2019-07-01 - Everything Is Perfectly Fine

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, now it's a new sunset and literally everything has been utter bullshit since yesterday so that doesn't matter much at all. Lilith is not feeling good. She has been having a time of things since the box in the shop happened--in fact, there's even grounds for a -list- that's pretty impressive in a terrible way-- she's not inclined to work on that or whine about it to anyone, though. Not yet, anyway.

It's a little odd to come in the front doors, but the pawn broker herself parked by the curb right out front instead of around back in actual parking like a total entitled asshole. She has reasons, okay, including the part of her that's one big chunk paranoia on the sly.

There's a bored twenty year old temp behind the case she called an agency for with emergency. No trade or loans today, but people can at least buy things. More importantly, two days closed would have looked suspicious. So the random person behind the counter is weird, and it's maybe weird that Lilith looks like she slept somewhere that wasn't a bed. That's Carver's schtick. Her hair is kind of tangled from tousle and time without a good brush and the long sundress of casual brick red cling she threw on before running out is wrinkled as hell in places like she's been curled or wadded up bodily in it for time out. Huh.

At least it's not raining. Which wouldn't explain why Carver's wearing his normal long coat when the season has shifted to this side of summer. There's the tiny end of a cigarette, there darkened filter stained deep as it's crushed under his foot, the guy taking a small pause in his pace to really grind it down into the sidewalk. The sight of a car parked out in front of the Pawn shop delays his motions for a second longer, the man's gaze lingering on it just long enough that all he catches of the owner is the flash of red that passes through the doorway.

It causes a little look of intrigue. Or concern. Or possibly gas. Hell, why not all three?

Whichever it was, he's coming in through the door about half a minute after Lilith, probably taking a little time to sort out his coat and make an ATTEMPT to make his tie look straight. Spoiler: It didn't work.

"Hey. I'll let you leave after I catch a shower to feel human, yeah? Nothing's happened?" Lilith gets about thirty seconds once she's in the doors and dragging through the shop with laze of fatigue toward the door and loft apartment staircase in her pair of slide on sandals. How many times did she ask this poor girl that today in texts and calls? Maybe a lot given the odd and likewise irritated look on the bored girl's unremarkable face, eyes blinking twice behind big hipster glasses. Then she shrugs a 'whatever, as long as you're paying me' at Lilith as non-response return. The owner doesn't look pissy so much as she seems resigned to being exasperated with everything, including this girl, and she goes cheek puffing a sigh.

The casual cling and drape of the wrinkled cotton sundress is too long to show her knee but she's still limping to some degree and she pitches her weight a little funny when the door chime goes off not long behind her, temp girl forgotten. Carver left a polite (obvious) time gap before following in, but he didn't leave enough of one to make Lilith secure about avoiding a good chase into a dark corner. She spins quick to observe, then pauses to stare, fine features fatigued and free of any cosmetics to try and hide it, "... oh good. You're alive." She pauses, "Me too. Kind of."

Obviously. But what do you say in front of others to the man that stole your precious doom jewel? Okay, stealing is a stretch. It was more like commandeering with purpose. Lilith probably didn't even actually want it in the shop on a rational level. But still! Looking a little through-the-wringer might have something to do with her less than fantastic observation as a greeting. There's lethargy in her tone and at some point people just start looking and sounding like they're hitting a wall, no matter how prettily they're genetically designed. Once she's had another pause, she wonders, "Drink?"

It's unclear if she's resigned to being pleasant about this whole thing or if she just wants him away from the help to verbally lay into him. But at least if it's the latter, Carver is getting the worn down version and it won't last long. Probably. Maybe it's a non-issue.

Grabbing the closing door with a hand once he's in, Carver eases the thing shut with a level of care that seems entirely unnecessary before he's running a hand through his hair at the remark about his state of living. It's not to smooth it out, though. God no. He ruffles. He ruffles, flashes a smile, takes a couple of steps in to line up with one of the displays, and then immediately drops to a knee to tie a set of undone laces that have dragged away from his shoes. Real, real close to the display, actually. A hand slips under it for a second before he actually starts to work on the lace. All in all, the eye contact with Lilith lasted about two seconds. Hell, his appraisal of the agency 'helper' lasted longer than that.

"I'm always alive, Lilith. My best feature." Does he mind there's someone else in the room? Apparently not! And in comparison to hers, the guy's tone is bright. Perky, even. Like he's not a care in the world.

His hands drop back in to his pockets as he straightens up, testing the fit of his shoe with a little waggle of the thing, and then throwing Lilith a nod. "Drink sounds good. Drink sounds great, even." And yes, he's also unsure if she just wants him away from the help to verbally lay into him, but if that was a thing that really concerned the guy, do you think he would have shown up at all? "Office? Office." It doesn't sound like a question. And he's already moving in that direction.

Lilith is moving that way too with a quick little nod of confirmation and general need for a drink toward Carver, letting him take his moment of pause to step ahead toward the office so she can lean for the mini cooler under the desk surface. Once she's yanked out a bottle of cold vodka, she straightens and makes to call back toward him lagging a little behind due to some swap out task, "How averse are you to--"

Bang. "Fuck."

Lilith didn't do that straightening up part very good. She knocks the shit out of her head on the desk and then just stands there behind the desk afterwards kind of dazed and downright miserable pouty about it. One hand still grips the vodka bottle, though, and the other smashes uselessly against the top back of her scalp and skull at one side as Carver follows in not far behind. Whatever she was wondering before goes out of the window as she sulks with 'owie' meander from behind the desk to drop into sit on the sofa across from it with the bottle. Eventually she drops her hand and just lets the lump form as due. She might unsurprisingly have a hard head.

There's no glasses and the woman doesn't look like she's about to stand back up to amend once she figures out she forgot. Instead, she uncaps, swigs from the bottle, then holds it outward, "... heathen style means I don't have to get back up to get glasses."

Carver brushes down his coat for a second before throwing up a quick finger-wave to the assistant who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. He doesn't look for a response. Two busy passing through the door and into the office behind Lilith. You know, just in time to watch her crack her head. He winces, and there's even a hiss of sympathy. "I'm..." He rubs his nose for a second, watching her meander over to the sofa and drop down with the bottle.

In a complete departure from his usual state? Carver waves a declining hand to the held-out bottle, instead deciding to lean himself up against the victorious desk in something of a lazy perch, hands pressing out behind him to take up some of the weight. "I mean, I'm not adverse to fuck, but I feel that wasn't your question. How're you feeling?" It's asked like someone wondering what the weather's supposed to be like later. There's not much behind it other than social etiquette.

Which, come to think of it, is also a departure from Carver's usual state.

There's a vague lift of Lilith's brows at Carver's sudden decline of the bottle held out toward him while eyes snag on him a little more alertly. She's suddenly pulling out of her sulk and head daze and fatigue and... whatever else malaise is a thing right now to tilt her mussed head of hair with a sudden curiosity. Whatever piques her, though, is interrupted by a lazing partial laugh from the throat to carry on breath of slump back, "... no. It wasn't. I don't even know if I could without bringing the ceiling down on us or starting a fire or just plain passing out. So that's about my state of affairs and general wellness, summed up. It's also entirely possible I've forgotten how at this point."

The gaze breaks with her fall back against sofa cushions, Lilith tipping the bottle up for another straight swig to swish with self-punishing burn before swallowing this time. Her eyes hang on the ceiling while the laugh tails off into a sigh, then fall back to rest on Carver, "So Hank's beaten so badly he's in the hospital. I keep hanging around there thinking he's going to wake up and tell me something creepy and pertinent given the timing, but he just keeps asking for more drugs and passing out. That was a lot of my night and day." A pause, "I also fell down the stairs, someone backed into the rear bumper of my SUV, someone stole my purse in the lobby, and uh. I think that's it." It's actually not, but it feels like a lot of effort to remember exactly how many things went wrong.

"... are you having any issues? And is it on you?"

"Pff, It's like riding a bike." Seriously. That, plus another wave of the hand is Carver's entire retort to one of Lilith's lesser issues at the moment. Well, maybe it's not lesser, but he doesn't know that. Instead, he actually shifts backwards a little, pulling himself up on to the desk so he can sit atop it, legs swinging slightly in an unintentional mockery of her injury. Or, maybe intentional. Sometimes? it's really hard to tell. Especially when he's doing his best not to meet her gaze. At all. Not even slightly. He's intently focused on everything else the room has to offer until her gaze breaks away to fall back against the cushions and continue drinking.

But damned if he isn't looking right at her when she lays out how well her day's gone, meeting the news with little more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth, the sign of a tongue running along one of his back teeth in thought. "So..." A couple of fingers drum on the surface of the desk. "Shitty day, Huh?" Good job, Carver. Be real helpful, there. You're not talking to someone who doesn't believe in weird shit, you can actually open up a little you kno-.

His hand pulls the small box from his coat. "So it probably would've been worse if I'd not left this in your shop, huh?"

So that would be what he pulled from under the display, then.

Lilith just sniffs audibly and pointedly at the bike comparison, playing with the lip of the bottle absently with her fingertip at flick and rim of the glass opening, "That's hardly comfort when I'm practically guaranteed to fall off of a bike. Y'know. Considering..." Pulling her legs up with curl automatically and forgetting her own wrapped knee beneath the fabric, the brunette suddenly bares her teeth with wince and squint before adjusting with just the one good leg curling with tuck under the bend of the other.

The woman does all that effort of getting more comfortable and ends up moving again anyway with drop of both feet to the floor. She's either surprised or preparing to reflex rise to go for it, it's a little hard to tell initially. But it ends up being the former that's only tinged with memory of the latter. While it's out, though, she stays seated straighter, with a certain level of wary alertness on the back burner. After drinking and actually seeming to contemplate the question, though, she concludes, "Maybe. But maybe not. I touched it and it was... shaking inside. And it shook me right back." A pause, "When you touch something hot enough, it doesn't matter how fast you pull away, does it? It leaves a mark. But was it here the whole time?"

Carver shakes his head a little at her movement, placing the box down on the table so he can bring his hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose and the edge of his eyes. It's in mild disbelief that she did that. That's really not all that hard to read.

And sure, his hand drops back down to the box when she starts to move the second time, almost as if it's an unconscious reflex. When she makes no effort to dive for it, his hand raises back up, seeming content to settle somewhere behind him once more so he can relax on his ad-hoc seating arrangement. He sure is staring for a good moment or two there, though. "You said..." He starts. Then stops. Something's shifted, there. Especially in his expression, but probably also his thought pattern. "You said-" he repeats, continuing as he slides down from the desk to meander his own way over to the sofa, dropping down into a spot next to her. "-if someone, or something came looking for it, and you didn't have it? What would happen then? And I think you're right. Or, at least, not wrong."

And recliiiine. The sofa is more comfortable than it looks, it seems. He's positively sinking in to it. "And to be completely honest, my plan A was to go for a walk and put this somewhere either incredibly easy to find, or impossible. Trouble is, I like to walk in places that weird shit like this-" A glance to the box, then he settles back on her face. "-just love to hang out. And I'm not entirely sure I would like to be holding it when I went there. Or that you wouldn't get a craving for it later. Like you said, it leaves a mark." A small smile, a little shrug of 'So there ya go.' "And yes, it was."

Lilith wets her lips and looks at her bottle of vodka and the Russian labeling on it while listening to Carver, watching his eyes do those shifts between not looking and looking entirely in spells, "... usually, in movies, that's how it goes. Someone follows a trail and the sucker that can't guide them when the trail ends... he or she gets the torture session to ensure they're not lying or protecting someone else. Then usually popped in the head when they're useless. I figure a -something- follows the same ruthless guidelines as the Russian mob on crack, more or less."

She's more alert with the box out, sure, but she still doesn't get up and Lilith isn't tracking it with her eyes so much or anything like that. The vodka has color on her at this point the way she keeps lazy bottle swigging to numb the day and general situation and it has her talking more too. That or him relenting into some subtle way she's more familiar with did it. Shifting some in angle of conversational turn when Carver sinks onto the sofa cushion nearby, "I don't feel like everything will end anymore without my satiation. That's how it was. I touched it or the sky fell. That's what my reality was. It wasn't just want. And it felt so... mm. Warm. And intimate, almost."

"Carver." The following question that comes out of Lilith may not be what she was actually starting to ask, but she's taken with a sudden note of curiosity, "Am I really so hard to look at?"

"Exactly. That and I figured if I left it away from you long enough, next time I saw you, you might be trying to stab me for it. And I'm not having that happen again." Carver's had a... weird life. Sure did give him a whole bunch of common sense, though. "Although it would suck if you got popped in the head, too." Right. Not all about you, buddy.

Shifting sideways on the sofa, Carver sinks down a little in the corner of where the back of the chair meets an arm, clasping both hands down low on his stomach, and just about managing to resist twirling his thumbs once he's done so. And sure, he's watching her face the entire time she talks about what the Gem did, nodding a long with some semblance of understanding and the occasional 'mhm.'

Which of course means he's looking back over at the desk when she mentions the words 'Warm' and 'Intimate', thus summoning the followup question. Which drags his eyes back to her. His tongue clicks, his thumbs twirl, and after a pretty long delay, his shoulders shrug. "Nah. You're fine to look at, love." Casual as all hell. "You just went and touched something that tried to burrow in to my brain like a bowl full of worms. That kind of thing usually puts me a little on edge. You haven't got a twin that happens to be dead and haunting you, do you? 'Cause I'd oddly be far more at ease with that right now."

"Stabbing is messy. Might hurt less than being set on fire, though. I think someone's really gotta stick you deep or in the right spot, at that. Maybe better odds than stop drop and roll." Lilith declares with a roll of her eyes suddenly at Carver and the very idea of her stabbing something. Okay, she might, she did just touch a doom gem because she apparently, according to her, had to. But she's got a lot of avenues she'd go for before that. And it's not -likely-. Besides, she barely touched it. She keeps right on swigging to dull the idea that she might be paying a price that goes beyond paranoia and the proverbial eyes of Bad Things.

"... the winces and squints and avoidances stack up when it trickles in from all around over time. It might be giving me a complex. Especially after..." Lilith clicks her tongue a few times against the roof of her mouth with hollow tick of sound, looking away from Carver for her own part, now. She looks into the bottle instead, "Something called to me so strongly. It makes me worry about what it means for me to respond that way when... I'm a potential wrecking ball to point under the influence of something or someone else." She pauses, "I don't know. I was just wondering." Again, she pauses, tone lifting with vague uptick and a little cheers of the vodka bottle over Carver's way when her eyes swap back, "I guess playing weird eyes with me is better than looking straight at me and popping a pill in response." Yeah, he totally did that. Round One Meet, in fact.

"I have a concern. There was a man in the sewers when I was down there days before. -Our- man indicated someone may have pointed him right at me with that box. And maybe not just for pawn. See... that's why I've been waiting around for Hank to start talking at the hospital. Did you hear that man telling me that 'he said' I was a 'good' girl? I can assume since he asked if I was Hank's girl when he came in, that he meant Hank, I guess. But that also doesn't quite make sense-- talking about me with compliment around a stray hobo from the sewers holding a mysterious box to pawn? Something that could be valuable -he- might be able to get from a scared guy on the cheap? Tssst. Hell, you think I'm bad, where do you think I get blind boldness and a long nose to poke when all stirred up?"

Oh Vodka. Lilith goes from lazy fatigue to animated in a heartbeat-- she makes an accidentally adorable screw face after pointing out some mild similarity between herself and her father, which she very notably does not call 'dad'. "That was very disturbing to hear aloud."

"Stabbing really hurts." Of course a guy called Carver would say that. Of course a guy named Carver would know that. "It's a valid concern. I mean, I hardly know you, and knife fights suuuuuuuuuck." He doesn't comment on the fire. He's only been set on fire ONCE since he came to town, and while that doesn't seem like a very high number, it's weird that it happened at all.

Shifting a little in the seat more, seeking comfort he's currently unable to find, he watches the woman go for that drink like it's water in a desert. And doesn't judge. People have seen him worse. "I'm wincing because I've seen you do a whole bunch of painful stuff, lately. And I know what your knee looked like. It's empathy. I'm learning." A beat, he shrugs. "I might be a little rusty with it. And as for your worry? Fuck it." Good job, Carver. Empathy is going great. "It's not like you can shut your little tricks off, or hide them away. Take the hand you're dealt."

No comment on the painkillers. Or the fact he isn't wearing sunglasses today. All signs are pointing to the fact he's sober and not even a little hungover. Which could be worrying, if you know the guy. And then she talks about other concerns. About... Sewers? "Wait, sorry." He holds his hand out. "You were down in the sewers?" Seriously. That's what he's latching on to. "Why on ea-... what. But..." His mouth hangs open for a couple of seconds, looking for better words. Or better questions. Finding neither. "Fuck it, okay. You were in the sewers, and there was a man there then, and you think this is the same guy? Because he smelled like ass? And mentioned someone said you were a good girl?"

Sure, there's a continually increasing narrowing of the eyes with each point he's trying to question her about, until a finger comes up as she's screwing her face together. "Probably. We're all sins of the father and all that, but, and hear me out... What if it was a homeless guy who nicked something he shouldn't have, got his brain all wheedled up, asked someone about somewhere to sell shit on, and got told about this place by someone who knew you. You were born around here, right?"

"I don't really think it's the same guy we heard and saw fleeing ahead of us in the sewers after we were stuck down there. The sewer guy might have yanked us into that moment, though. The first one. Either on accident or on purpose." Lilith pauses here and drifts her head with small back and forth hazy shake of backpedal, like she's trying to take a moment to find her place. Then she snap points at Carver's offering up there at the end, "But. Yeah. That'd be fine." Suddenly there's a humored slant of her lips and she knocks the bottom edge of the vodka bottle with bump against his (perfectly fine) knee, "... all that silver lining hope, suddenly, tch. Careful. I'll start thinking you're nice."

Then there's a noise in Lilith's throat on recall of where she was in her story. Because there's something she really needs to clarify-- she was not in the sewers WILLINGLY on a dive mission! Granted, that might seem like a perfectly feasible thing given recent events. "Pawn Guy also knew the box was bad. He told me I'd know the urge to flee too soon or something while handing it over. Which actually kind of makes him a dick now that I think about it. And I wasn't just -hanging out- in the sewers. It was during a storm. The lines went down and I ran out to look to see if they were fixable and maybe gawk some. Then uh. I got dragged down with water and-- listen, it was a shitshow. More people washed down and we had to fight to get out. And when I say shitshow..." Yeah, she means shitshow, and no, she probably doesn't want to talk about it.

Lilith falls over with slide and lean to mimic Carver's posture at the other end of the sofa so they're angled looking at each other like that. She even does the hand and thumb thing, clearing grip by taking one more swig. Then she's finally putting the bottle down next to the sofa to achieve that recline for show. "Can people do that on purpose? Take others into the other realities with them? Aim where they go? Set the moments?"

"Neat." See, she's probably talking about the veil, or something similar. So Carver doesn't ask any other questions than that. Is it because he's an asshole? Probably. Is it because he knows trying to explain shit like that in clear, concise terms to someone who wasn't there is like throwing darts in the dark and hoping to hit a target? Also that, yes. Instead, he settles for once more nodding his way through the tale, furrowing brows here and there, crossing the just-bumped knee so he can rest that ankle on his opposite leg and idly pick at a loose thread hanging from the hem of his pants and then... stare, just for a second.

And then his smile breaks wide.

"Holy. Shit." He almost, almost claps his hands together. His shoulder almost shake with the urge. "A question I can answer! And I'd prove... but uh..." A glance to the box. "I have a really strong feeling that throwing you on the other side of the curtain when that thing wants to be held by you is probably an awful idea." A little 'forgive me' shrug, and he's looking right at her eyes. "Yes. And no. And yes. And you can too. Aiming where you go and setting the moments? Not so much. At least, I can't. It's more of a... suggestion. Places like this? Where it's thin? You're likely to end up in it's interpretation of the town. That place decides where you most likely need to be. But it's got the decision-making capabilities of a bored 4-year-old." He's aware he's rambling. He's not aware of how slightly manically excited he might seem.

"I think you're getting wood, calm down." Lilith tells Carver with a pointed glance right at his crotch to make him worry while pushing up with some effort. Fatigue doesn't help, vodka made her kind of forget it, but effort and coordination is kind of a battle. But eventually she's sitting up straight again and she might be getting some inebriated form of lady-wood over the general principle and... well, enthusiasm for the idea! Last time she asked someone about it more simply as a theory, they asked her 'why the fuck' more or less. She bounces on the sofa cushion in subtle up and down, "But seriously? You could show me and we wouldn't die?" Okay, he didn't go that far with his positive encouragement of this idea. But she's assuming, okay, because he's offering and people generally don't want to die.

"Oh wait, woah. Yeah. Bad." Lilith is reminded of the box too suddenly and she stops bouncing with her bottom lip in trace push of 'fuck you universe'. She's just kind of drunk, not wasted, and she already feels like she needs bubblewrap to survive the rest of the night. But she visibly has an idea when reminded of the item, "Since we can't do that... we should open the box." What? "I'll sit on my hands..." She does. She smashes then with wiggle right under that ass behind herself on demonstration. "And we'll see if it calls again." Why? "I didn't get to study it to guess what timeframe or visual origins it had." So?

Someone might be getting the sneaking suspicion Lilith just wants the thing, but this really might just be vodka bravery, she's not fixating. In fact, she's almost being cute instead of dry wit or casual reserve or snap-to action.

"It needs a good hiding place... But before -I- think of one, I want to make sure it's not going to call to me again and I can't do that without someone around."

Ah-hah. Still not a good idea.

"Eh, I run most of my life at half mast, love." Carver doesn't even look where she's looking, but the slight dig does dampen his enthusiasm somewhat. At least for now. When she's reminded of the box, his mouth is caught half-open in an attempt to reply to her question before the answer dawned on her. Was he about to say absolutely random nonsense to appease her as her own enthusiasm was hard to miss? Sure. Because that's just how Carver do. "Probably bad, yes. We should open the box." Wait, what?

"Wait..." Carver blinks. Once. Twice. Three times at the lady. "What? That is a terrible, terrible idea. Sitting on your hands or not. That shit-" His hand goes out to point at the box. "Tried to worm it's way into my head the second it was opened the first time. You might not get any more yearnings, but what if it hits me?" This fucker's a gentleman to the end. "Or it does call you again!" See, a gentleman at the end.

The fact he didn't lean forward during any of this shouldn't be marked against him. He lives a life where comfort is usually short lived, and abuses it where he can find it. The fact that he uncrosses his leg to casually rest his ankle on Lilith's thigh in lieu of patting her hand, which would require both her removing them from under her butt and his moving forward? That's just practical. "Look." He's doing his best at casual, reassuring, conflict-resolution tone. His voice is low, calm, and a little deeper than usual. "Your big-ass safe, there? Is it a mechanical lock? And is the code changeable?"

"...I don't know." Carver is so much smarter in this moment than he knows for playing the what-if game with Lilith deep in a vodka bottle with cursed jewelry stones around. Because for someone who was so into the idea, the woman sure has a quick turn around. She watches Carver unfold his legs to nudge knock and rest against her thigh while listening, all that definitive blinking setting her to squirm in slow motion-- she pulls one hand with pop demonstration free, then the other in a kind of placating gesture before finding something to do with her hands once she's eyed the box from afar.

Lilith drops her lashes to distraction and takes to idly playing with the man's shoe laces, untying and re-tying with eyes taking a slow slide when he gets to the matter of the safe, "... mechanical, yes. Changeable, yes. Fourteen locking bolts, I think." And she didn't mention this before, not that it would have helped her case with a certain someone else much, but, "False back." Then she's looking at the man with squint and all around the room at the floor and the walls, repeating with chime, "False back! We can make that out of anything! Anywhere!" Can they? She looks at her ceiling light fixtures, the walls, the floor, the safe again, twisting the slack of a lace around and around an index finger in spiraling instead of tying now with the distraction shifted.

"But false back behind a lock is double safe. Right? I don't think I should rip things apart to make hidey holes while drunk. Like. You're not even supposed to use powertools drunk. Or golf carts." Random tidbit there. And it's maybe a good thing Lilith doesn't want into the walls or ceiling or to climb on things and go for the light fixtures in the name of hidey-hole projecting, "Hey Carver. Why did you say you already died once?"

Slowly and deliberately, once the lace is wound tight around and around her finger, Lilith draws her hand and the digit up gradually to watch it all unravel to spun curl, eyes flicking up to watch the man after she's given him some time to react to such a question out of nowhere. That's probably not Vodka filters. That's just her comfortable enough to play shameless inquisitor.

Carver watches the ministrations done on his shoelaces with a curious eye, not even bothering to glance towards the safe when Lilith does. He's learning what knots she knows, and definitely taking in that she's pretty deft with tying things. For whatever that means. "Good. Good." It's the 'Changeable' that gets that going. "I'd have preferred electronic. Means you can't do things like this."

And... Nothing happens. He doesn't even take his eyes off of her, but when she's done looking around the room looking for things that could be made false and spiraling up his laces, there's the definitive sound of four of those locking bolts softly clicking in to their set positions.

"But fourteen will do." And then? Then he waits. Because she asked him an important question. And isn't looking at his face. That's as good a time as any to wait for her to look up, and it honestly seems like that's what he was waiting for, because when she does, he's brushing away something from his coat that he's not even looking at, and meeting her glance with a casual smile that edges one corner of his mouth. "Because it's the truth, pet. That's why. I really like playing with stoves. And I get burned. One time was nearly permanent. You want the story, or...?"

Carver drops bullshit on everyone. He's used to sudden questions.

"Electronic safes can be hacked and shorted out to..." Now. Lilith is kind of drunk and she doesn't get a lot off of Carver, especially while looking around and down between room features and the man's shoe laces. But something about her kind of double-takes toward him, then toward the safe as if she's sensed or heard something, "Did you just... I thought. you couldn't.." Her hand stills in drawn upward pause after the lace uncoils and that flick of eyes toward company turns into watching observation.

Her attention span is split and it's visible on her. Her brows knit. Her thoughts dizzy swim with momentary haze of weighing which thing she wants to know more about. She looks back at the safe. Then her full attention sweeps onto Carver and suddenly it's like he's the only thing she sees, "Yes. I think this place might kill me. I want to know what it's like to die."

Fucking dark, Lilith.

Nothing about the woman is dark herself when she asks, though, no. The statement that goes with the inquiry as a motivating qualifier is almost light and delicate, at that. Close to breathless even. Does she -want- to die? Doubtful. But she doesn't say anymore than that. Maybe adventuring yourself to death is hot for her, who knows.

Carver lifts up a hand to waggle a couple of fingers her way. And then shrugs. He's real good at shrugging. He makes it a subtle art. "I was... away for a while. Locked up, if you will. I don't know if it was this place or that place, but -something- came back with me." His point is probably that all safes are breakable, but it also comes off as more than a little 'Wheeeeeee look, Lilith! Look! I'm smug!'. His hand drops back down into his lap with a soft thud. It jiggles his leg.

He's rubbing his chin when she mentions her reasoning, a little intrigued by the obvious split in her attention, and then seeming both pleased and disappointed by the outcome. His brows furrow. Just a little. For a moment. It's almost like a mask slipped, then was hastily nudged back in to place. He does his best to cover it by very softly shifting his foot to her other leg in a gentle shove, but it doesn't really work all that well. So, instead, he sighs. "I... Drowned. It sucked. I do not recommend it. Someone did CPR for... forty-" His eyes squint, trying to remember the exact figure. "-something-" He fails at remembering the exact figure, and shrugs once more. "-minutes." Good job on answering the question without answering the question. "I remember trying not to breathe in, my body doing it anyway, the cold filling my chest, black edging in from the corner of my eyes, darkness... and then throwing up water and bile on a guy's shirt." Oh. Nevermind.

During the little explanation, he almost absent-mindedly patted the pocket where his cigarettes sit. Almost as if it were a reassuring motion, or his form of a calming mantra. "But yes, this place probably will. Especially if you act in any way, shape or form like I do. It's like being a life-long welder. You're lucky to make 45." That's also probably his calming mantra. Acceptance is a boon, after all. "Long and the short of it, though? Dying is fucking awful, and I'd say you do everything to try and avoid it. Which, by the way, tonight will include me changing the lock on your safe, sleeping down here on your sofa, and putting that gem where you can't get it, but you still possess it."

He's bright and cheery during that last part, possibly as a reaction to her slight deviation towards breathlessness when she explained her reasoning. Counter, smile and nod, try and knock them off their game. The Carver way.

Other than her fingers going at his laces to curl another bendy spiral around two of her fingers with binding, there's a whole lot of contemplative, fascinated calm and stillness while Lilith listens to Carver oblige, despite him taking a moment to bobble around with how he actually feels about doing that. It's not that her empathy/sympathy is lacking or anything, but most people might actually take the time to say 'oh! That's terrible!' or make the appropriate faces or noises in the appropriate places.

Lilith doesn't. She thinks doing those kinds of extraneous things are bullshit on her best days and rarely bothers. She thinks it's tacky and gross and empty to do those nicety things when context is too intimate or deep, at that. Instead, she listens, attention unwavering, ridiculously blue eyes taking a turn toward sobered by the time he's finished, despite the cheery nature of conclusion. And being seen and heard like that? It's the compensation in trade, the silence is the interaction, the focus is the respect paid. It's different than the natural social norms and reactions that make people feel listened to. She doesn't expel gratitude for that given answer and moment, but it's there with subtle grace when her chin tips downward a smidge into dip of accepting nod.

Then the moment is gone. Lilith looks between Carver and the safe for a tick before downright just reaching down to grab the vodka bottle for a good slug before it's down again with brief leaning bend over his propped leg at her thigh. "I'm glad you can plan tonight, because I'm too done with today to do it right. I have to move things around. Not everything in the safe is mine to leave for access. But I'll go upstairs and get a bag and deal with that when I decide I can do stairs again."

Apparently that involves a 45 minute vodka powernap against the sofa cushions. She plays herself straight to doze with lean back and incessant inebriated play against a shoe lace because it's there. And it's maybe clear to Carver with her eyes closed and head turned, fine sweeps and lines of her profile no witness to study, just how drained she actually is. It's like a light going out and a melt to limp depths of exhaustion without any of that curiosity and power-through animating her.

Also it takes three bags to move cash bricks and some small boxes around to upstairs safe and holes so that the downstairs safe can be used at will. Maybe she touched that damn gem. But she ain't fuckin' with Felix's money when she gets up and around. That's just suicide.