| An Anchor in a Deep, Deep Sea |
| Summary: | Lillie meets Clinton, new owner of the abandoned Everett Farm… and the grief that comes with him. |
| Date: | 1942-10-08 |
| Related: | None. |
| Players: |
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Town Square, Higsi
Sun Oct 08, 1942
A lot of work has been put into the town square, which is actually more of a circle really. A street makes a one way circle around a large round grassy area with a staute of a local civil war hero overlooking a duckpond. Lining the other side of the street are various businesses as well as the large court house and the local church.
Weather:
It is fall. The weather is cool and fair.
It's afternoon on a cool, fair Sunday in Higsi, and there is a stranger in town. Ok, for this town, that might not be so weird, as strangers seem to come in and out all the time in this crazy place. But this one is a new arrival aiming for permanent residency. There is a pair of horses, a dark bay thoroughbred with a saddle on its back, and a dapple grey mustang tethered to it as a pack horse. Both are standing calmly with the reins draped around a post near the court house.
Out of the courthouse the stranger emerges. He's tall, dark, and handsome. How cliché. But he's also wearing clothes about a decade out of date, his hair is too long by most standards, and he has a scruffy presentation of facial hair that doesn't quite get to be called a beard and mustache.
Clinton Lassiter has papers in hand, finalizing his purchase of the old Everett Farm, and renaming it "Land Cloud Farm". Land Clouds are what his daughter, when she was tiny, used to call sheep. It's in her memory.
<FS3> Lillie rolls Empath: Good Success.
A one Clinton Lassiter, hoping to root himself into Higsi, perhaps would have not expected any one of the gentle birds of Higsi to approach the two patient (well at least on one case) beasts he left waiting, as he saw to matters in the courthouse. But once the man in his dated clothing steps out, papers in hand, he may very well see the mare — not quite the bay — being engaged by a slip of a lady with a rapt expression upon her face. The 'sense', buried deeply within Lillie O'Clery's mind, told her from the get-go that the riding horse was to be given a careful berth. JUst as well. Lillie could not help herself; how, persay, do the emotions of horses translate to an empath…? That is for Lillie to consider and few to ever find out, if she has her way.
But there she stands in the fairweather sunshine of a fall afternoon, her gaze settled well and wholly upon the mare, her bicycle set off to the side against a post… thoroughly abandoned. Lillie speaks to the mare in a faerie's language — Irish Gaelic actually — as if she can understand her. Gaze soft, almost tunnel-visioned.. fingers reaching to stroke the mare's velvety muzzle.. but only if she will allow it.
Of course.. she is oblivious to the approach of the horses' master, as she stands transported! Lillie is a slight, gentle sort.. her form, clad in a pretty shirtwaist dress, wrapped in thin ladies' coat that is meant for an autumn in a city other than Higsi, TN. She looks 'fancy'.
Clint takes the steps at a swaggering slow pace, with the out-turned knees of a long-time rider. He looks like a cowboy, sans hat and spurs. "Ma'am," he greets Lillie politely, giving her interaction with the mare a bit of a curious narrowing of his already narrow eyes. "That's Raindrop. She's a friendly gal, but steer clear of Duke over there. He's a mite skittish." His voice has a midwestern twang, Wyoming if she's apt to know such things.
Lassiter folds up his papers and tucks them into an inner pocket of his longcoat. He gives Raindrop's flank a pat and goes about checking the leather bags and woven baskets he's bound to her back via an elaborate harness system. He has yet to introduce himself. Also seems the quieter type, at least in speaking terms, though his emotions speak volumes.
The young lady visibly startles, but not necessarily due to being caught engaging with creatures that are not her property. Lillie's hands pause in their featherlight caress of the mare's jaw, and something — something — .. wheedles it's way into her sense of wonder.
Clinton's emotions, for he is indeed — to Lillie — a 'powder keg' of such… reach her. The sense, despite her decent rest the night before… is strong 'enough'. Not quite to the extent of being disruptive, but it's enough for the Irish woman to sense Lassiter's approach and like a starved thing, her empathy foists itself into her rose-colored world and feeds her the cowboy's grief at the loss of his loved ones.
Lillie freezes then, her head dipped forward slightly, her brow furrowing. Her hair is cinched back into a loosely haphazard — yet befitting — braid, handing heavily against her back. Grief and longing are both powerful emotions, and despite herself the woman feels… itchiness in her eyes. Oh no, no no! As Lassiter's drawling greeting reaches her ears, Lillie is caught off-guard with the 'missing' of someone. Someone who feels apart from her.. far away. She looks up with teary — teary — green eyes at the man. Damnit, damnit. Her lips press together and she tries to rally. She faces the widower, looking anxious and apologetic. "H-hallo sir," She offers in a heavily-accented voice. "Forgive me.. I cannot help myself sometimes." She says quickly, watching him work. "How do you do?"
The teary-eyes punch Clint in the panic button. Did he frighten her? Does she think he's angry? Does he need to apologize for something he's unaware of? Is there spinach in his teeth? "Nothing to forgive. If they want to be handled, that's their choice. They may be mine on paper, but they make their own decisions about other folk," he says with a small huffing sound that might be a laugh, trying to diffuse the tears. The polite greeting has him dusting off his hand on his faded dungarees and offering it towards the woman.
"Sorry, my manners are a bit rusty these days," He offers along with his hand. "Clint Lassiter, fairly new here. Just starting up a small sheep ranch out on Lincoln Way." He's now itching for a cigarette, badly.
Added to the bouquet: panic. Aggh, agggh. Surely, a random teary woman in a town square yammering at horses can't be easy to process. Heaven knows Mr. Lassiter has enough to deal with. But 'lo and behold, here she is! Another thing of note: the lay of Lillie's heart may be firmly elsewhere, but the sight of a ruggedly handsome man is not lost on her. Fluster stirs it's way into the cocktail of 'OH SHIT' in the Empath's belly. A blush eases it's way into her already-colored features.. who is he? Where did he come from?
Be it as it may, with his past vastly unknown, Lillie's mind entertains a sudden, powerful thought: the single birds of the town, starved for men, will shank one another.
But yes, panic — warranted by the sight of tears — brings Lillie back to the present. She fists at her eyes quickly. "Hard day at work.. t-this was needed, you see. Humans can be problematic… horses are beautiful, you see." So desperately, she tries to set herself to rights. Her lip curl into a smile despite the tears that Clinton's undercurrent has caused, thank you very much!
A lithe hand reaches forth to collect his own. "Welcome to Higsi, Mister Lassiter. I'm just about a year myself, in this… little town." Lillie offers amicably. "Lillie O'Clery. I—-oh!" A blush. "Lincoln Way… Lincoln… might that be the old Everett Farm?"
"Yes ma'am, that'd be the place. 'Was told the Everetts abandoned it some years ago, no reason given, never came back. 'Was on the market for cheap, and cheap was my budget," Clint explains. "Just been there a few weeks, getting the fences and the barn repaired before the sheep arrive by train tomorrow." Go figure, the man rode here on horseback, bit the sheep get to ride in a nice train. Also, he worked on their accommodations before his own. He has a few bug bites visible on his hands, since he's yet to properly clean out and patch up the house proper.
"I know little of.. what happened, you see," Lillie offers gently, stepping back a bit from the mare to allow Lassiter his space. She watches him, curious… purely for the sake of being curious. "But t'is a good thing to see new life come to the farm. It's been awhile, from what I've been told, since… since it's been a home." She admits, folding her hands politely in front of her abdomen. She is an observant sort, see; green eyes note the cowboy's hands as he sets his horses to rights. The dying light of the day catches a band upon his left ring finger.
Welp, that won't stop the chiv-carrying birds from at least looking, she considers; even if his clothing is dated, he'll still provide an eyeful.
Lillie looks back to the mare, as she continues to ferret out her own emotions; her own thoughts. Lillie, at her core, is just bursting to help and understand. Her fingernails graze the back of her left hand.. those bug bites look itchy.
"You've your work cut out for you. Where do you hail from, sir?" She asks in her too-eloquent way… Lillie does not subscribe to the slang of the times.
That's where Clint seems to button up a bit. He doesn't like to even think about where he just left, let alone talk about it. That's just a world of hurt, back in Clearmont. So he deflects with the also recent place he was. "Military. Got a medical discharge recently," he explains. "US Army Air Forces," he adds. There wasn't just an Air Force on its own yet, the flyboys were still part of the Army. "Pilot." He's really bad at this conversating thing. He tightens a strap on one of the bags to make sure it doesn't rub at the mare's hide when she's moving.
And here, the girl before him knows how to surmise the 'hot spots' and avoid them gracefully. Lillie, mercifully, does not push the issue… instead, she rolls with it as a fish would follow a stream. "I see… such a lifestyle takes you a great distance, to different places. I know well, for my brother—-" A pause. Discharge? Medical? Air force? Lord above she prays Freddie does not see such a discharge from his position in the army.. ground force. Lillie has little knowledge of the ins and outs of the country's sword and shield against the threat across the water… just that it's all for a greater good.
Suddenly she feels a profound sympathy for this sad man with his wedding band and horses. Lillie's gaze softens then, as she continues. "I shall not keep you long.." She starts, then pauses. Pilot? Medical discharge? So something happened to put Lassiter into the streets of Higsi, TN. Seeing as how she knows him for all of five minutes, she hasn't the right to ask… but…
She runs her eyes despite herself, heart still aching. Who.. what has he lost…? Sorry Clint, Lillie has a cheat-sheet.
"Is there anything you might be in need of? Any questions I could answer for you? T'is not easy to start over…. my.." Her own pang of sadness. "My brother is serving overseas, y'see…"
Clint pauses, looking at the strap he was fixing, focusing on it for a long moment. "Hope your brother makes it home safe, Miz O'Cleary. Our boys have been doing some good on the front." As for questions, he finally looks at her with that cowboy squint of his. "If you might be kind enough to recommend where I might be able to find a good cheap meal, I'd appreciate it. Not much of a cook, I'm afraid." Food, food is a safe topic.
So what does that feel like..? Skirting a hot spot, finding purchase upon what is said to be a 'safe' topic? The sense isn't so strong so as to surmise every anxious heartbeat, but Lillie is good at both observing body language and that which her strange psychic mind deciphers. Clint Does Not Want to discuss much beyond the superficial reasons as to why he is here. Just as well… she tilts her head some in a universal gesture and expression of curiousity.
"Thank you, Mister Lassiter. It's on my mind a fair deal… my family is a closely-knit one and to think of him apart, treading into the unknown.. I shall take whatever reassurance I can get." Said in a near-whisper… pure truth. Lillie has a lot to ponder and this is one important notion. Her green eyes meet Clint's squint and she hold his gaze for a few seconds before she looks back to the mare, as if in contemplation. She meets his 'safe topic' head-on.
"Sister's Diner is decent," She offers.. no bias, either. She no longer works there. "Though they close at 2:30. Higsby Diner is open later.. bit more of a cost, but won't break the bank. And…" A look at both horses. "The Farm and Fleet, over on Clinton street." A knowing smile then, "Sells wonderful feed. For a great many beasts."
Clint listens to her list of places for him to feed his face and his horses, and he nods. "Thank you kindly, Miz O'Cleary. I'll give the Sister's Diners a try. I've been to the Farm and Fleet already to order some winter feed for the sheep and the horses. Once I get the first shearing done in a few months, and sell the wool, I reckon I'll be able to afford the other place now and then."
He's held off as long as he can, and he digs into his vest pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a very worn-looking Zippo. Did you know Zippo dedicated all its manufacturing of lighters to the military during World War II? Interesting factoid. Lassiter lights up and tucks the pack and lighter away again.
The Empath is a dork who fancies herself a connoisseur of random informative bits 'of the times'… but this is a 'factoid' that has not yet reached her ears! The veteran Zippo catches her gaze even as she processes that which the cowboy has spoken up, and her fingers lift to briefly graze her own chin despite herself. Speaking of bold! The wedding ring speaks of a 'few' things and typically, folks who are married this day an age waste little time in taking a wife and/or husband to earth and starting families. Despite a pang of wistfulness that grips her heart for all of a second or two, curiosity gets the better of Lillie.
Her eyes watch the trajectory of the Zippo to the end of the cigarette, and perhaps back to cover of Lassiter's pocket. The sight of the ring goads Lillie to ask in a way that is completely without guile, completely innocent… a question that may or may not be welcome.
"Have you come here with a family, Mister Lassiter?"
Lassiter takes a long draw off the cigarette and he's quiet a long moment at Lillie's question, looking towards the mountains in the distance over one shoulder, not able to meet her eyes. "No ma'am. Unless Duke and Raindrop count." That grief constricts his heart again, and guilt weighs him down like an anchor in a deep, deep sea.
Funny thing… Lillie barely responds to the lighting of and the drawing of a cigarette. Maybe it's just the times where men, typically, light up wherever and whenever. Where the dangerous properties of not necessarily tobacco — but the 'fillers' of cigarettes — are as far away as the nearest galaxy. Most are just used to the presence of cigarettes and the image they present. Lillie keeps apart from the cowboy's halo of smoke, though he seems the sort to politely puff away from the lady, and considers.
The innocuous question, which Lillie fully expected to have been answered easily with talk of a very pretty wife (for don't these handsome men often have lovely wives?) and a child or two or three (rugged men are virile!) … she gets something altogether different.
Her sense lurches… the sadness is great, and cloying. The grief… the guilt. What happened?! How can Lillie even breach this, as what she is discerning to inward and cannot be spoken of? It's so strong that her eyes glitter again… the corners of her lips quiver. She wants to weep but——no, no. Her mind isn't strong enough. This grief is too potent. Tears flit past her nose and off the end of her chin. "My, my.. pardon me. Heavens, it's been long day." She supplies quickly, feeling deeply embarrassed and oh.. no, no.
"Thinking of that which you've been through, coming here to put together a farm that has been empty for years/ I cannot imagine. T-the horrors of war." Lillie rallies, if only he knew. "There are a great many handymen for hire in town here, if you need help."
Aw dammit, tears again. Clint digs into a pocket and draws out a (mercifully) clean handkerchief. He hands it over to her. "I'm sure your brother will be fine, Ma'am," he says quietly, entirely misinterpreting her reason for bawling. He awkwardly pats her shoulder once, twice, in a there there gesture and clears his throat. "I'm fairly handy myself. But I'll remember that if I run into something I can't fix," he offers. He clamps down hard on the pain he's feeling, locking it away. That's part of why he moved here, to just be away from everything that reminds him of them.
Bless his heart.. Lillie does not expect Clinton to understand why her eyes are filling with tears. Surely, she is thinking of her brother.. yes, that's it. Poor Freddie, maintaining Uncle Sam's virtue. She is abruptly guilty to be letting this emotion overwhelm her, and the Empath desperately tries to pull herself together so as to not cause the man further discomfort. That, and if folks see her shedding tears in his presence, they may think the worst. A few breaths, and she accepts the hankie.. such a timeless, polite gesture.
But why does a man wear a wedding ring with only horses and livestock for company…? Is it in.. homage?
A fresh, clenching wave of sadness… Lillie rallies hard. Succeeds. She smiles tearily as she dabs her eyes. "T-the last thing a man needs, a weeping woman. I truly am okay. It has been a long day… nothing warranted by this meeting, I promise you." LIES. But that pretty face maintains the face only when she feels she must. "Not to mark you as inept at that which must be done, sir… but t'is good to know there's help where one needs it, when new to a town." Lillie offers, but does not expand. Clinton surely knows his limits.
The clamping down of emotions… Lillie knows that feeling well. She's been to the Walker School of Suppressing Emotions! Whatever Lassiter's reasons for being here.. Lillie wishes him well. And worries.
"I wish you well in settling here. Most folks here do not cry at random, I promise." Offered in attempt to make light of her strange outpouring.
Lassiter forces a small smile at her humor. "Good to know, Ma'am. Hate to pull you away from Raindrop, but I really need to get these supplies back to the farm before dark. You can hang on to that handkerchief as long as you need to. A'right?"
Blink? Hold onto… Lillie looks down at the handkerchief, feeling like a great fool. "O-oh.. really, it's okay." She starts, then considers… well, she dabbed her tears and the barest measure of her makeup onto it. The least she can do is wash it! Maybe, too, keeping it will reassure the cowboy that she's not a hysterical lunatic who likes sobbing over horses in the town square.
"Please, carry on… thank you for allowing me to engage Raindrop." She says earnestly and there, an honest smile. "Be well.. I hope things run smoothly for you in the work you've head of you, on your newly acquired farm." Understatement: this grief is a message, a concern.. but what right does she have to worry?
"Next time I see you, and you shall be a local before you know it… I shall return a snot-free hankie." Lillie says as she moves to collect her bike. Curse this sense!
Lassiter gives her a nod and small smile, before he swings up into the saddle on Duke's back, and clicks to the horses. Duke moves out, and the tethered Raindrop happily walks behind him, seeming delighted to have work to do. "Take care, Ma'am," he offers, then he's off.