Unexpected [closed]

Maisie looked at her feet and back up at the window, making a frivolous sigh and pushing blonde bangs from her face, wet bangs. It was Friday. She had just come from her final class of the day, a day that started with clear skies and a warm, friendly sun. The sky through her window, though, was a sickly, cloudy gray. There was a lot of difference an afternoon of classes could make. Her wet shoes sat in puddles by the radiator on which she sat, in the main room of her dormitory, clad in a sopping uniform she was too chilled to even take off first. It was a really shitty start to the weekend. Perhaps the fact that she hadn't had a cigarette in a week was not helping.

Maisie wasn't expecting a visitor. The halls were bustling with students from all different houses, students she hadn't seen before, ones who came in to escape the rain or meet a friend or maybe a little bit of both. These narrow halls were pretty crowded, though Maisie's impatient stares managed to cut paths through them. Despite the bustle outside, she wasn't expecting the door to reverberate with a knock. Maybe a key jingle, the sign of a roommate returning to a dorm empty but with her. The girl felt the warm air rush over her body, counteracting the coldness of the damp clothes. Perhaps she needed to make some friends.

Or perhaps she needed to change.

There couldn't have been less than a few people who had their mood dampened from the sudden rain more-so than the poor Summer child. His hair, his shoulders, down to his arms and legs were all dripping wet; and while his unnaturally warm skin had burned much of the water away, it had only left him feeling more disgusted than ever, the air around him a hot and uncomfortably moist. He only took little solace in the fact that it wouldn't last entirely long, and that the walk across the campus and from dorm to dorm might have been worth it, possibly; if she didn't straight up slam the door in his face.

Liam had stood there for some time before hand, blandly ignoring the crowd of people that rushed through the noisy Autumn halls behind him, holding off on the actual knock. He'd checked for the sixth time beneath his blazer that evening, assuring his package, bundled in a cheap paper bag, wasn't stained from the wet weather. Before he had himself convinced to check a seventh time, he rapped a small knock on the door.

... Should he have said something too? Did it matter? Would it even matter in a loud and crowded Hell like this?

"Ey, Blondie!" He called, "Open up."

Maisie jumped when a knock came upon her door. The girl flashed between a brief alarm to a disinterested growl. What was he doing there? Did he think they were suddenly close, like he could drop by whenever he wanted? It was raining! She swung her legs over so she sat upright on the radiator, back pressed against the window, looking at the door and wondering if she should ignore it, if she should pretend to not be there. She toed the ground apprehensively for a few moments, and swung her legs back up, calling to him with a sigh of defeat and refocusing her attention to the droplets on the window. "It's open," she said tentatively.

ooc;; in 1914, Henry Ford introduced an assembly line for Model T, Charlie Chaplin debuted "The Tramp," Babe Ruth played his 1st professional game (as a pitcher), a 6-hit 6-0 win, and Franz Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria, and his wife Sophie, were assassinated in Sarajevo by young Serb nationalist Gavrilo Princip at 10.45, the casus belli of WWI.

The young man had been well prepared to walk away then and there, already coming up with excuses to shed off his embarrassment and disappointment. He probably had better ways to spend his time rather then lounging around some chick's place, he told himself, or how the sooner he could jump in the shower anyways, the better. It never really mattered if they ever talked or not, and it was retarded to think otherwise. There was hardly between him any this girl anyways. Granted, he only put his ass on the line to save her life, and he'd very well ruined one of her pajama shirts, but it was hard even still to call her more than an acquaintance.

It was like trying to reach for a flower and getting nicked over and over by the thorns. Why the hell did he even bother? Liam pinched at the bridge of his nose, on the verge of admitting defeat when he heard her voice sound through the slick, oak door. The Summer blinked, stopping to be sure he wasn't hearing things before slowly pushing the door open.

Liam was sure he could count the number of times on his hand he didn't catch a sour look on her face. "Not expecting company?" He said lowly, brushing the wet bangs out of his eyes. She looked even more wet than himself, he though, shutting the door with his heel. "You look in better shape than most times I see you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Maisie murmured, not bothering to watch him come in, peering at her reflection in the window and the painting that went beyond it, the forests in the distance and the further hilltops. She didn't bother answering the first question, hugging her knees tighter, the whisper of a blush on her face, perhaps brought by the warming of her skin as it recovered from the torrential downpour outside. The whole room was masked with the hum of the weather, and between words, that was all that sounded, a resounding, noisy silence. In the pauses, Maisie hugged her legs tighter.

ooc;; in 1917, T. E. Lawrence joined the forces of the Arabian sheik Feisal al Husayn, beginning his adventures that will lead him to Damascus by October, 1918. Russian February Revolution began: Tsar Nicolas II orders army to quell civil unrest in Petrograd - army mutinies. US President Woodrow Wilson was inaugurated for a second term.

The Summer didn't answer immediately, stepping closer and slowly peeling the soaked blazer off his arms, careful to not crinkle the package too much and draw attention as he kept it hidden underneath the dark blue fabric. Whilst he kept his mind preoccupied on hiding his surprise away, he thought little to watch his own words, far less careless about it than usual. "Soaking wet is a good look on you," he muttered under his breath, a grin cracking at the corner of his lips at his own crude humor.

As he looked up at her, he might have realized his possible mistake. Liam had no plans to be thrown out so soon over some stupid joke, but then again, it was absolute that she must have heard worse on a regular basis. What did he have to be worried about? Out of instinct, he patted around his pant pocket for a smoke, his eyes stuck on her.

It certainly caught her attention. Maisie peered over at him, blinking, the first eye contact she gave him since she came in. There was a surprise in her eyes, like she didn't expect that from Liam at all. But it faded with a sideways frown, her tongue pressed deep into her cheek. "Maybe I should change, then," she muttered, swinging her legs around, flattening her feet to the carpet. Her pale palms flattened too, on the radiator, slender fingers gripping the sides. "What are you doing here, Ginger?" The question started quite serious, like an interrogation, her eyes bearing into his, but the solemnity faded with a long yawn and stretch.

ooc;; in 1919, Herbert Hoover was placed in charge of war relief in Europe. The Fascist Party was formed in Italy by Benito Mussolini. Woodrow Wilson's dream of a League of Nations became a reality after the League Covenant is adopted at the Paris Peace Conference

That look of shock that has crossed her face had made his dumb comment worth it, he supposed, having trouble wiping away his grin and having to take a moment to compose himself. His warm eyes met hers, returning her solemn stare. "I had to repay you for that shirt," he muttered. The poor thing was a crumbled mess now, a bit singed and stretched out far too much for her small figure. She didn't need to see it again.

Instead, he reached under his damp blazer and pulled out the brown paper bag, holding it up so she wouldn't get a good eye for what it was. The best you could make out of it was it's plain cube shaped, but that could have meant it was nearly anything just as well. "Take a guess." Liam stood straight with a blank expression on his face, but his eyes gave the slightest way to show his curiosity and anticipation.

The brown paper bag crackled as he pulled it out, and Maisie was intrigued, readjusting on the radiator and eyeing it curiously. There was a twinkle in her look, like Liam was a flame reflecting off her blue eyes. "I suppose it isn't alcohol?" It definitely had the packaging of it, and her mind went back to nights with friends, paying off some old guy with cash and sultry stares to get them drinks in brown paper bags. Maisie stood, reaching with her pallid fingers, a red pulsing to her face in the warmth of the room. "Gi'mme," she said, almost unenthused in tone but with mannerisms that said otherwise, stepping forward to him.

ooc;; in 1920, Walt Disney started work as an artist with KC Slide Co for $40 a week. Joan of Arc (Jeanne D'arc) was canonized a saint. Mussolini's squad began terror, 11 die in Bologna, Italy

As she stepped forward and made a reach for the bag, he found himself reflexively raising it up above his head, well out of her reach. He chewed back another smirk. "What's the rush?" Liam teased in a low tone, studying the look on her face as he did so. "Would you have liked a drink more?" Hell, he could have gone for one then himself. He didn't even remember the last time he had had one, but that wasn't exactly important then.

The young man let the gift fall back between them, a sudden weariness catching him off guard. Admittedly, it was fucking weird what he had done. Since he'd caught that glimpse of her mango-book the last time they'd met, he had managed to remember most of the name. As it turned out, their own library had an awful selection of the backwards comic books, but with money he had, he managed to get a special edition of the latest volume; which he doubted would find it's way anywhere near their rural hell of a school.

Maisie's hand followed his as he raised the bag above his head, and she stopped half way, giving him a glare that could burn an armada of ships. She said nothing until he brought it back down, and took it with a snatch, peeling back the paper back slowly, revealing...

The girl stared at the book a few moments, turning it in her hands, keeping her eyes low, examining it expressionlessly. There was a few moments of silence, where she said nothing and tried to process what he had brought to her. Then, she spoke quickly, suddenly, a monotonous echo. "I don't know what this is," she said. Maisie stepped back and sat down on the radiator, though, eyes still glued on the book.

ooc;; in 1922, James Joyce's "Ulysses" was published in Paris (1,000 copies). Joseph Stalin was appointed General Secretary of the Russian Communist Party by Vladimir Lenin. Lenin suffered a stroke. US President Warren G. Harding signed a joint resolution of approval to establish a Jewish homeland in Palestine. Benito Mussolini marched on Rome.

Liam shoved his hand back in his pocket, raising an eyebrow as she stared it down in silent wonder. He didn't believe that for a second. He'd spent too much time, too much effort into making sure he shipped out the right copy. "Uh-huh." He muttered, taking a few steps closer up to her, the air from the radiator almost cold against him. "If you don't want it then..." The young man reached a hand out, offering to take the book back and away from her.

The way she looked at it though, he was beginning to doubt it would be going anywhere anytime soon. Hopefully.

Maisie stared at it for a few more moments, and placed the book in his hand, rubbing her nose. "Okay," she muttered. Backing up, she spun on her heel with little eye contact. "I'm gonna go change, and then we can hang out or...something," The girl made a beeline for the door, making sure to reiterate: "Learn to buy gifts!"

Maisie closed the door to her room and pressed her back to it, breathing deeply. Her heart felt like it was hopping on a trampoline, thumping like a rabbit's foot, and she cast a glare towards the door, peeking through the keyhole at the boy. What the fuck was that!? How could he have possibly gotten her that!? Her face was red and burning, partially from anger and partially from something she couldn't explain. She covered it up with her hands, peeking through her fingers at the lower shelf full of manga mostly covered by conveniently placed bins, the bed of stuffed animals hidden by thick sheets. She was nothing short of a loser, and he was onto it all! Exasperated, Maisie sunk to the floor, sitting pressed against the door and bowlegged, still covering her face and wondering how the fuck he figured out she liked that stuff.

She'd kill him, but killing him would mean she had to accept she wanted it.

It was a good edition...

Maisie picked a new uniform, a dry one. She didn't know what to do when she went out there. She wanted so badly to punch his smug, know-it-all face. She also wanted to thank him, to accept it with a smile. She couldn't, though. The thought made her want to die.

Maybe she could steal it back.

She loved it. Or so he thought, anyways. He couldn't say the two of them were exactly the closest pair, but he was learning to pick up on her stubborn clues. If she hated it, it would have been made abundantly more clear between the two of them. It took a great deal of self-control to not break out into a full blown grin as she slid the book back into his grasp and went straight into her room, leaving him standing there alone. Again.

Liam finally allowed himself a proud smile, tossing his blazer onto the radiator where it would hopefully dry up and be toasty by the time he made his leave. Since he was apparently invited now to stay, he took it upon himself to get comfortable on the sofa, kicking back and looking for something to keep him occupied whilst Maisie changed up or whatever.

He found himself opening the mango-book, looking over the curious drawings and trying to make sense of what was happening... And it wasn't working. His brows furrowed as his gaze scanned from left to right, page after page, wondering what the hell was going on - and how the small blonde managed to make any sense out of it.

Maisie came out of her room possibly a minute later than she should have, having collected herself and found some regular clothes to wear; she wasn't sure what he wanted to do, whether it was to go out (albeit in the pouring rain) or stay there. She settled on sweat pants and a T-shirt, almost picking one that displayed a logo from the manga book he gave her. Luckily, she stopped herself, her shirt cleanly white, her short hair tied into a small ponytail.

He was reading it.

She stood in the doorway, gripping at the knob so that her knuckles were white and her fingers were shaking. "Would you put that thing away, already?" she spat, closing her door behind her so that it slammed. "I'm tired of seeing it! You owe me a beer." The girl collapsed on the couch next to him with a huff, crossing her arms. and trying her best to glance away from the pages he left so tantalizingly ajar. "Is that the only reason you came here?"