hold me

“I could never allow that to happen.” Arden says, affecting her voice towards admonished, though of course she isn’t actually all that invested in the state of a total stranger’s appearance. The only thing Arden cares about, as ever, is what she can get out of it, and at the very lead a semi-hungover conversation is near the top of her list of priorities. She’s gorgeous, which doesn’t hurt. “Arden. I used to know someone named Aurora, fun fact.” Well, she once slept with someone named Aurora, but it’s the same difference, really. She knew her, and then she didn’t. It’s how Arden works. “You’re lovely, by the way. Another fun fact for you.”

She smiles, catching onto the heightened level of concern and reading it in the playful manner she assumes her companion intends. It’s not like she had been all that serious in assigning the duty in the first place so the continuation of her humor is welcomed. “Arden?” Rory repeats, unfamiliar with the name. Her social circles have been kept relatively small all her life so it’s not terribly surprising she’s never met another Arden. “Hopefully, this other-Aurora hasn’t set the bar too high, I wouldn’t want to disapp--” She allows her voice to drop out at the compliment, not having expected a stranger to be so nice. She can feel her smile growing and a flush tinting her cheeks. “That’s so kind of you to say, thank you.” The girl sips at her coffee, head ducking for a brief moment. “I’d say you’re rather lovely too!” They don’t know each other well, of course, but Rory’s statement is somehow still radiantly genuine. 

To the contrary, Arden isn’t bothered by her presence; moreover, she’s a bit intrigued by it, and by the very slight swell of recognition she feels as she takes a closer look at her. They’ve never met before, no, but she thinks she’s at least seen her somewhere before. Which if this neighbourhood is one of her usual haunts, would make perfect sense. There’s no particularly innovative method to Arden’s madness, but there is a particular amusement to her tone at the question regardless, and she picks a little bit at her muffin, not bothering to eat an more just yet. “I guessed. You knew exactly where you were going when you came in; you didn’t hesitate. Just seems like the logical conclusion to draw.” All things considered, anyone would’ve probably thought the same thing, but she still likes feeling as if she has a sort of upper hand. That’s just how she works. “I’d actually like the company, if you don’t mind.” Arden has a feeling she won’t. She doesn’t seem like the type. 

Explained as it was, Rory can understand where it might have been a lot more obvious that this was her beloved table than she had initially thought. Either that or this stranger just happens to be observant -- a trait Rory instinctively admires given her lack thereof. A smile instantly warms her whole being at the invitation to stay. Her coffee shop visits are usually solitary adventures but Rory is not, at heart, a solitary being. “Of course I don’t mind. This means you’re automatically signed up for whipped cream watch though. If I walk out of here with some on my nose or my upper lip, it’s your fault.” She’s being playful, obviously, mood lightened at the prospect of company and the graciousness with which her presence has been received. “I’m Aurora, by the way. Most everyone calls me Rory.” She’d hold out her hand but figures against it. A table between them meant drinks to spill and Rory’s been particularly clumsy of late.

“The last thing you’d probably want is for a doctor studying audiology to try to apply their knowledge of the ear to your mouth. It probably doesn’t work the same way. That’s really nice of their parents... I hope they thank them often. Maybe I should take it out for a spin. I’m a natural, I’m sure of it.” She’s clearly kidding and a small smile works onto her lips.

For someone who has just spent the last eight hours or so thoroughly flinging herself from the proverbial bandwagon (and not sleeping), Arden is in relatively good spirits. The light bustle of the coffee shop, as well as the muffin she’s picking at in between sips of coffee, is comforting at the worst of times, and this is far from the worst. She considers herself lucky that she got through it with her consciousness remaining intact, and even now she’s sporadically tapping away at her phone, in touch with old friends and enemies. Admittedly, she’s a bit absorbed in herself when the figure first approaches, and it isn’t until she’s actually sitting down at her table that she really notices her. Beautiful. Sunglasses. Cane. Blind? That’s the obvious conclusion to draw, and even Arden’s currently recovering mind can reach it. She can also reach the one that tells her she hasn’t been noticed. Which she’s going to have to change. “I think I’ve taken your usual table.” She says, giving absolutely no warning before just jumping into it.

Rory startles -- which probably isn’t all that surprising considering how many noises spook her. She’s grateful the speaker interrupting her next sip of her drink has a voice far more gentle than a car horn or a door slamming back at Marlborough. “I’m so sorry,” she answers instantly, rewarding the stranger with a soft smile and a tip of her head. She feels around the floor for her cane, in case she should be forced to move tables -- the last thing she wishes is to intrude on someone’s day. “I should have really asked before just making myself at home here; how silly of me. If you could direct me to an open table, I’d be much appreciative and I could be out of your way.” If not too chipper, she’s certainly being too accommodating, especially for being so clearly disabled. A question bubbles to the surface of her mind shortly after, bringing her brow into a polite furrow. “How did you know this was my usual?”

“It sounds a bit like a bad idea? Is this person in med school for dentistry? That sounds like a good place to start. I don’t know though -- I’ve heard nasty things about wisdom teeth removal in general. I didn’t know you -- I mean, your friend -- had a car.”

“Not your fault,” is his first reply, because truly, it isn’t. Had he been paying attention, he easily could’ve noticed the blind girl with her stick and equally as easily avoided interrupting her path. It isn’t usual circumstances, so perhaps he shouldn’t be blaming himself too harshly either, though the responsibility of his fall does rest on his own two shoulders. “Just– can you stay standing there? Like… exactly where you are?” it’s a very odd request, he knows, but his scraped palms and bruised ego are nothing in comparison to the potential emotional turmoil he’ll suffer if he makes eye contact with his mother. Maybe if he stays down here on the ground, with this girl blocking his path, his mother won’t see him at all and rather she’ll think it’s some stranger who’s taken a tumble to the ground. That’s all he can hope for, and he knows she’d make no move to help whoever it was anyway, so he’s safe from her so long as this stranger does as he asks. “I just… there’s someone behind you that I’d rather didn’t see me down here. She’ll be gone soon, and then you can pretend you never even met the idiot who fell over your cane. Sorry, by the way.”

Although she’s almost entirely sure that there’s not much she can do to help this particular individual -- she’s spent enough time around Caspar to know that this new person was tall from the brief contact, even without sight -- the request he makes confuses her. “Just... stand still?” she repeats, remaining in place and awaiting something offered in explanation. Maybe he was going to use her as a support to get back to his feet; it’s not the smartest of moves but Isaac had managed it the other day when traffic had it out for him. She focuses on the sounds of the city in the short lapse that falls between them, fingers running nervous through her tresses. Finally, the voice intrudes once again and offers more information as to why she’s being asked to just... stand. “I hope I’m enough of a barrier to keep you from whoever,” she hums, smile overtaking her lips once more. “I certainly couldn’t see you down there.” Hopefully, her attempt at humor can draw the apologetic tone out of his voice. She might be quick to apologize herself but she doesn’t quite enjoy feeling like others are indebted to her in any way either. “You’re the one on the ground; I really don’t think an apology is necessary,” Rory adds, a bright tone filtering into her voice. Admittedly, she feels a bit empowered, talking down to someone, but only because she’s used to voices coming from above her short stature. “I’ll admit, this is the strangest request I’ve ever gotten,” she ponders aloud as she assesses the situation. 

“I am deeply sorry for my ignorance in assuming,” he’s being playful (as is his nature), mostly because she appears to be doing the same thing. It’s comfortable territory for him, and he enjoys making other’s laugh more than anything else in the world. He chuckles quietly at her question, and maybe it’s a bit morbid to laugh at, but isn’t cancer in general? Isn’t just about everything in his life considered to be morbid these days? “No– no, I’m afraid there isn’t much helping me. I have cancer,” he’s used to people being curious about him and his condition, and he’s used to them dancing around the subject for fear of overstepping boundaries. He doesn’t much care who knows, he isn’t hiding anything, and if she could see him, she’d likely know for herself that it’s something serious. He’s just filling in the blanks for her, and his tone is just as light as it was before, still as friendly. There isn’t even a waver. “It’s okay, no point in bothering anyone else. I’ll be right as rain in a few minutes, once I’ve recuperated a bit. Not that I don’t trust those petite arms of yours, of course, but weren’t you on your way out? I don’t want to make you late or anything,” he won’t underestimate her just because of her disability, it’d be beyond hypocritical of him, and he doesn’t have loads of groceries to begin with. If she has the time and genuinely won’t be put off with helping him, he’s sure the two of them could manage it with relative ease. 

“Good. I hope you’ve learned your lesson young man.” She scolds in jest, adopting an authoritative tone. It only adds to the irony that, at only eighteen, the chances of her being older than this stranger are slim to none, judging only by the sound of his voice, anyways. Her eyebrows raise at his explanation, not having expected such blunt honesty in his answer. Then again, she ponders, did she not do the same thing when it came to her own condition? The jovial edge she still hears in his voice speaks to how she combats pity and Rory finds her smile growing. “Okay, well, I meant helping you with your groceries but I’ll take it as a compliment that I look like a miracle cure.” She leans against the wall, allowing her cane to go slack seeing as she didn’t need it much. Her head is tipped downwards, towards the sound of his voice though she doubts she isn’t gazing somewhere off over his head all the same. “I was leaving, yes, but only to go for a walk. No appointment and nothing to be late for, really. So if you still need the help...” she allows the offer to dangle. Knowing he’s in at least a slightly similar position as her with her disability, she’s hesitant to make it seem like she doesn’t trust him to do things on her own. She’s merely inclined to benevolence and considers him a kindred spirit of sorts. If she can make a friend out of the circumstances, it’s only another benefit to being kind.