caught on a good day

Who: Ronnie and Roy
Where: Sunny Shores
When: Morning

Early mornings really weren't Ronnie's thing. But she had a date tonight, of the paid variety, so she was up. There was a dull hangover to take care of, and showers to be done, and a semi-regular eating schedule to stick to today so she wouldn't appear less than untouchably perfect for tonight -- because, besides whoring, being an escort might be the only other job in her life that she hadn't fucked up. She was really just doing what she did anyway -- manipulate, charm, the works -- only on a much grander scale, and one she didn't have to actually sleep with anybody to get what she was after. So thus far all of that was working out. Even though a part of her was still waiting for the bottom to fall out, and it all to end, which was probably why she hadn't jumped fully on board and moved into the apartments with the other girls. Instead she was here, out on the walkway of her crappy little Sunny Shores home, scooping the ice into a bucket that would help ensure that residual hangover was out of commission before noon.

Grady's internal clock was a little messed up. His sleep schedule hadn't quite gotten back to normal, and sometimes he slept for long periods of time, others he was awake and couldn't sleep even when he was tired. He supposed it was just left over from the war, when night and day didn't exactly matter, battles went on for as long as they went on, and didn't really pay attention to anything resembling a schedule. Or, at least, not a schedule anyone was privy to. But he was awake, either way, and heard something outside, so he stetched, pulled on an undershirt and pants, then poked his head out to peer into the early morning haze. He had one hand on the rifle that he'd taken home with him, Amelie. It was a paranoid reaction, he knew, but he couldn't help it, either. "Hello?" he called, voice a little rough from sleep.

Ronnie stopped scooping ice, head turning to glance back at the voice. Her mouth automatically curved into a smile, and if he had suddenly startled her? She didn't look it. "Mornin', sleepyhead," she greeted in a bedroom voice of her own, even if -- despite the familiar hangover -- she wasn't especially groggy that morning. The tone had just kicked in without thinking about it. She also turned more fully, dangling the ice bucket from one arm. If she was particularly bothered with the sudden appearance of a stranger in a sketchy motel in the morning, it certainly didn't show.

It took a little bit of willpower to take his hand off of the hidden rifle, but he managed, straightening a little more as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, Airborne tattoo almost hidden in the motion but not quite. His dogtags clicked together and caught the light as he made a quick study of her, reaching up to drag his fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes. "Morning." he greeted in return. "I didn't mean to interrupt you." he said, figuring he was doing just that, even if she didn't look especially upset about it.

Her smile grew a touch wider. "You weren't interrupting -- had perfect timing, in fact: I was just finishing with the ice and have now completed my main task for the morning." Which was, sadly or not, true: her objective of the morning had been to get ice, go put it in a towel and then put that on her head, and drink plenty of water. The showers and dressing and food were loosely planned for the p.m. "You on leave? Or home for good?" She had caught the dog tags, and the tattoo. Either way she knew he had been here for a while -- at least enough for the hair to get in his eyes. She knew a thing or two about soldiers; she had dealt with more than her fair share of them after all.

"Home for good." he said. He glanced down to see that the scar on his chest was covered and it was for the most part, though the top of it was visible. But then so were a few on his arms and such. It was just sort of something that you picked up in war. "Though I guess I'm kind of wondering where 'home' should be these days." he admitted. Since clearly, a motel wasn't the best answer in the world. But he still just didn't know. He felt like he should, but there was a lost quality to his life that he hadn't managed to amend yet.

"And how'd you end up having to wonder where 'home' is?" Her voice was still a bit soft, and she actually sounded like she was interested hearing that particular story. She was. Again, her plan until noon or so was just laying around her room with a towel of ice on her head. So talking to a young soldier who had stuck his head out his door was a welcome change to that plan -- it wasn't like she even had a radio.

He shrugged his free shoulder. "It wasn't there anymore when I got back." he answered, seeing no reason to be untruthful with her. "I left when things were getting sort of bad, and apparently the downward spiral continued while I was gone. Now it's not there. So, while this place is home, I don't have a building that qualifies." he explained. "Are you just passing through town? Or...?" he prompted, wanting to know what she was doing.

Ronnie laughed a little, leaning back slightly against the ice bin. "I think some would say I'm always passing through town," she answered, smiling along as if the truth of that statement didn't bother her. "But no, I'm from here. I'm just sticking around here until the next opportunity comes up." She left out the part where she pretty much always found herself back here, in the end. There was actually a very few number of people who knew that. For all the suicidally self-destructive behaviors she engaged in, she still adhered to some basic paranoid survival tactics such as 'don't give them a place they know they can always find you'. The drugs could kill her. Some guy breaking in to do the deed wasn't allowed.

He considered her answer, eyes still on her. "Til the next opportunity comes up?" he asked. "Like what?" He noted that she seemed comfortable in the area. That she had a relaxed sort of posture that made him think she'd either been there a while, or she came by often. He couldn't be sure, though, but the mental note was filed away.

She gave a slight shrug of a shoulder. "I don't have much of an idea until I come across it." The answer was given partly for truth, and partly for just not wanting to give out too much real information about herself. Being as manipulative as she was, she knew how easy it was to take information like that and bend it for some advantage. And -- whether in the streets or at the Drake -- Ronnie just didn't live an existence and associate with people that you gave personal details to without getting completely fucked over or, possibly, killed. "But for right now? I guess it's a place I'd want to move in to."

"So you're looking for a home too?" he asked, just to be sure he understood what she'd said there. Sometimes he missed things, he knew. He was observant, but occasionally things passed him by. He'd get stuck in a frame of mind or something, and he'd lose a few minutes here and there. He didn't think that was the case at current, but he still liked to check himself, be sure he understood what was being said to him.

Her smile lingered just a slight bit too long before she answered. "A better place to stay, yes." Which actually really wasn't confirming his point at all. Ronnie wasn't looking for a home; the only place and people that would qualify? Well, she didn't qualify for them. She hadn't for a long damn time now, and it was all completely her own fucked fault. She was pretty damn certain she had shattered and burned that bridge beyond repair... or, at least ninety-nine percent of her knew that. Sometimes there was an incredibly stupid part that thought -- just maybe, maybe there was a chance for something to be salvaged, and her to change, and all that shit that she knew just wasn't going to happen. "What have you been doing when you haven't been wondering where 'home' is?"

He caught that what she said wasn't exactly what he'd asked, but he didn't call her on it. Maybe she wasn't really looking for a home. In his head a home and a better place to stay weren't the same thing. But he did answer her question, regardless. "So far? Mostly I've just wandered around. Sort of looking at everything. Getting used to the place again, getting used to not being over there. Re-aquainting, I guess." he admitted.

"And how's that been going so far?" Ronnie didn't think she could imagine how it was going -- partly because she honestly just didn't think about the war that much. Direct effects of it didn't filter much into her life, save for seeing how it left some veterans -- she had seen men, returning with less limbs or sanity than they had left with, start getting into drugs and environments they might not have otherwise considered.

He shrugged his shoulder again. "I don't know. Guess I'll figure it out eventually, but so far I haven't." he admitted, and there was a light little smile on his lips as he did so. he was still lost, still wandering, but he wasn't in too big a hurry to find anything. He figured it would happen eventually. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Well, if you want a positive spin on it you could call it taking the scenic route," she offered, not that she was an especially positive person herself. At his question she smiled, and lightly pushed herself off the ice bin. "Veronica." She took the few steps needed to close the distance and held out her ice-bucket-free hand, "You?" At the slightly closer distance she got a better catalogue of the scars on his arm and the one peeking out his above his shirt, not that there was any indication that she was looking. She was trying to commit them to memory, hoping the scars would stick out as a bright detail in her faulty mind.

He shook her hand, his own warm if a bit calloused. "Grady." he answered her. Technically it was correct. It was how he identified himself these days, as opposed to Roy. And since it was what he was more connected with, or felt more in tune with, that was what he was going with. "Nice to meet you, Veronica." he told her, genuine in the sentiment. He wasn't a judgmental person all that often.

"Only 'cause you caught me on a good day," she joked; although the joke was too true for her own liking. "But it's nice meeting you too," she replied, echoing his genuine tone. It was also true on her part, but the fact that it was true was an afterthought to the tone she used. She would have used it even if she couldn't have cared less. Ronnie was very good at sounding interested in things when she wasn't, it was an ingrained part her charming others -- an asset to her current job. But the tone and truth actually matched up here. Thus far this had been most pleasant introduction she'd had in a long while. There wasn't any volatile fall-out, or business to be discussed, and it hadn't yet been tainted by her own fucked up objectives.

"Maybe you caught me on a good day as well." he said. "But, on that note, I suppose I should start mine, and your ice is melting." he pointed out. "I'm sure I'll see you around soon, Veronica." he said.

"You probably will," she agreed, some sly hint of promise creeping into her smile. And that was definitely registering on her radar as a slip of her usual tricks, so it was probably a good thing he had started to bring the introduction to a close. Because Ronnie wasn't quite up for fucking with people this morning, but she knew that rarely ever stopped her. So she simply gave him a parting nod, and readjusted the bucket hanging off her arm, and went about her way.