Why Don't I know your Friends
Roleplaying Log: Why Don't I know your Friends
IC Details

Izzy has questions about Sam, his family, and just what is going on.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: December 04, 2018
IC Location: Dilapidated Apartment
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 07 Dec 2018 00:17
Rating & Warnings: Pg-13 for Language and suggestive languages
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

He spent part of Sunday visiting 'The School', a place he has yet to take her and an extended family that Sam has yet to expose her to, not that he has exactly rushed her off to Kentucky just yet either. The apartment is shabby, but between the two farm kids and a little sweat equity, most of the windows don't leak and so what it's a third floor walk up in Hell's Kitchen, it is their space, and Sam can afford it on his own. His job is to do the footwork for the guy who writes recommendations to the Borough president, which means he is working for one of his college buddies. He's not going to get rich doing this, but it is a nice job title, and i tis a job in the NYC bureaucracy, the sort of thing that builds a resume.

He walks in looking troubled. Like they have decided though, he takes his coat, scarf and gloves then leans against the door to remove his boots. He has a certain tiredness to him. They got back at a rough time, and Sam has a few things weighing on him. He hasn't been home yet.He's just gotten the new job, and the other night he came home from a disturbance at a mall over mutants. He got a little roughed up in a tussle there, and he didn't even pick up the underwear he went there for.

"Well, Izzy. I visited the school, ran into an old friend, Miss Betsy. I also delivered the packages to the post office, so everyone back home will get their Christmas gifts. Ah forgot to pick up milk. Do we have enough that we are good until I get home tomorrow, or do ah need to go back out there after it?" Sam pushes a weary hand through his hair. The hand slides over his face and nose to run over his jaw.

He walks over to run the facet and turn on the water filter. As he fills the cup a faint, floral, subtle fragrance, the sort of delicate scents tasteful women with elegant fashion sense wear can be detected on the obviously slightly stressed out Samuel Z. Guthrie. "Sorry it took so long. Had a couple of cups of joe."

They've not really argued… but there was definitely some fussing when she refused to put her school paperwork in right when they got back. Waiting tables isn't glamorous, but the tips are good. Especially when you're working the Friday night and Saturday night shifts. And it helps when you can take care of yourself if people get too grabby. Not that she tells him that happens — she doesn't need her white knight to the rescue. It'll potentially land both of them in jail when they bust up the joint. Coming home was not really what Isabel had thought it would be. She's not sure what she expected, but phone calls home to let parents know they were safe and a tiny little apartment where they do a lot of rice and beans maybe wasn't it. Not that she's unhappy! She's not. And it weirds her out a little. It's just that they had so much more for themselves out in space… they weren't 'just them' out there. The transition is a little hard.

And it's harder still because there's a *weight* between them. Something in the air that doesn't feel quite right. And it hasn't been right since they got back to Earth. Isabel's skirted around it and chalked it up to re-entry into their human lives.

When he comes into the kitchen, she's throwing together pasta with jarred sauce. It's not the best Italian or anything, but it works. Isabel looks up and smiles at him. "Thanks for doing the mail run. Yeah, we're fine on milk. I can pick it up in the mor—" She trails off and turns more fully to look at him. There's that *thing* in the room again. Or maybe it's just sitting on her chest. "I'm glad you stopped to visit with your friends," she offers, the tone holding just that edge of careful again. It's appeared a lot lately. "I'll grab the milk in the morning. I put in an application for another job, so I'll get it while I'm out."

Sam nods and drinks at his water. He spills a little being uncoordinated while paying attention to her, and has to get a dish cloth. He pulls in a breath as he wipes off his chin and mutters to himself about 'drinking problems'. After a moment of fidgeting to get the cloth hung back up, he pulls in a breath. "Somethin' ain't right." He holds up a hand. "At first, ah figured it was the role reversal. In space, it was your show and ah was along for the ride. Down here, well, due to circumstances, you need to finish your degree, and ah have to make the money. It's our money, Isabel. It ain't mine, and ah don't begrudge you a dime. Ah am starting to think that ain't the real issue now." Leave it to Sam to think in terms of practicalities, money, position, and economics. Practical to a fault, Sam has been viewing things wrong it seems.

"Now, and ah realize that ah am late to the party, so forgive me for bein' clueless, ah am petty damn sure ah am a hundred percent wrong on that. So, at the risk of bein' a complete idiot." He gestures again, attempting to head off the quip. "If this is about school, ah want ya to go to school. If this is about money, ya can have every dime. Ah would really like it if'n ya liked me again, Izzy. So, hit me with the clue by four, and get me caught up, because ah ain't even sure what is the matter, but ah can tell that something is."

Looking uncertain, Isabel reaches out to turn off the stove before she answers. Which might tell him more about her emotional state than anything else — she's a sharp wit with an occasionally sharper tongue. Moving a little to lean back against the other counter facing him, she starts to cross her arms. And then stops, moving instead to put her hands on the counter. "Nothing's wrong, Sam. I don't … care which one of us is bringing in money or anything like that. And I'm not going back to school until we're stable. That's just not fair." Her lips compress and purse slightly to the side, as if she's searching for the right way to say things.

Finally, because she can't seem to find it, the first words she blurts out are, "How come you don't ask me to meet your friends?"

The hillbilly is putting on his hyper-rational face, a surefire indication that his feelings are hurt. HIs own arms cross back at her, but his cross over his belly. He's uncomfortable, maybe even hurting. His body language can be unsophisticated, he's an honest person. She cuts right to the chase though, and his features show surprise. He draws his brows down and his next words are halting and uncertain. "Because ah dunno if'n ya want to see there, or if'n ya will feel outta place, or … "

Sam's arms uncross as he fumbles for words. "Because ah dunno how to introduce you!" He points at her. "You are all 'what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' with that Shi'ar wedding… but ah ain't wired that way." His tone falters a little and those arms slide back over his belly. "Felt pretty married to me." He almost sulks.

Now her arms do come down and cross. He's defensive and it's making her a little defensive. "Well…!" Isabel's rather infamous sharp tongue does not come into play, she seems to be struggling for words. "It was bad enough that you got shotgunned into marrying me in an offworld civilization. I didn't want you to feel … tied up by something you didn't even have a choice in when we got back to Earth!" she tells him. "I mean… THAT isn't fair either! You didn't ask me to marry you or anything. You just accidentally used the wrong word for what we were!"

He slides his hands up. One tangles in his short hair while the other pinches the bridge of his nose. He struggles with words for a second and he bites back his own occasionally snarky words. "If… ah did not consider it bindin' why am ah livin' in sin with you in New York City instead of takin' myself back to the school, or Kentucky? Ah dunno how to tell ya, but ah rather feel married. Ah… want to live with you. Ah want to grow old with ya. Ah thought ah made that clear. Ah must have failed ta. Ah … just figured ya viewed it as an expediency."

"Because I ever take the easy way out of *anything*?" Izzy retorts. "I wouldn't have let you step in the ring if I wasn't…" She stops talking, biting her lip and looking down. "I didn't want you to feel trapped. I *don't* want you to ever feel trapped, Sam. I don't … " She looks up, the expression a little more hopeful. "I just couldn't assume a wedding in outer space where no one we loved even knew about it was one that you'd really want to keep," she admits softly. "It isn't like I'd hold it over your head or tell anyone if you didn't want me to. I thought you weren't… lettin' me meet your friends cuz you didn't want them to know."

"No ma'am. Ah was tryin' not to make the girl of my dreams go thinkin' that ah was gonna hold her to shotgun weddin' in space, even if she is .. she was.. Which is it?" Sam snorts at himself, scoffing aloud as he shakes his head. "Regardless!" he points at her. "You are the girl of m'dreams. We can have a weddin' on Earth, if its what ya want. I 'magine that your dad and my momma might prefer something they can point at pictures for." Sam tries to remain even-handed. "But, well, honestly? Ah am fine with whatever ya want, Isabel Kane. I would rather it were Isabel Guthrie, but we're a modern couple. It ain't that weird for a woman t'keep her name. Honestly, ah will have ya anyway ah can take ya."

Sam pauses. "But ya need to go back t'school Izzy. Ah know it is important to ya. If ya can make it work with time, money, and still occasionally break off a lil chunk of time for your.. Husband… well, that'll do, Izzy. That'll do."

He just paraphrased a movie about a pig that herds sheep.

Oh! Well… okay then! Isabel looks both nonplussed and charmed at the same time. She uncrosses her arms and steps close to him, reaching up to smooth down the collar of his shirt. "I really don't much care about a wedding," Isabel confesses. "But.. I do kinda care about the perfume you're wearing. And… I guess I'm allowed if I'm really your wife." Her lashes flicker upward and she meets his gaze, just that hint of vulnerability still present. "I'm assuming that your friend is an elegant old lady who bathes in the stuff and that's why it's all over you?" she tries to tease.

He clears his throat. "In this moment, ah really wish she was." Sam's cheeks go flame red. "She's a model. She.. confided in me some very personal things and had some advice on how to talk to you. She gave me a hug. Ah swear, Isabel. Ya weren't my first, but we're married. That sort of behavior ain't in m'character. Ah kinda thought I smelt some of it on me. Ah understand if ya do not believe me, and ah dunno what ah can do to assure you that ah ain't running around on ya."

He's abashed, and he's a little mad, but only at himself. "It would figure that ah would finally have this talk with you while smellin' like a flower. What can ah do to make sure ya believe me?"

Isabel shrugs. "I believe you," she says simply. Her fingertips brush down to rest on his shoulder just beneath the collar of his shirt. "You could… maybe uncross your arms, hug your wife, and promise that if the parents insist on a wedding, it'll be small and simple," she offers with a shy smile.

He does as he she asks. His hands slide around her. One hand does settle on her backside, but he doesn't moles ther. His other hand slides up into her hair He rests his forehead against her own. After a moment he closes his eyes. She can almost hear him doing math. "Ah ain't got a lot of days off." He begins. "But ah have some time over Christmas. You up for rocketing back and forth and having two Christmases and talking to everyone, and you up for us just planning a little weddin' of our own? I reckon that is the way it's gonna shake out regardless, so rather than us feelin' like we have ta, how about we just act like we wanna, and just plan it out ourselves, Izzy?" He peels an eye open. He has intense coffee breath.

She rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes for a long moment as well, her hands both resting on his chest. He wants a wedding. Why didn't she know that he wanted a wedding? Probably for the same reason she didn't know what to do when they got back. "Are you sure, Sam? That you want this?" She's offering him one last chance at denial.

"If'n I want this?" He gives her backside a proprietary little grope. "Ah seem to recall it being a little more firm in orbit." He drawls, knowing fully well that she might kill him. His lips quirk in a little smile.

"Everything ah want right in m'arms. Well, other than that pesky equality thing." Sam says, leaning in for a at least a little kiss.

She might kill him. She won't. It's a beautiful moment and she brushes a small kiss to his lips before bringing her face downward where he can kiss her forehead. It's funny — he thinks of her as even taller than she is, but she fits there just perfectly. "You might have to get used to a little less firm, hillbilly," she murmurs softly. "I'm kinda late."

"It is kinda late t'go to the gym. You are a sexy woman ah didn't mean anythin' by…" His expression shifts and he puts together the words in context. He parses it together and it takes him a little effort. It's like watching a kid learn to 'carry the one'. Sam actually blinks twice. "Ah.. tuh. Whut?"

He is dumbfounded. Shell-shocked. Stupefied. "Aw hell." He swears, but it isn't a bad tone. "Ah gotta figure out how ta tell your dad without smiling, and without getting shot. Are.. ya.. Are ya sure?" There is a twinge of fear in his tone. Concern there too, which is just a nicer word for rational fear. There is also an irrational joy and rising excitement. "We're sure that we're having a baby?"

"No," Isabel admits in a low voice. "I… well, I wasn't sure if I wanted to know…?" Because of how things were between them before this, it's taken her just a little bit to say anything at all much less be able to wrap her head around this possibility. "It was kinda the icing on the cake of trapping you in a marriage." Her words are so low as to be almost inaudible, and she buries her face against his shoulder. This woman, who has faced down *giants*, was scared. And maybe she wasn't going to tell him at all. And now his shirt's getting wet.

"Oh, well, Hell, honey. Ah have a problem with us not bein' officially married." Sam admits, pulling her closer. "Ah mean, we just had a discussion that the moral of the story was we need to tell each other how we feel. Ah ain't… keen on us not being married, official like. That is me. My momma? Well… my momma is gonna have a …"

He has no idea how his momma is gonna feel. His hands tighten on her, and his fingers curl in her hair as all the romance and idle thinking comes crashing down around a very practical young man. For the first time, he feels a certain dread knowing that maybe his genetics are not exactly the best thing in the world. Worrying for a moment how she will feel if her little daughter is blue like Kurt, or has wings, or can shed her skin. His heart rate ticks up against her ear.

He doesn't entirely tell the whole truth when he says, "We got this. Ah promise." Because she needs him to say it, and she and a whole other person suddenly really need him to have his act together. "Ah promise. We got this." He assures her a second time.

She breathes in the scent of him, under the flowery perfume that makes her wrinkle her nose a bit. It's ignorable. Isabel doesn't pull away from him, wrapping her arms around his waist finally and relaxing into the curve of his body against the counter. "I didn't want to know so it couldn't be a factor in this conversation," she confesses the rest to him. She only pulls away far enough to bring one hand back around to wipe at stupid tears. When she looks up, she's rather adorably damp and red-nosed. "If it's… that… your momma's gonna have kittens and my daddy's gonna get The Look." Disappointment. It's a horrible thing to feel like she is disappointing her father and her grandfather's memory.

"Well then, maybe ya should wear…" Sam pauses. He straightens her hair, and then he moves over, releasing her, to go to their small bedroom. He has weird stuff. Some Dwarf-forged sword and armor, a few other really weird knickknacks from his school years. "Before ya went off and became all birdgirl soldier." Sam begins as he rummages in the other room. "Ah had a talk with my momma about this pretty little farmgirl who flummoxed me." When he emerges, he has a little golden ring in his hand, with a relatively small diamond in it. "It ain't much. My momma can't wear it anymore. It oughtta fit a little slip of a thing like you. Uh… "

Sam suddenly looks supremely nervous and uncertain. He smooths his hair a couple of times. "Uhh, hell." He gets down on his left knee. "We're space married. Wanna marry me here? Hell, Izzy. I'll marry you on any planet we set foot on, if it means you'll keep me."

At 5'8, she's hardly a little slip of a thing… and yet occasionally he even makes her *feel* dainty and feminine. Like now, when he looks like that and does THAT, she's a total mess of girly feelings! Isabel never knows what to do with girly feelings! She bursts into tears and nods at the same time. "Aw, Sam… that's so romantic." And something she never even considered wanting… and finds that it fulfilled every want she might have ever had on the subject.

He slips the ring onto her finger, and then stands up. He leans over to grab her, and he begins to gently dip her low. "We got this." Sam assures her as he kisses his fiance? Space wife? Izzy.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License