniture is terrible.

Baylee doesn't comment on any of that, however, instead she waits for him to ta-da, then she heads through the door and steps into the trailer to actually take the entire thing in. From within, fully in the context that a place like this probably deserves. She turns herself around, making sure that she's able to observe everything within the trailer, without taking herself out of the main part. No digging around in the bathroom or the bedroom, yet.

"You could spray paint them." She suggests after a moment, reaching down to slide her shoes off, tossing them towards the wall next to the door, "The heart could be bright red, and then of course the peach.....peach."

It's true. The decor leaves much to be desired. Aidan takes it in himself when he enters, closing the door behind them, and he leans down to undo his boots as well. It's quick in the way that suggests a whole lot of practice with those particular shoes, and he sets them aside relatively neatly. "I need to get a toaster," he observes, as though this is the biggest problem with things right now. "But it's not too bad for fiftyish hours!" Yes, he looks pretty satisfied with what he currently sees. Even a little bit proud, honestly. He probably shouldn't be. On the other hand, it's a complete living room! Technically. it's got a gas fireplace, too, which looks pretty okay, and probably was there when he showed up. The carpet surely was too, though, and it's dingy as hell. Still... maybe it's imagined from what he's been saying before, or actually it's one of those psychic things, but it feels... kinda pleasant.

"I could, I guess. Seems kind of hard on the plants, don't they breathe through their leaves or something? I might spraypaint the walls, though." He looks at one of them, as if it might be slightly offending him; why is hard to imagine, since it's a totally inoffensive shade of off-white. "I mean, I'm gonna paint them something, but. I had an apartment, a long time ago, and a friend of mine did these murals on the walls..." Presumably not the dude he mentioned earlier... "Anyway, welcome! You can poke around if you like, all the trailers I saw are kinda set up like this inside. Except some have better this or that than others." If she does look in the bathroom, it's got a perfectly acceptable bath and shower, so there's that. The bedroom's got an air bed taking up most of its terrain at the moment, if she looks there.

"A toaster?" Very random thought, that. "Sure, toasters are bloody useful things, if you think about it. Much better than trying to toast the bread somewhere else, like...a skillet?" She has no idea if that is even a possibility, but she throws it out there like she actually knows what she's talking about. With some authority that she doesn't actually have.

"Fiftyish hours?" Baylee wonders, giving him a curious look, then the walls themselves before she takes his invitation and starts to look around, hanging through the door to the bathroom to study the bath and shower, "It's not a bad bath...I've seen a whole lot better, but I've seen a lot worse, too." Then it is on to the bedroom and the fact there is an air mattress there that causes her to laugh, "No wonder you are so willing to sleep on the couch." It's in the doorway to the bedroom that she lingers, arms crossing, "The walls are fairly boring, but I'm more curious as to what is with your tin foil ceiling."

Aidan shrugs. "I like toast," he says, and then grins again, wandering after her idly, hands in his jacket pockets. Actually, he could probably lose a layer or two in here, it's not nearly as cold as outside, and infinitely less drizzly. Which is kind of the point of houses, really. "You can do it in a skillet, but it doesn't work as well. If you use butter it's more fried bread, which is good too but not the same. You can do it on the burner directly but that gets kinda... toasters are better." He's clearly tried these options, albeit maybe not here. "You can do it on a skewer over a fire, but if you've got a skewer and a fire, why wouldn't you be toasting marshmallows instead of bread? Though you could do both...."

He leans up against the wall next to the bedroom door as she lingers, and glances in at the air mattress. It's a decent-looking one at least -- queen or king, and a couple feet tall so it's almost like a real one. Almost. And the linens on it look clean, so there's that! "I thought I said that before? I got here like... just over two days ago. So. Fiftyish hours." And either this place came as it is, or he spent a couple of those doing the foil thing. Her question about that gets a laugh, and an upward glance at the metal in question. "You looked," he says, before his attention drops back down to her. "Well. It's kinda pretty, and reflective surfaces make places look bigger, and there were these stains on the ceiling, and who knows, maybe it actually does attenuate government mind control rays or something. Couldn't hurt." Joke? Though deadpan doesn't seem quite his style, so maybe he does actually think that could be possible. Hard to say for sure. "Also I guess if there were any leaks it'd protect things better than just paint." A pause, and another shrug, "Why not?"

No comment on the willingness to sleep on the couch, but it does look like he probably picked the bed last night. Though who knows if he had the couch yet at that point!

"You'd have to have marshmallows, though. Wouldn't you?" Baylee wonders idly when the whole cooking it over fire is brought up, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth upwards, "I mean, you could just have bread, and a skewer. Then...maybe nothing else, right?" She glances over at him when he settles on the wall next to her and the door, then she looks back in towards the mattress.

"I'm not sure it'll help with leaks. But it is shiny, and they used to use tin tiles on ceilings back in the day. Large pieces, and they were shaped so they had texture, and uh...not a print, really, since it's not a print. But a pattern." She shifts away from the door frame, moving towards him, this time she catches the edge of his jacket, giving it a light tug before she points out, "But I don't know that it'll help any kind of mind control, pretty sure that's a product of Hollywood and crazies." Which. "And we're not crazies, right?"

"Well, yeah, but why wouldn't you have marshmallows?" Aidan replies, smiling back. "...okay, I guess there's times I've had bread and no marshmallows," he allows, as if this actually were an unusual sort of situation, and not most people's more common one. He glances upward again when she talks about the tin tiles, considering the foils. "I could make patterns in it," he says, "Pin pricks, or some kind of impression pattering. Might be less shiny, and holes would definitely not help any leak-prevention. But it might look good..."

It's the looking upward that keeps him from properly noticing that shift until she catches the edge of his jacket, and he looks down with faint surprise, though it melts almost immediately into a grin when he sees her right there. "Right," he agrees as his fingers find the edge of her overshirt again and give it a similar tug in return, specifying, "Not crazies." And then he shifts his weight as well, not quite off the wall, but enough to tilt his head in and try to steal a kiss.

The light switch in that tiny hallway is more or less within reach from where they are. It doesn't feel like either of them reached out, though, before the light suddenly goes out right about then.

"I don't know, usually when I camp with a fire I bring marshmallows." Which is probably why his situation is very unusual, this idea that there might not be marshmallows. But stranger things have happened, after all. Like hearing voices, or causing something to rust and dent just with your mind. That's pretty unusual.

"Impressions." Baylee is very quick to vote towards impression patterns and not pin prick patterns. But then two things seem to happen at the same time, he leans in to steal a kiss and the lights go out. She knows that she didn't reach out and turn the light off, but she doesn't know if he did. In fact, she just assumes that he did, which is fine. It sets a very particular kind of mood, after all. It also means that there is a little less than perfect lean back into the stolen kiss, and there might be squished noses or bumped forheads in the sudden, unexpected dark.

Hey, his situation is the one where there ARE marshmallows! It's the bread that was in question. On the other hand, camping hadn't actually entered the conversation until now... "Oh, especially camping," he agrees, and he may well be on board with her preference for impressions of some kind, but that's just going to have to wait a minute.

He definitely tenses slightly when the lights go out, though it's certainly possible one might take it as a sign he wasn't totally sure if he was going to get hit or something. Particularly since he relaxes again about the time he could be expected to be fairly sure he isn't, and there's a just audible little breath that's closer to a laugh than anything else. And that, of course, might have to do with the fact that, yeah, there's a bit of less than suave bumping involved in arranging things. Nothing that gets in the way of actually claiming that kiss, though, particularly when his fingers use the edge of the placket as a guide upward to the back of her neck. There. That kinda helps. His free arm slides under the overshirt to wrap loosely around her waist and invite her just a little closer, and he seems fairly willing to let the conversation pause just a few seconds longer, if she is.

There is a possibility that she might slap him, none of the signals prior to now would really say that she's going to react that way. But who knows, people are strange creatures at the best of time, and all this weird stuff, and psychic thing and voices, and suddenly turning off lights, all of those things are certainly weird enough that maybe signals are getting weird and she was setting him up for a reason to slap him. Like that chick that needed an alibi.

But no, no, she doesn't slap him. Instead when he slides his hand around the back of her neck and his other arm around her waist to pull her closer to him she steps in until she's leaning in towards him and that kiss. She releases her hold on his jacket to settle her hand against his side instead as she presses into the kiss, although all things considered she's not busting out with a deep tongue kiss. It's fairly tame, considering what might be assumed by the way she carries herself, or wears.

There's always a possibility someone might slap him. People have slapped him when he wasn't even trying to kiss them! At least alibi-chick wasn't one of them, though given how things went for her ex, maybe getting slapped early would be the best outcome. In this case, though, and currently, Aidan's pretty happy to go with not-slapped. Ask again if Baylee stabs him someday.

It seems to be a perfectly acceptable level of kiss as far as he's concerned. No attempts to upgrade to tongue-spelunking like there might be a Thai soccer team that needs saving in there. ...later, maybe. The current one just continues as it is for several seconds before it breaks, and he steals another one, quicker, before that grin reappears a moment, dimmer in the unlit hall. "Okay, impressions," he agrees, though he doesn't seem inclined to pull away any. Granted, there's a wall behind him, but he could move his hands if he wanted to, and that doesn't happen.

"Impressions, yeah." Baylee replies after a moment, laughing at the sudden shift back towards the topic they had been talking about before, "I can show you pictures of what I meant, and you'll see why I say that impressions are the way to go. If you're going to keep aluminum on the ceiling." And, for the record, she really does pronounce that in the proper al-u-min-ium kind of way, too. Proper pronunciation for the win, right?

Two kisses, one faster than the one before seem to be where she leaves it, allowing it to remain there as she rubs the fabric of the fleece shirt between her fingertips before she starts to step back, although her fingers continue their hold of his fleece as she maneuvers back towards the living room, and between the first step and the second the light flicks back on, and this time she knows that he didn't do it. "Electrical problems?"

Aidan lets her draw away, though he doesn't technically let go, so his fingers drift across the fabric when she moves, until she's entirely free and he pushes lightly up off the wall, letting her lead him living-room-ward if that's what she has in mind. And then the light clicks back on, and a somewhat exasperated sigh escapes, his eyes closing. "...something like that," he mutters, and shakes his head as his eyes open again. Looking even more ready to follow her out of the hall than before. "Sure, though, show me the pictures. For the aluminium." Yes, he says it her way. And yes, he's probably teasing a little. Better topic.

"Okay..." Baylee replies when he says it's only something like that. But she doesn't pry, instead she starts towards the living room again, although her eyes do shift upwards towards the ceiling, and the lights. As soon as they are back in the living room she heads towards his supposedly comfy couch, finding herself a corner of it to drop into, then she leans forward to start sliding her jacket off, giving it a shake before draping it over the arm of the couch, "Alright....so these ceiling tiles..."

Safe topic. Better topic. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, reaching over to pat the couch next to her while she pulls up photographs of what she means. "You'll need to cut them into square pieces, if you're wanting to make them like these."

No sign of anything untoward up there. Once one's already allowed for the foil, anyway. As they step from the hall, there's a tiny click as of something moving, a flicker of the light, but it doesn't quite go out again. Aidan ignores it as firmly as he possibly can, though if she happened to look at him right then, she might catch his jaw tensing. Noooope.

The couch is, at least, exactly as hella comfy as he claimed. Ugly as sin, and that fabric should feel awful, but somehow, nope. Someone has managed to practically turn the essence of comfortable into a couch, and then decided it should look absolutely hideous. It's the absolute opposite of those really slick and classy and downright artistic couches some people have that you can't ever get quite settled on. Maybe it's a trade-off. Maybe if he tries to make it look better, it'll lose the comfort. Aidan drops down next to her on it, where she patted, and the cushion gives a soft 'pfff' more of welcome than protest, molding itself just the right amount.

He leans in a little, pulling off the jacket, then the fleece, and draping them over the back of the sofa. And, after a moment, the hawaiian shirt joins them. Since it wasn't providing much in the way of warmth, that's probably for her sake. (Philistine.) "...huh," he says as he studies the image she shares, "I could probably do something kinda like that. I might need actual metal, though. Still thin enough to mold, but it's gotta be thick enough to hold it, too..."

"You have to have it made from metal?" Baylee is almost certain that she knows the answer to that question, but she's going to double-check to make sure that he's not secretly going to change his mind while she's not looking. "If it's got to be made from metal, you could just buy the tiles." She takes a moment, watching as he sheds all those various outer layers, then she looks back down towards her phone, going from looking at just the pictures of what she's talking about to actually looking at the tiles for sale.

Does he have that kind of money? Probably not. "It probably wouldn't be more than...hundred bucks for this space?" She looks up, at the ceiling again, then back to her phone before she reaches down to grasp his wrist, turning his hand over so that she can press her phone into his hand, "Should be a whole bunch of different ones there for you to look at. They'd be thicker, too...than what you've got up there right now. If thickness is important."

After she hands the phone over she reaches for where he put the Hawaiian shirt, grabbing it before she gets to her feet, moving out of arm reach as quickly as she can while he's distracted, then she starts to tug the shirt on, "You know, maybe I was wrong about this shirt."

If Aidan had the money lying around for ceiling tiles to be a priority, would he have an air mattress and broken chairs in a trailer park? ...okay, possibly; someone out there in the world cares more about the ceiling than the bed and who knows, maybe it's him. "Well, I mean, foil's probably too flimsy for that," he says, accepting the phone to look through things, "and wood I'd have to kind of carve into shape and plastic needs molds and smells crappy and glass is way out of my league and none of that really does shine well anyway, except I guess you could maybe glue foil over the-- hey!"

His arms have reasonable reach, but even if the trailer's small, there's still plenty of room to get outside their range. With her ill-gotten gains. Might not stay that way as he gets to his feet as well, setting the phone down on the arm of the sofa. "Of course you were wrong about it. It's awesome. You definitely can't wear it over the army shirt, though, c'mon. Thief." The initial indignant tone's gotten more amused, and the swift rising turns into almost a stroll toward her, presumably to reclaim it.

"Oh, no?" Baylee wonders as she takes another step back from him, trying to move out of his very slow approach. He's not trying too hard to get to her, and she's not actually trying that hard to get away from him, either. It's a small space, neither would get really that far if they actually put in a lot of effort to moving around.

What she does, though, is take his advice by taking the shirt off, tucking the collar of it between her teeth before she starts to take the army shirt off, letting it fall to the floor at her feet before she starts to try and get the stolen Hawaiian shirt back on. "Foil is going to be way too flimsy for it, those tiles are made from tin usually...or thin sheets of copper. But I imagine that the copper would be quite a bit more expensive than the tin ones would be."

Evasion, huh? Aidan's eyes narrow a bit, more considering than threatening, and the stroll eases into something a little closer to the stalking category. Animal Planet version, not Investigation Discovery version. It's not any kind of convincingly dangerous, really. "No," he replies, and his head tilts slightly as he watches her take off the shirt, and then the other shirt. "...not over the tank top, either?" Not that it'd make a huge difference if it's there or not, really, but the effectiveness of these opinions requires testing. He leans down to scoop up the discarded shirt, and-- misses. Entirely. Like it moved itself right out of his way or something. Maybe more realistically like it got-- kicked? It's not smooth, anyway, that's for certain. He pauses, glaring in its direction as if it were the shirt's fault, then quite suddenly grabs for it again, and this time it nearly leaps into his hand, instead. "Ha," he says nearly under his breath as he straightens, and then he starts to put that shirt on as he gets back to 'tracking' her. "That's why I mentioned needing actual metal to start with," he says as if none of this were happening, "Copper'd be kind of pretty, though..."

It wouldn't make any difference at all, except it'd be one less item of clothing, which she's fairly certain is his point. Goal? Goal. She laughs at the suggestion, sliding one arm out of the shirt even though she just put it back on, then she grabs the hem of the tank top to start pulling it upwards. It requires a whole lot more juggling to get this off without taking the Hawaiian shirt off entirely first. But after a whole lot of extra work she's got the tank top off, which she drops onto the floor like the shirt that he's already picked up.

A few more steps, circling around to the left, back towards the couch trying to get to it before he can get between her and the piece of furniture. "Copper would look very pretty, but would cost a lot. Maybe you can find some kind of fake copper, though?" She probably makes the mistake of looking up, as though picturing the silvery, cheaply covered ceiling in something a little more coppery. A little more elegant, for a cheap trailer in the ass end of the world.

Okay, but it's somewhat distracting juggling, and surely that can only benefit her in this chase! Well, 'chase'. Slow-speed chase. And it bodes well for the power of opinion, too. Aidan scoops the tank top up when he passes it too, with better suavity this time, and just the barest hint of smug triumph in the movement; this one he doesn't try to put on, not over what he's already got. He drops it onto the reclined instead as he passes it, and one can just about see the consideration of just how far he might be able to push his luck on shirt-coordination. Whatever he comes up with makes him grin again, even if it might just be the shamelessness of, "Better, but you know, hawaiian and zebra prints together..." ...is apparently something he's only implying should be avoided.

But then she's looking up, and that's definitely an opening. He darts in to try to catch her, coming in low as if intending to scoop her up entirely, maybe even over his shoulder. He doesn't look that strong, really. But on the other hand, she doesn't look that heavy.

Maybe his pushing of things is enough that her attention is tugged away from the state of the ceiling of the trailer, and instead back to him. Or she sensed the movement, the dart towards her. Whatever it is she knew.

Only, she doesn't actually do anything to avoid his attempt to scoop her up. For one, it means that she doesn't have to debate on if she's going to give him the coordination point, deny him the next move. Or, probably fifty other things, like try to figure out where to run in the cramped space of the trailer. So her manages to get to her, and she doesn't resist the attempt, just takes the whole thing on the proverbial chin with a surprised laugh at the maneuver, entirely ignoring the fact that this could be the last thing she does before ending up a statistic on the evening news. Some sad, tragic story of loss, where her parents will plead with the locals to help them find who murdered/kidnapped/etc their poor little baby.

SUCCESS! And as it turns out, Aidan actually does have the strength and coordination to manage it. Right now, anyway. And so it is that he ends up standing in triumph, with Baylee over his shoulder, a victorious "Ha!" and... absolutely no idea what to do next. This is a good position for preventing her from running away. It's not particularly effective for shirt-retrieval.

There's a pause.

"Got you," he adds, "Sic semper, uh, shirtus thievus." Latin teachers everywhere must be turning in their graves. Oh, and that's a thought. "Return your ill-gotten gains, or I'll be forced to put you through... the spin cycle." He goes for ominous and portentous; he gets ominous and silly. Which is frankly about as close as one could have reasonably hoped. And given the size of the room and the likelihood he hasn't really thought this through any farther either, it might not even be an inappropriate combination.

It's a very good position for preventing her from running away. Unless she decided to kick and claw her way off his shoulder, which would probably end with her on the ground and not in the most dignified of ways from this position. So instead she is perhaps the most well behaved captive, especially since it seems that he's...not doing anything else? Which is amusing enough in its own right that she actually laughs, a hand moving to tug at the back of his ill-gotten gains.

"I could say the same for you. If we're going to argue this point you did set this shirt aside, and I just picked it up. Clearly you didn't want it any more as you had discarded it, so very carelessly." So carelessly in his own trailer, over the back of his own couch. Clearly he didn't want it any more. The logic is exceptional.

Exceptionally silly. Since that seems to be about the level they have reached. She hasn't even hit the level of ominous that he has, or potentially views his threat of the spin cycle as actually ominous. But from her new perch on his shoulder, because she lives there now you know, she idly wonders, "You have anything to drink here?"

Aidan at least has her fairly firmly kept in place, one arm around her knees and the other up over more or less her rear, where she's bent over the shoulder. Kicking is still probably doable. Clawing certainly would be. He probably appreciates that he's not getting either. "I set it neatly aside on my own couch," he protests, "It's not like I threw it right on the floor in very careless discard...ation. Discardment. Like some people. If we're gonna argue this point. Fine! I warned you..." It's a slow turn at first, like he's got to warm up to this. Step, step. Step. Quicker step. Well, the turn at least appears to be clearing inconvenient things like walls and furniture and counters, right now, which is good, since it's speeding up a bit. Though also may be why it's speeding up a bit. "I've got Coke and orange juice and half a bottle of scotch and a water filter," he adds, which certainly doesn't make the threats and protests even less effective or anything.

"Scotch is good." Baylee decides after a moment, twisting herself around to see where they are going, or what might be in the way if he isn't so careful, and she ends up getting slammed into a wall, or counter. Either way the mention of the scotch, and the decision that it is what she wants does spur her on to starting to get down off his shoulder, which does mean that she stops just laying there like a sack of potatoes. "You can put me down. We'll have a nice drink, like civilized folks. Yeah?"

"I dunno," Aidan says, still spinning them, "What's in it for me?" The spinning does get a bit... erratic, though, now that she's not so cooperative, and there actually is a bit of danger infused. That counter suddenly seems a lot closer! Slowing it down involves a bit of a stagger. "Wait, wait, stop-- don't-- wriggling's gonna--"

It gets kind of hairy for a moment or two there, until he directs the steps to let him drop down into the recliner, tumbling her off his shoulder and onto his lap. He breathes harder for a moment, then directs an exhalation upward to try to urge a couple curls away from his eyes. "Fine. But you gotta return my shirt. Even if it does look pretty good on you."

There is a bit of thinking that should have gone into the wiggling. She did not think it through, honestly, and the warning comes but she doesn't listen until it is too late. By then she's already in his lap, sprawling out with a faint blink of surprise, trying her very best to figure out how it was that she got to be in this position.

When he mentions that she needs to give him the shirt back she curls her hands around it, pulling it closed before she gives him an amused look, "How about I give it back when that won't leave me basically half-naked in your lap." She glances down, then back up, that faint amusement spreading even wider before she laughs, starting to straighten up, starting to slide his shirt off her shoulders regardless of what she said before. "Where's your scotch?"

"I'm pretty sure there's worse places," Aidan says, which is arguably even true not from his point of view. He doesn't attempt his own shirt-retrieval, though, instead looking up toward the kitchen. "See that cabinet over the fridge? It's in there. Glasses are in the second one to the right of it..." The recliner is, as earlier noted, permanently reclined, and so at present he's reclined right along with it; getting up while she's still sitting there would be even trickier than in an upright chair, so he doesn't try. Just watches, for now, though after a moment, he does glance aside to the chair itself. "...huh. I wonder if one of us could fix this. I mean, it's not a rust thing, but."

It would probably be a whole lot easier to just remain there, no lie. But Baylee gets to her feet, tossing his stolen shirt back onto his lap before she heads towards the kitchen. The bottle of scotch is grabbed from over the fridge, and she takes a moment to inspect what kind it is, then she moves to grab two of the glasses from the other cabinet. She sets the glasses down on the counter, twisting the top off the bottle to pour in a very generous amount into both of the glasses, "So is that like your favorite shirt?" She closes the bottle back, then sets it down on the counter before collecting the two glasses to head back to where he's sitting, "I'm not ready for chair repair."

The kind it is is surprisingly good, actually. Not amazing, but out of what seems like his general price range. Aidan grins again when she returns the shirt, and slides hers off in reciprocation, laying it over the back of the recliner and pulling his own on instead. "One of them," he says, "I've had it for a long time. We've been through a lot together." He gives it a light pat, then stands up, eyeing the chair. "I don't know if I'm ready for chair repair. I mean, if I think of it like it's been wounded..." The look's decidedly thoughtful.

"You're going to think about this like it is wounded?" Baylee wonders as she holds out one of the glasses to him, one bare foot lifting upwards to press down against the foot rest part to push it down towards the chair itself, then she releases it. Only to watch it pop back into place. "I guess that in a way, it is sort of wounded." She takes a slow sip from her glass before she moves towards the couch, retaking her earlier seat on it, tucking her feet beneath her. Despite her shirt being right there were she could pick it up, she doesn't reach for it, just remains in what she's ended up in. Or lack of wearing, really.

Aidan accepts the glass -- his glasses, possibly not shockingly, do not match and are not exactly designed for scotch, but are kind of nice in their individual ways -- and nods, watching her push the footrest like that. "That's what I was thinking, yeah. And if it is, then..."

He studies it a few seconds longer, taking a sip of his scotch, and then crouches, pushing the footrest down into place, and looking like he's thinking about it a bit harder. The back straightens up a bit farther, as he does, and with a small brush of fingers across the footrest, he lets it go, straightening and shifting back so it won't hit him if it pops back up.

It doesn't. Aidan looks downright delighted as he checks out the chair. It looks entirely perfect, or at least, as perfect as an orange '70s era recliner ever did or could without reupholstering.

"Look at you!" Baylee laughs at the success of the chair seemingly being fixed, "Now you've got yourself a right proper recliner, and not a busted one." She takes another careful, small sip from her glass. Pacing. She's practicing pacing herself, as best as she can, then she reaches over to set it down, "Go on, then. Sit in it." She twists herself around so that she can better face him and the chair, a hand raising upwards to gather up her hair, twisting it around a finger before releasing it behind her back, "You could buy all kinds of shitty furniture if you're able to fix them like that."

Aidan takes another drink, still looking decidedly pleased with this outcome, and sweeps a magician-like bow in her direction before doing just as recommended, and taking a seat. He's a little ginger about it, careful as he leans back and checks whether the reclining works. As it happens, it does! This makes him look even more pleased, though there's surely a limit on how far that can go. "I could," he agrees, and looks over to the green chair, "Maybe I could fix that one's leg?" It's a better question; that leg is straight-up missing.

More definite contemplation, before his expression darkens a bit, and he glances off at nothing for a moment or two. "Sometimes, though. If you do too much stuff at once, I think, or... just... sometimes. Things get weird." By his standards.

"Weird?" Baylee raises a brow before she reaches for her shirt finally, but only so that she can dig the pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket, "Not sure how things could get more weird. But..." She then offers him one of the cigarettes as she tucks another one into her mouth, "How do I light it on fire?"

She probably does not mean on fire. Exactly. But light the cigarette. Without a lighter. Probably also don't want to light the trailer itself on fire, either.

Aidan takes another sip, looking over to her, "Weird. Nightmares, and... weird stuff. Things you aren't quite sure if you dreamed or not, sometimes." He's not crazy, honest. "I don't know for sure if it's related, but I knew a guy who swore it was. So I kinda try not to do anything really... big, too often. His theory was, when we do stuff, we're kinda pushing on reality, and sometimes, it pushes back. But weird shit happens even if I don't do anything, so, you know." A shrug.

Lighting her cigarette is clearly a more pleasing topic, and he shifts position, leaning toward her. "Dunno if you have that knack yet, but if you do... you just kind of," he pauses, thinking about it. What does he do? Of all the things he's figured out so far, that's probably the one that comes most naturally to him. "Focus on the end of it. Find where that spark is in you, like, feel it. And put it there, let it heat up that tobacco and paper until it catches light." Another small pause, this one followed by a more matter-of-fact, "And treat it just like you would if you were using a lighter, once you feel it catch, or the whole thing'll end up going up." He tucks the one he took between his lips, and makes a gesture toward it, a sort of 'like so'. And, indeed, it lights, maybe a bit more slowly than the time before. Maybe it's a factor of 'demonstrating', who knows. Regardless, there it is, and he draws it away from his lips to exhale the smoke.

While he goes and explains everything she nods, like she has some actual idea what he's talking about. Only, she doesn't really seem to, because when she looks down at the end of her cigarette, focusing on it......Nothing happens. She stares, she squints, she waits, but nothing actually happens.

"Fuck." Baylee exclaims when nothing happens, and she gets to her feet, looking faintly irritated by the fact that nothing happens. Not a thing. Which when she stands up is when the bedroom door seems to slam shut. Like an angry teenager storming through things throwing a fit. The sound of that door causes her to freeze, and she glances at him, her brows lifting upwards just a bit, her irritation evaporating rather quickly. "Did you....we're alone right?"

Aidan is watching fairly closely, his smoking absent, and jumps slightly at the slamming of the door. Where most people would look toward the source of the sound itself, though, he shoots a glare at... not quite there. And then the glare goes a touch more confused, until she asks that. "I didn't," he answers, "And--" Are they alone. That should not be a question that needs any debate. But instead of getting answered, his brow furrows and he looks her over, getting to his feet. Which takes a touch of doing, with his hands full, but the footrest lets him push it in with his legs and stays there. Definite improvement.

"I think it might've been you," he says, "if you kind of wanted it to happen? I didn't feel it, but..." But maybe he doesn't feel everything? "Try it again. I mean... well, I guess it's already closed. You could open it, maybe? Oh! Or try the bathroom." That one's still half-open from when it was checked out earlier.

"I don't know that I wanted the door to slam." Baylee replies with a shake of her head, chewing on her bottom lip before she tucks her cigarette into her mouth, digging her lighter out of her pocket to light it the normal way. Once it is lit she takes a drag off it, then tucks the lighter back into her pocket. "Not sure that I want to try it again.....but..."

But he seems to want her to, and she's not entirely sure if he's excited, or not. But she raises her hand up to her face, digging the heel of her hand into her eye for a moment before she twists around to glance in the direction of the bathroom. Then she looks back towards him, "If I can close that door from here..." She takes a breath, laughing a moment before she takes a step towards him, then turns around to face the direction and this time, this time she actually focuses on trying to do it on purpose. Not just lashing out in irritation or anger. But honestly try, and the door to the bathroom does close. Less of a slam this time, but audibly closes.

Aidan is, in fact, a little bit excited about it, yeah. And a bit more so when she tries it again, and it works. He breaks into that grin, looking first at the now-closed door, and then at her. "Awesome," he says, sounding like he genuinely means that, and steps over to give her a hug. It's only a minor hug, considering they both have cigarettes AND glasses at the moment, and only so many ways to hold them, but it's a hug all the same. "First step in being able to control it, figuring out how you do it on purpose. Direct it some way you want to. Just, uh--" He pauses. "I was gonna say try not to break my doors or anything, and I still want you not to, but I guess maybe I could fix 'em if you did more easily than I thought..."

"I'll try to not break your doors." Baylee shakes her head, returning the hug before she takes her glass and downs the contents of it, setting the empty glass down, then she reaches up to give him a light pat on the chest, "Thanks." She returns to her spot on the couch, reaching for her glass so that she can use it as an ashtray, "So now that you've fixed a chair, lit a cigarette, and I've slammed doors....what should we do with the rest of the night?" She taps the ashes into the glass in her hand before taking another drag from it, blowing the smoke upwards before she tries to blow a smoke ring, then she shakes her head, "You got Netflix?" Which might be a crazy question considering the rest of what has been going on during their amusing evening. "We could polish off that bottle, hang out. Chill."

Aidan laughs, moving to settle in beside her on the couch again, reclaiming his initial spot. He's a little bit slower on the drink, like he actually wants to enjoy the taste or something. Or not get drunk too fast and have her take advantage of him. Okay, probably not that one. "No internet hooked up," he says apologetically, "just plain TV. But we could try just plain TV. And polishing off that bottle. And chill." He finishes off his glass, then, bumping his shoulder up against hers.

"Plain TV?" Baylee looks practically horrified about that, but then she gets herself comfortable, which mostly includes using him to lean against so that she can drape her legs over the arm of the couch, and tuck her glass-turned-ashtray against her side, "I guess that we can do plain TV, I do hope that you've got a remote for it." Which she's not entirely certain about, judging by her expression as she looks in the direction of the television. But she holds back any further opinions about it as she takes another drag off her cigarette, "You know, I bet we could both just sleep on this couch if we just stay like this for the rest of the night."

"I do have a remote for it!" Aidan confirms, sounding far too pleased to be able to assure her of this. And a good thing too, since she's now using him structurally. He sets his glass aside, held upright by wedging in cushions even if it is currently empty, and leaves the cigarette between his lips, freeing up his arms so one can wrap itself loosely around Baylee, if she's gonna be right there anyhow, and the other can hunt down the remote. Which, as it happens, is half-stuck down between cushion and arm at the other side of the sofa. "We probably could," he agrees, offering the remote and all the programming control it implies over to his guest, "Or I guess I could always move the table out of the way and bring the bed out here, too, if we needed more room." See? There's benefits to an air bed. Not many, but they exist.

The remote is accepted eagerly, and she turns the television on before she begins to scroll through whatever channels he happens to have. Eventually, after probably searching through the channels at least twice, she settles on reruns of some older show, balancing the remote on her hip as she taps the ashes from her cigarette off into her empty glass. The one obvious, and probably only benefit of an air mattress is considered with a very long moment of thought, "I guess that bringing the bed out here would probably make more sense than trying to sleep like this." This being probably a lot more comfortable for her than it is for him. "Not yet, though. But....maybe, like, soon." Because now she's comfortable, and she doesn't want to move so that he can go drag the mattress out here. Yet. "Could have a sleepover."

Because this has kind of turned into one some how.