ooc.
Don’t believe the time it says I posted it. IT WAS POSTED LAST NIGHT, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
ic.
Ah, there it was. The signal that all was forgiven, given in the form of a small smile that was finally given permission to grace her friend’s lips. She was always horrible at these exchanges because they dealt in the one area that she wasn’t an expert in – emotions. She understood the basics and knew how to imitate them when she needed to, when she wanted to manipulate someone or wanted to just give them what she knew they wanted, but with Dahmer it was different. It was always different with him. While she could easily give him a reaction that she knew would be the ideal one in any given situation, she knew that she wanted these moments with Dahmer to be truthful and not just an act.
When the crumpled up piece of paper flew playfully through the air and hit her shoulder, she gave an annoyed huff and rolled her eyes slightly at her friend’s childish behaviour but didn’t give voice to it as Dahmer brushed passed her once again. Even though the touch was very slight and lasted no more than a second, Sherlock found that she didn’t. Sherlock was one who would much rather have a limited physical contact with anyone, but she found that she didn’t always hate it when Dahmer initiated these moments. It was an unnatural feeling for the female, not knowing if what she was feeling was normal- she wasn’t used to forming attachments, but she supposed that friends did enjoy brushing passed one another and offering hugs, pats on the shoulders, or one of the many other ways Dahmer seemed so comfortable in giving. She remembered one of the first times Dahmer had rested his hand on her shoulder to point something out, Sherlock had become tense under his hand; it took a while, but eventually the female became used to these moments and even grew to like them.
Sherlock watched Dahmer as he turned his attention back to inspecting the wood under the tarp almost immediately after he made his first comment. It didn’t really matter that he seemed to tune her out, nor did it offend her; if anyone knew what it was like to get drawn into a project, it was Sherlock Holmes. Instead of speaking, she turned her attention to the tree house to observe the loving craftsmanship and then back down to her friend as he began to move his materials towards the tree and spoke once again. She nodded idly at his comment but didn’t offer a response; she didn’t want to distract him as he concentrated on continuing his progress and she was content to just sit back and let him.
After a few moments of continuous work, Dahmer finally stopped and looked down at her with a topic that demanded an answer; no matter how socially awkward she was, she knew the difference between a rhetorical question to one that needed to be answered. I spent a lot of the first week up in the abandoned cemetery, the one that’s just north of her. She wasn’t about to mention that she basically lived underneath a tree for that time, too bored to even complain about anything. Other than that, I’ve not been really staying in any one spot long enough to look for a den. I didn’t think there was a point in finding something permanent when I didn’t even know if I’d be sticking around long enough to call it my own. She said it matter-of-factly and in that moment she knew that it was true; had this meeting gone any differently, had Dahmer wanted her gone, she would have listened to him that second time. She had made that decision while she waited for his anger to evaporate; she knew that if Dahmer had made the final decision while he allowed his motions to cloud his judgement, he would have regretted it. Instead, she had decided to give him time to think his decision over and not allowed him to have the feeling of guilt accompany it.
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