Sybil Crawley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
adifferentlife) wrote2013-05-15 06:13 pm
adifferentlife) wrote2013-05-15 06:13 pm
The long walk home [[for Kaine]]
The night had gotten late without Sybil realising it. The emergency room had been busy and she had stayed at the intake station well past the time her shift was supposed to be over. When it finally became quiet enough for her to leave the hour was nearing on three. All the girls that she would normally walk home with were gone, likely showered and in their own beds. The taxi that she called never arrived, and Sybil found herself frustrated, tempted to walk home on her own even though it was so late.
It was only after she remembered the murder that had happened so recently that she pulled out the phone and painstakingly pulled up Kaine's number. She tapped out a message, trying her best to not spell anything incorrectly and to use all the proper punctuation. A few minutes and she had sent it, asking if he was still awake and if he would walk her home from work. It was relief that she smiled with when the message came back that he would. She shouldn't be so dependent on him, she knew that, but who else was she to call? If this were Downton-
Sybil cut the thought off before it had time to fully form. This wasn't Downton and never would be. She'd adjusted to that, for the most part.
It was only after she remembered the murder that had happened so recently that she pulled out the phone and painstakingly pulled up Kaine's number. She tapped out a message, trying her best to not spell anything incorrectly and to use all the proper punctuation. A few minutes and she had sent it, asking if he was still awake and if he would walk her home from work. It was relief that she smiled with when the message came back that he would. She shouldn't be so dependent on him, she knew that, but who else was she to call? If this were Downton-
Sybil cut the thought off before it had time to fully form. This wasn't Downton and never would be. She'd adjusted to that, for the most part.
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That sort of talk makes her head hurt. Thinking of not existing, of lives being lived in their absence, it’s all a rather strange fantasy rather than anything she can really comprehend. “But you exist here, and so do I, and that matters more than any of that, doesn’t it?”
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"I'm going to say yes, because I know I'll end up agreeing with you eventually," I say. And a portion of her is right. I know I have a good existence here. A great one, better than I deserve by far. A part of me is always aware of the fact that I shouldn't have it though. I don't tell that part to Sybil anymore, I know better than that.
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"Maybe. But you had an advantage. You're better at listening to me," she says the last brightly without any rancor or ill-will toward her father. It's just how things were and what was expected, and her father always meant well, he just had five women to listen to.
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"It's because I like your accent so much," I tell her, although that's not it at all. Sybil is a good person, good in a way I'll never be or understand who when she talks I listen, because I try to be better.
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"Your accent is much better," I tell her. It's crisp and formal but somehow she makes it sound warm and... not pretentious. I like it a lot. Or maybe I just like Sybil a lot.
"You should hear a Texas accent. I don't think you'd want one of those."
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“The grass is always greener,” she says in a sing song voice, amused that she is using the line that has been so often recited to her. “Can you imitate it?”
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I sigh and am about to tell her know, but I know I'm going to eventually do it anyway, just like I know better than to argue with Sybil. When did this happen to me? It's annoying.
"Well," I say in my best Texas drawl. "I reckon I can do that for ya, ma'am."
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Her hands fly to her mouth as she nearly squeals in delight. "You sound just like a cowboy must."
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"Not everyone in Texas talks like this," I say, still using the accent. "But enough of us do. Y'all probably think it's pretty weird."
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“Maybe somewhat strange, but nomoreso than some accents I’ve heard.” She’s still delighted, a skip coming into her step even at this late hour. “Tell me, is it like the wild west there?”
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"Uh, no," I say, shaking my head. Wally and Donald are always stressing to me how Houston is absolutely not like that. From what I've seen they're right, but it's still different form New York. Way different.
"Some parts are probably closer to it, but Houston is a modern city."
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"That's like if I said it was disappointing that a bunch of people don't ride around wearing armor when you're from," I say.
I'm glad that it's not though, women were treated bad enough when she's from. Treated bad enough now.
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“I think that my American Grandmother has already gotten me used to that,” she teases. This is fun, she thinks, even though she’s tired and it’s so late. It’s that thought that drives her to kiss his cheek when they arrive at her building, just a peck but still a very forward thing. “Thank you for your company.”
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I feel my face flush a bit as she kisses my cheek but I know she doesn't mean anything by it. It's just a polite 'thank you' on her end. It's nice though and I don't mind it that much.
"Of course. Call me again if you get done late? I'll be up."
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"Exactly," I say, smiling at her. I hope she does call me and doesn't worry about waking me up. I'd much rather lose a few hours of sleep than have her risk walking home by herself so late.
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She lets herself through the door, grateful for his friendship yet again. "Have a good night. Do get some sleep, or I'll feel awful about it tomorrow."