| A Hot Mess |
| Summary: | Shotguns, cow goo, sweat, hard work, harder words. It's just a hot mess. |
| Date: | April 17, 1942 |
| Related: | Boy For Sale and Lunch and Offense |
| Players: |
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Styne Residence
This 1880s farmhouse has seen better days. While the 18 inch limestone walls mean that it is stable and secure, it still needs some work. The tin roof is rusted in many patches, not so much as to eat through the metal yet, but in the next decade or so there will be substantial leaks. The thick oak front door is in need of refinishing, but at least the pillars around the small slab of a front porch have been recently painted a bright white.
The walls inside the house are the original limestone, distressed after many year of being painted and exposed over again. They have a nice mix of yellow, blue, and grey in different fading patches, making each room feel rather warm and welcoming. All the furniture is locally made, though the owner has taken it upon themselves to make sure each room has at least one painted accent piece. A blue armoire. A yellow butlers table. Things of this nature. Each room is decorated simply, with dried flowers hanging by the windows, pewter and some china pieces exposed in the doorless china cabinet, hanging planters, and a few small painting in old frames or hammered horseshoes. All told, the house is bright, tidy, and distressed. The doors to the cellar are locked at all times.
It's the grey dawn that allows for visibility around the Styne homestead. So while one can easily and clearly see, the sun is not yet fully up. The house itself is dark, though the little barn just beyond is starting to stir. The rooster, for example, isn't quite crowing yet, but he can be heard clucking and strutting about among his harem. The cow is standing there, stupid and empty-headed but full-uterused, and sleeping. In the doorway to the barn, Blue sleeps with his head upon his paws, content and safe. The fox and the owl are the only ones out, both doing the last of their dark hunting before they make their way into the safety of the barn's floor and rafters, respectively, to sleep.
All in all, life seems peaceful and uncomplicated at the Styne house.
Clyde's walking up the road, not trying to be sneaking. Maybe he left a tad to early, but he wanted to get a full day of work done today. And who knows if he's going to actually be bale to figure out what he did wrong the other day. He slows seeing the dog on the porch. While he's not afraid of it, he'd rather not have to hurt the creature if it decided to try a dominance show. Throating a employer's dog isn't the best impression on the first day. The man has a small rutrsack over a shoulder, with not a lot in it. He isn't going to guarantee she'll feed him, so an apple and a jar or two of shine. The meal of a champion.
Blue doesn't like Clyde's scent. But it's a scent he's smelled a few times before, a scent his mistress has allowed to permate in their home. So while Blue does lift his head, and let out one houndlike 'roof' he otherwise seems uninterested, lowering his head once more to his paws and closing his eyes again. Lazy old fucker.
Perhaps the bark might've woken the mistress herself, but for now the house stays dark.
Clyde grunts back, glad to not have to start his day with a scuffle. He pauses, looking up at the barn nd it's inhabits , both waking on and going to sleep. Huh. Instead of heading to the porch he verse towards the tree to inspect whatever dead part she wants taken down. Mayeb he can climb it and just break it off, depending on how dead it is….
It all seems like Clyde's early morning workday is going to plan. The house remains quiet. Mostly quiet. There may be a soft sound here or there, but it could just be the creaks of the old house, or perhaps the Mistress herself is finally up.
For that reason, it may come as a surprise when the front door opens sharply and with a loud bang and standing there is Leona Styne herself. She's wearing a silky peach nightgown with some light embroidery around the v-neck, and with fluttering cap sleeves. Over it all is a matching silky robe, tied loosely at her waist. Her hair is pulled up and back, twisted with pins. However, she wears it like a flat bun rather than a mess of rosettes about her head. Even in sleep, she's fashionable af.
Oh, and she's also holding a shotgun. And it looks ready to go.
Clyde doesn't jump at the door opening, his hearing is sharp enough. But his head does swivel in her direction as he pats the tree trunk. He cocks an eyebrow, but that's ally eh surprise to the gun. Mayeb he should have her talk to Lillie…No, ain't his place or problem. Instead he takes a deep breath, "Ya put a hole in me, I ain't gonna be able to fell this tree properly." Dark eyes swivel back upwards towards the dead branches, "Road moved faster under my get today then usually. Didn't mean ta spook ya."
"Clyde?" Leona's tone is both surprised and relieved. She lowers the weapon immediately, bringing one hand up to close her nightgown around her throat in a subcontious, modest gesture. "Christ on the cross," she woman swears, letting her hand fall from the robe and bringing it up to rub her eyes. "I heard the dog, and then I heard someone moving out here … I am so sorry." Because it's rude to come out pointing guns at guests. She rubs her eyes a bit more, then clasps the neck of her robe again as she walks towards him. "No, no, it's quite alright. I did say you're always welcome." Though that makes her chuckle just a touch. "I just didn't realize you were such an early bird. Truly I am sorry about the greeting."
Clyde can't help an amused grunt at her swear. Ladies cussing is funny. "Not so much an early bird as gonna need the whole day." And to be fair, she lives far enough away he needs to make it worth walking all the way out here. "It's alright. I've had worse greetings." Yikes. "You go about yer day. Don't mind me." Now that he knows she's awake, he can make some noise while he works. Those almost back eyes are very hard to read in the dark and he turns back to look up at the tree he'll be dealing with.
"Of course," Leona says in more or less blind agreement. If the man wants to work, she's not going to stop him! "Do you really have to remove the whole tree though? I rather like this big old thing," she admits, stepping up close to the tree to look it over as he does. She finally seems to have kicked off enough adrenaline that she's no longer clinging to the throat of her robe. That, and the shotgun is heavy. It's easier to hold with two hands. "I like old things," she confesses, with a touch of emotion behind the words.
Clyde supresses the urge to grumble or roll his eyes at the sentimental stuff. He's such a dude, "Let me see what I can do. You got a place you want the kindling?" He thinks he remembers an axe in the barn, he can chop it up for her. The tree and kindling may take him all day.
Leona turns to look around the property, and then points back beyond the yard, near to the treeline. "Would that be alright?" She asks. She has a small pile there already. She turns her full attention back to Clyde to gauge his response, somewhat sleepy blueish eyes resting on his face and his gaze, waiting to see what he has to say about the idea.
Clyde inwardly troubles, why is it never close? But he nods, "If that's were yer wantin' it." He nods slinking off the sac with his apple and booze. "I'll try ta stay outta yer hair." The sac is set down near the tree and he turns to start walking towards the barn where the limited tools are.
"And I yours," she assures him, because there's likely no good that can come from a woman nosing around while he's trying to knock down a tree. She shifts the shotgun to her opposite hand. "I'll put some water up for coffee, if you'd like. And there's some bread and jam in the kitchen too - please help yourself. I'll make up some sandwiches for later that you're welcome to pick at through the day." She gives him another content and warm smile before turning to head back to the house to start that coffee.
That's probably for the best, anyone get's in Clyde's hair, they may never come back. He glances in her direction, "That's…appriciated. Thanks." The man likes coffee…and food. It's not long before he's back and working at the tree. If she keeps track he makes a notch underneath before climbing into the tree to work at it. It doesn't look the safest, but he acts like he knows what he's doing anyway. There's definitely no sense of fear to him as he works. It's not long after the sun rises and start to heat the air that his over shirt comes off. If she cares for such notices.
***
When Leona comes back out again, she's wearing pressed high-waisted tan slacks, sensible boots, and a light green blouse. Her hair is pinned up underneath a brown cloche hat. It's rather funny: she made a point to be modest in her nightgown, which was loose-fitting, and yet her clothed attire, while not tight or scandalous in any way, does more to accentuate her feminine figure than her 'unmentionables' did. Rules of modesty are strange things.
She's got a tray. It has coffee on it, along with toast, jam, and the last of the shortbread cookies. She smiles a broad smile at the man up in the tree, though if it's got anything to do with his own scandalous undershirt attire or just that she's generally a pleasant woman is anyone's guess. "Clyde?" She calls up to him. "I can just set this down here for you somewhere if you'd like." She starts to look around for a place to set the food items.
Good thing Clyde doesn't care much for any rules. Much less modesty ones. The scent of coffee grabs his attention though, head letting and nose sniffing. It's too much for his growly stomach to ignore so the hatchet is throw to the ground opposite side than Leona and he hops down. There's a strange sense of strength to the man when he hits the earth, like gravity itself could;t hurt him. Or maybe it's just his attitude. He nods once, but those curls at their own excited bounces, as if his hair is much more excited about the offering of coffee than he is. "I can take it now so yer not leaving yer tray n' stuff out here." Where it can get broken. He reaches for the coffee, although his eyes linger on the toast and jam. They need jam. He misses jam.
"Don't be silly," Leona says kindly when he suggests she take the tray in. "I made this up for you. Here, come sit on the porch." Indeed, on the front porch there is a little table and two chairs. It's small, a little bistro-style setup, but it does the job. All-weathered, the iron of the thing has seen better days. It's there Leona sets down the tray. "I put out strawberry here for you, last summer's," she explains with a hint of a knowing smile. "But if you'd prefer I can bring out the blackberry for you. I just grabbed what was nearest." She very gently sets the tray out on the table, stepping just to the side so as not to block Clyde's path to the nearest seat. "How's it going?"
Clyde hesitaes a moment but then follows, the food is too much to pass on. He grunts, but that's just noises he makes, an affirmative, "Strawberry's fine." He sits down, no manners pulling out a chair or waiting for her to sit it seems. "I think I can get the bad part off without losing the whole tree. I'm gonna need to cut some of the good tree off, to stop the spread though. Clean cut is better than a break." A long sip of coffee and then he reaches for the toast.
Leona takes the seat across from him, folding her legs at the knee and looking out over the front of the property, the road that heads down to the right, and the barn off to the left. It's all very neat and orderly, save for that tree. But her pleasant smile grows a bit when the man says he can, in fact, save her tree. "Thank you, Clyde. That's wonderful to hear. I appreciate it." She lifts her own cup and takes another thoughtful little sip. As if mulling something over. "Miss Higgins came to see me the other day," she admits to the man matter-of-factly. "I understand that my behavior when I was passing the McComb house some days past was upsetting." She turns to look at him then, her eyes more green than blue in the morning light now, watching with interest as to how he'll respond to this.
Clyde blinks a weird expression runs across his face. An uncertainty. and annoyance, but it's hard to say at what. "Weren't Nothin'." Well, sort of. Damn it Lizzy, he said eh's straighten it out. He shifts, uncomfortable now in the chair. Or is it her gaze, "I ain't always the…nicest in my talkin'." Yeah, and not the bets with apologies either, apparently. As that's all he says on that. "It'll probably take me most of the day to get the branch down n' cut fer the pile."
Perhaps it sails right over Leona's head, because she presses on. Though her smile does melt away slowly and gently at the unhappy look he gets. "Well, whatever the case may be, I just wanted to apologize for causing any discomfort for either of you." Apparently Clyde is the receiver, not the giver, of the apology. Strange world! But he seems content to leave the matter lie, and so Leona does as well, finally freeing him from her confident gaze to look toward the tree. "Do you need any help? It seems rather dangerous without any climbing equipment. I don't have anything of the like, but perhaps I can see if one of the boys who works in the back fields could be of some use to you today?"
Clyde blinks in confusion, but lets it go. Instead he lets his dark eyes dart over to the barn with the very pregnant cow. "No. I can get it." It may be dangerous, but he's not join g to put the lady in harms way over it. He'll get it figured out. He snorts, an amused sounds, "Climbing equipment? Do i look Like I've ever used anything like that?" He's pretty never used any safety equipment before, to be honest. "I got it, don't fret. You just worry about that pregnant cow, I'll get the tree."
"You look like a man who's likely had a great deal of experiences in his short life," Leona says, her tone dropping a touch of it's formality into a more conversational voice. "Ones I'm sure I couldn't even begin to guess." She brings the coffee to her lips once more for a small sip. "However you manage it, Clyde, I trust in your abilities. Just remember I'm the closest thing you have to a doctor available in the immediate vicinity." She smirks at that, giving him a quick amused glance before she follows his words to gaze at the barn. "Ah, yes. I imagine if it's not today, it'll be sometime tonight at least. You mentioned your father knew a thing or three about birthing cows if I recall?" She looks back to him. "At least, then, the sounds and smells of it hopefully won't upset you too much. It can be a lot for those unacquainted with the business."
Clyde reaches up to scratch at his chin, not disagreeing with her assumptions. The idea that the vet wold take care of him is amusing, on many, many levels and he smirks, "I'll be ok. i get hurt, I'll hobble off to die off yer property, don't worry." His grandpappy, but he nods, "Knew more than i do." He just knows which end they come out. And that it's best to just let the mimma do her thing. He nods though, "Yeah, the goats are getting ready to birth." He's seen it before, just not a cow.
"Oh, how very gracious of you. I didn't realize I had such a thoughtful gentleman in my employ," Leona says, lightly and good-naturedly teasing. The man earned himself another smirk and a quick twinkling glance of amusement. "It would be foul luck to be stuck in the wilderness with the only Styne not noted for any proper physician's skill."
Her attention, though, eventually goes back to the barn after a moment. She lets out a thoughtful humming purr. "This one won't be enjoyable for any of us, I think. It's a large calf, breached … it may well be a long night." She sits back in her seat, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She decides to pluck up one of the shortbread cookies between her fingers, and she takes another bite, still watching the barn. "Do you like keeping goats?" She finally asks.
Clyde shrugs, but a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, "I'm like that. Thoughtful." Who else would promise something like that! He's had worse luck and survived. The joy ebbs some from his face about the cow, but he nods solely, "Well….if yer needing' anything…" Not that he could do much. He chews on the toast, eating it rather quickly. "They're ok. Not a lot of work. N' we like the milk." not that they get a ton, but it's helpful.
"It takes a thoughtful sort to trek all the way out to the wrong side of town in the morning darkness just to make sure some old spinster's tree didn't come down on her in the night, even for wages." Leona seems rather content, even as her coffee gets cold, to sit out on the porch and chat. She reclines further back in her chair. "Which reminds me, once we're done here I'll draw your wages out in case I get busy in there when you finish up." She gestures to the barn with her mug, then looks back over at Clyde. Perhaps it's the first time she's realizing he has no shirt, or perhaps it's the first time this morning that she's actually considering him, but she does look him over with a pensive gaze. "May I ask you, Clyde … do you consider yourself to be a happy man? Not sunny or smiley, but generally content?"
Clyde blinks at the sudden turn into real compliment. He's getting paid to do it. "You ain't a spinster." She doesn't look like a spinster, anyway. Although wanting to sit and chat may not help her status. The question gets him frowning, although that seems to be a natural state for the man, "I ain't sunshiny, no." But content? He shrugs, finishing up his cup of coffee, "I find that people who's content don't get anything their striven fer." Does he? He doesn't clarify but instead stands up, "I should get to workin'."
"Of course," Leona once again agrees, moving to rise and put what few dishes there are into the tray so she can carry it all into the kitchen. "I've made some sandwiches, they're in the icebox so please feel free to help yourself as you need. There's tea in there too. I'll leave your wages on the kitchen table, in case I'm too busy to draw them out later." She gives him another polite yet warm smile and a nod before moving to the door, pulling it open with her toe so she can slide inside.
Clyde looks like he's not quite sure how to act towards the woman. Not much kindness or even fairness tend to be given to Walkers. A last cookie is shoved into his mouth, cause he's got manners like that before he too stands and nods. She's watched briefly before she turns and goes to the tree. It's not long before he's up in the branches again with the hatchet. Making sure she's not watching, he also just props himself in the tree where he can just use his legs to push and crack the branch into easier manageable pieces. Whoo-hoo for hidden werewolf strength! He works hard and steady, used to this type of labor. Soon enough he's lugging pieces that have fallen towards the pile she indicated.
***
It isn't long after the dishes are done and Clyde's wages are tucked into an envelope and left on the kitchen table that Leona Styne gets down to her own business. She slips out the back kitchen door and makes her way to the barn, where by now the mother cow has started making some sounds of distress. There's a bag hanging from her shoulder, and whatever's in it makes soft clanging noises, the sounds of glass upon glass. And then she'll disappear into the barn.
The next few hours, as Clyde works, he'll hear further sounds of distress. The other animals, all except the owl, have made their way out onto other parts of the property. Blue hangs close, but the rest, even the old pony, sort of scatter away for now. Chickens too are sent running about, which means a few might get underfoot while Clyde is working. As afternoon comes and it actually becomes hot outside, the noises of distress get louder, and the occasional curse or grumble from Leona herself can be heard. At least Clyde isn't the only one working hard today.
Clyde manages to only kick a few chickens, no permanent damage. The poor cow noises grate on him, as they would any man, and he finally makes his way over, rapping on the door of the barn, "Doin' okay in there?" Not that eh can really help much. He doesn't look in unless she says she needs anything. His nose twicthes, the struggle between knowing a new calf is good and helpful, and the knowledge if it doesn't work out, there's beef to eat. It's kind a a win win, in the carnivores mind.
"Clyde?" Leona asks from within. There's a poignant, and momentary pause. And then a ladylike grunt, and a cow's moo of displeasure. "If you have the stomach for this sort of business, I could use a hand," she admits, albiet a bit sheepishly.
And if he does assent to open the door? Well it's quite a sight he'll see. There's only three living beings in here just now. The cow, Leona, and the bitchy owl who hangs out in the rafters. He's sorely perturbed that his day's rest is being bothered. But Clyde might not even notice that for the sight before him.
Leona is dirty. Given that he's likely never seen her with much more than a dirty hem, to see her splattered in blood and amniotic fluid is likely something of a sight. She's sweaty too, from the warm day and the close air in the barn, and the hard work. The cow is facing away from him, and he can see four cloven hoofs poking out from inside of her. Leona is on her knees, beside the cow, with one hand vanished from the forearm up inside of the beast, while the other is pressing hard on the cow's flank. Why? Because the damned heifer keeps trying to get up. She knows something's wrong with her birth, and she is paniced over it. Leona alternates between trying to turn the calf in utero, and trying to keep the beast still and laying as she ought to be. "Can you hold her down for me please?" Leona asks, turning to quickly glance at the man. Her eyes are a bright, vibrant green, and her pale face is flushed from the heat and the effort. Some hair has escaped the pins, falling around her face and neck. She no longer wears the hat. Her elbows and knees are the dirtiest parts of her, but there's splashes of blood and other wet substances across her clothes and one even across her throat and up to her cheek. Her hands? Forget about it. "She keeps moving, and the calf keeps shifting, and he might tear her if she doesn't calm down." For the situation, Leona seems very calm and collected. And she even has a moment to give Clyde a little sympathetic grin for the situation he's walked in on, before she looks back to her patient.
God damn it. he frowns, rubbing his face a moment before stepping in. He meant like, getting her a towel, not helping helping. But here he is. He's seen worse, unfortunately, so he nods, not pleased. Moving over he kneels in the best place to hold the cow and not get in Leona's way. It's close enough that he'll eventually get grossed up too, but he's used to that in some ways. His lips press togterh though and he doesn't say anything, knowing that most animals don't like the timber of his voice. Even if she struggles, he seems strong enough to hold her in place. Clyde's got guns, and not the firearm types.
Poor Clyde. Leona is not unsympathetic to the man's plight. But he's here now, and after an initial thrash at Clyde's presence, the strength of the man seems to be enough to keep her still, if still panicked. With both hands free, Leona is able to focus on turning the calf. It's exactly like it sounds. She reaches up inside of the beast, almost to her elbows, with both hands. After a moment, the back hoofs disappear up inside too, and the front start to slide out further. "There we are," the woman says, as if she's just finished a crossword puzzle. Her hands and arms slide out, covered in every goo imaginable. Every goo, Clyde. Ever one. And then, perhaps surprisingly, she reaches for a chain that has been twsited into two small cuffs. These are slid onto the calf's exposed hoofs and tightened until firm.
"Okay, she sighs, lifting her eyes to watch the cow meaningfully. "Tell me when you can feel her muscles straining," she says to Clyde. It's not an order, exactly, but it's in a tone that says she doesn't expect to be disobeyed. "Should only take two or three contractions, and then we can get you out of here." Is that for Clyde or the calf? Both would likely be happy to be free of this situation.
Helping save a life is very different gore than taking it. He just watches, holind gonto the cow like he expocts her to just submit to his holding her down. He frowns though at the chains, "She can't do it now?" Do all cows need to be yanked out of their mothers? Mayeb the Walkers don't need a cow that badly. Why would he not tell her? God Damn, Clyde hopes it's for him, but he nods and let s her know, "Now."
"There's a good girl," Leona says, speaking in a gentle, even, soothing voice to the animal. Slowly but firmly she tugs on the chain between the cow's hooves, and more cow appears. Knobby knees. A nose, furrowing this way and that as it tries to wiggle itself out. Then she stops and looks up at Clyde. Leona looks positively thrilled with the whole thing. "It speeds the process along, and she's already had a hard labor. She might have trouble pushing with her muscles so tight and sore already from having the calf turned. "Do you feel another contraction yet? They'll be close together, maybe thirty seconds or so."
Clyde still thinks it's not soemrthign he'd like to have to do after today, ever. He nods, still holding onto the cow firmly. "Not yet. I think-That's one!" He was sweaty before from the work, but now he's sweaty from outside work and cow lamaze. He watches Leona more than the merging calf.
She grins wider at the next pull. "Yes, yes, yes," she mutters encouragement to the mother. "That's a girl, just a little longer." And the contraction proves to be long enough, for the calf slides free like some sort of swamp creature covered in swamp algae grossness. Leona just grins, and without a thought at all for being dirty (which, again, weird) she pulls the calf close and plucks up a rag hanging on a nearby peg. She begins to clean off the animal's face and, most importantly, his nostrils. A few drops of water in the ear, and soon the animal is bleating and flailing, ready to take his first steps in the world.
Leona, still grinning madly, wraps her arms around the baby beast and rises. "You can let her up now, she'll follow the baby in a minute," she informs the man, and then with a feminine grunt she moves to carry the calf to a clean pen, where he's laid among the fresh rushes.
Clyde stays still, even as a human (werewolf) male he's got no business saying anything during a birthing of a cow. He stays where he is until he's told to move, and he does, much to the cows relief. She's not gonna get eaten today! Good for her, not so good for Clyde's belly! Oh well, win some, lose some. Stepping backwards to give momma room, he watches Leona before asking quietly (Almost like he's afraid of dsituering the calf) , "Anyhting else I can do?"
Leona removes the chain from the calf and hangs it on a nearby peg. Already momma is starting to squirm and rise, and Leona reaches out to take Clyde's arm and tug him out of the way, so he's not standing between them. Yeah, with her gross hands. Sorry Clyde. At least she releases him quickly? "No, they need some bonding time now. We can leave them be for an hour or so." So she moves to the barn door and nudges it open with her elbow, standing out of the way to hold it open for Clyde still. "There's a pump behind the house where you can rinse up a little, but you don't seem to bad of it." Leona, contrarily, looks like she just murdered a pus monster. "Thank you for that. I know that wasn't quite in your handyman job description."
Clyde's frowning, but that's just him, as he watches the cow go to her baby. His skin is warm to the touch, even for being in th barn doing what they were doing. He looks down , not much can be down for the but that got on his jeans, and it's just an under shirt, but he nods, "I'll do that." Better to wash off what he can than smell like that for the rest of the day. Assuming she's going inside to wash up he'll turnout head towards the back of the house. He shrugs, "Works work." Definitly not in the desc.
But she doesn't go into the house. Instead, she latches the barn door and moves after the man, taking care not to accidentally get her hands on anything she doesn't absolutely have to touch, like her own clothes. "Some work's harder than others. Not harder, of course. I imagine what you've been up to all day has been very hard. Just … different, I suppose." Trees don't scream or smell. Most of the time, anyway. "And how did you progress, today, on the tree?" After that, she imagines he's going to be rather done with his workday.
Oh, well. Looks like he'll have company after all. "Branch is down, got it partially logged fer ya." Not all the way. He can still go do anoterh hour after this, although his stomach is starting to growl. So much blood and no meat in his belly! Clyde moves a head to get to the pump so he can get the water flowing for her. Leat he can do, right? Sucha gentleman!
"Oh, that's wonderful." In the sunlight, the flush of the hot barn is starting to fade, but Leona's grin hasn't subsided. "You're really been very productive today. Thank you." She bends down when the water begins to flow, and sticks her hands and arms underneath first, rubbing them clean of their filth. Then she'll splash her face and her neck, causing her escaped hair to cling to her skin there, and to darken her green blouse around the neckline and shoulders. Then she'll step away, wiping her face. The cool water has sent her flush away entirely. "Right. Your turn." She moves to take the pump for him.
Clyde's dark eyes follow the water, she's a spinster, but she's still a woman. He looks away when she finally finishes and he steps over. He's less worried about getting wet,, his jeans not eh knees get scrubbed in hopes of saving them and then his arms, which make the dingey undershirt cling to his muscled torso.
Twenty seven is old to be unmarried in this day and age, so by that reckoning yes indeed, Ms. Leona Styne is a spinster. She wipes more water away from her face, droplettes wetting her shirt and trousers, but certainly not showing anything untoward. Similarly, drops that slip down beneath her blouse and wet it that way do not put anything on display either. The blouse is sturdy enough to withstand water.
And for her own eyes? For while yes, she is a spinster she too is a woman, and a handsome man in hardly anything on above his waist will surely bring about some womanly feelings. And yet Leona has not so much as even glanced in that direction in her entire time of knowing Clyde, and if she glances now, she gives little indication as to what effect, if any, the sight may have. She just smiles to him. "I'll go finish getting cleaned up," she tells him once he's through. Ah, there's that fastidiousness come back. She can be dirty and unkempt for a cause, but once that's done, she almost twitches to be clean again. "Help yourself to some of those sandwiches. I won't be long," she assures him, and with that she turns to head into the house and up the stairs to get properly cleaned.
See? He know it. Lizzy was totally wrong. Smilign to himself he finishes up rinsing off, letting the cold water cool him down before he heads back round to the front porch. He's internally debating if he should just go finish the wood or not, when his stomach growls and decides for him. Up the stairs he goes to sniff out those sandwiches.
He'll have a good half an hour at least to himself before Leona comes back down the stairs. She's dressed to go out, wearing instead a simple cotton shirtwaist dress, cornflower blue and unadorned. Her feet are bare, and her hair has been left down in damp curls. She smiles to the man when she finds him with the sandwiches. "I rather thought I'd find you here," she teases, lightly. "A day of physical labor and a calf birthing will put anyone out." Yeah, assuming Clyde hasn't destroyed them all, once's got her name on it too. Unless she decides to cook. Which … maybe. Maybe not.
She moves around Clyde delicately, only placing a hand on the back of his shoulder to indicate she's behind him so she can walk around him toward the liquor cabinet. Out comes the brandy and two glasses. "It's generally customary to drink to a birth," she explains, sliding one of the glasses toward the man. "Moderately, although that's a word the MacDonalds haven't quite figured out." Hence why she ended up drunk in the Gallows, that one night. But the memory makes her smile. "Assuming you partake, of course."
Clyde seems confused again. She's giving him booze now? He nods though, "Not usually anything fancy like that though.." She's got special glasses for her booze? huh. He's not inhaled all the food, although probably most of it. He's a hungry, hungry werewolf. "I can finish up the wood before I leave." He steps closer though to take the glass, letting the booze to his nose to smell it. Huh again. "Always knew I liked the MacDonalds."
They're not super fancy glasses. They're just small tumblers, set aside to go with the liquors. "It's what I have, unfortunately," she says apologetically. "My father's family was rather well-off, and some of those tastes never really died. It's my little luxuary." And indeed, the Stynes are well-off. The ones who live in town, anyway. Constance has her own driver!
Leona lifts her own glass to smell, closing her eyes to savor it. And then she lifts it for a silent 'cheers' toward Clyde. Then she takes a small sip, inhaling the scent with closed eyes. "Mmmhm," she purrs happily, then she looks over at Clyde again. "Do you, now? I suppose both you and they are somewhat rambunctious. At least, if what is known about your family is true." Rambunctious. That's a nice way of putting it. But she says it nicely, like it's, if not a compliment, a statement of fact.
It's not a canning jars, so it's fancy! He nods, "If'in yer wanting something more…rsutic, I can do that fer ya." Meaning moonshine. He doesn't bother sipping, insead he takes a long sip. Huh. The back handed complimement gets a freon. "Sure." Yeah, this had to go there at some point he supposes. The glass is lifted again and he drains his glass, "I'll get to the wood now, before it gets to getting' dark."
A look flashes over Leona's face, exasperation with just the lightest seasoning of annoyance. "Mister Walker. Clyde," she corrects. Her smile has faded now to a look of seriousness, and her gaze is far more intense than it's been in the past. She closes her eyes, that annoyance coming over her features a bit further before she sighs. "Forgive me, Clyde. I have a terrible habit of being overly familiar with people." She lifts her own glass and does it back like a shot, letting it slide easily down her throat before she sets the empty on the table. "However, please understand that I don't mean to insult you. I certainly couldn't speak ill of you for the same behavior that had me …" She shakes her head a bit. "…giddy and unsteady, let us say, in the Gallows at all hours of the morning." She blushes at that, but only slightly. It's a very light pink. At least it was only that one time, right?
Clyde turns when called, dark eyes hard to read. He lets her talk, either to let her dig her own hole, or dig herself out of it. "Is what it is. People gonan think what they want." He watches the woman drain her glass, "Nothing wrong with being a little giddy every once in a while." The blush is taken in and he sighs before nodding. "Okay. I'm gonna go finish yer tree before I gotta leave. You figure out when you want me back."
Leona nods. "Of course. Thank you again." She swipes up the glasses with a little sigh and a shake of her head, taking them over to the sink so she can start washing them out. Everything has to be washed out, and put away. Everything has it's place. "Don't forget your wages on the table, Mister Walker," she informs him, with a slight emphasis on the name to show it's no accident. She speaks without turning around. That flush remains in her cheeks, and her mouth has narrowed slightly into a thin line as she works.
Clyde's eyes narrow at the name. Ok…if that's how she wants to play it. Assuming she's not going to want him back to do any other work he takes the envelope and heads to the door to go finish up the tree.