[Sheās a conundrum, this one: all sharp, square jaw with feather soft brown hair and these eyes that could swallow a small moon, maybeā or maybe a dwarf planet or two if she were curious enough. Maisieās all bounce and bubble, like some soap suds blown through a hollow wand on one of those summer afternoons, running barefoot in the back yard, giggled and grass-stained. But sheās anxious, too. Nervous. Fragmented in some ways, guarded in others.
The other Calyset ushers him over to a nearby table, and Isaac suddenly remembers that heās still hooded like the Grim fucking Reaper. Like some goddamn Unabomber. He looks, without a sliver of a doubt, like a creepy asshole, which is partly what heās going for, but within the pit of him, isnāt what he is. Hastily, he shoves the hood off, combing through his hair with a fidgety hand. Isaac takes a seat, and Maisieās gone offā rambling through her work, flipping through her pages. Sheās passionate, and maybe sheās embarrassed by it, because before long, her excited explanation rumbles to a low and muted silence, stopping herself before she gets too far. Commits blindly to a practical stranger; divulges without defenses.
But Isaacās listening. And he wants to know. His eyes, just as wide. Just as curious.]
Thatās cool. [He says, wishing he were a better linguist, or at the very least more expressive. But the thing is, he means it. Heās monotone, and stinted sometimes, edging on dulled and dry, but heās true.] I donāt know anyone- [he corrects himself,] I didnāt know anyone into filmography. From before. Everyoneās into movies, but not everyoneās into making them. Thatās-[he struggles for a word for a moment, before settling lamely on repetition] cool. [⦠Idiot.]
[Isaacās attention flick down to the page Maisieās stopped at, and a name he thinks he may recognize jumps out at him. He nods down to the writing.] Whatās that about? [He asks, before giving in again to cautiousness, shaking his head a little.] But only if you want toā share, I mean.
[His movements are jerky and self conscious as he shoves his head out of the overhanging hood, but he joins her at the table readily. Isaacās looking at Maisie and actually appears to be interested, those big eye flicking from almost meeting her own to being focused on her fidgety hands, but she can tell he is listening. Maisie smiles to herself, and takes a deep breath to steady her scattered thoughts.]
Couldnāt have said it better myself, I too think itās cool [flashing him a reassuring smile she continues]. Well thatās because most people are interested in the end result. Where as I am more of a ājourneyā person if you will, I get excited by the building of the story - the final product is just an added bonus in my book. [The word book prompts her to glance down at her literal book and laughs] metaphorically that is, this book is nowhere near the final product, yet.
[The wide eyed boy is just as tentative as she feels, heās a kindred anxious spirit. It is semi freeing to lay it all out there for another person, sheās on a roll now and doubt she could stop is she wanted too.]
[At his nod Maisie once again focuses on her notebook, the page she has paused on is an observation of her dorm-matesĀ shuffling around preparing for the day]
Oh do you know Elsa? Sheās also a Calyset and one of my dorm-mates [quickly scanning the familiar scribbles Maisie decides the recorded scrutiny is innocuous enough to share]. Sheās impressive to watch navigate our room, especially in the morning when she is still a little sleepy. Elsa is never distracted though, her movements are always sure and precise.Ā
[Maisie continues divulging tidbits about the girl, and her other roommatesā morning routines; they arenāt earth shattering records but sometimes people just need to hear about how everyday life goes on - even after the world almost ended].