the_gene_genie | OOM: Oakville, Texas, 1888. Dinner.

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OOM: Oakville, Texas, 1888. Dinner.

Even by 70s standards, this place is basic. But it looks brilliant to him, because it's real - proper, authentic Old West chairs, and tables; wooden floor and burning candles, and the smell of the desert right outside the door. It'll do him. Anything else just wouldn't be the same.

They're shown to a table and he makes sure to sit opposite her. All very proper. There doesn't seem to be too many other people here, which is good, because he hasn't yet worked out what counts as inappropriate for her, and it'd be all too easy for him to open his big trap and say the wrong thing. All too easy to mess this up, and get her into trouble.

As soon as a waiter comes near, he says, 'Whiskey. Double, no ice. Two of 'em.'

The food can wait until after.

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He shrugs.

'I fight.'

That's all there is to it.

And maybe, if she's watching close, she'll see his eyes soften just a little when he follows up with;

'It's the best place in the world. Better even than here.'

He waxed on to Sam, not long after his arrival, about why he loves it so. But he doesn't think he could explain it like that to a girl. She'd probably get it though. She seems to feel much the same way about this place. Or Green Lake, anyway.

'You probably won' get it, 'cos you're not from there. But I'll show you around anyway.'

"So you do."

She doesn't sound accusatory or disparaging. He fights.

That's all there is to it.

His last comment gets a choked laugh out of her. It's sweet to see the affection in his eyes for the place, so she tries not to take things too personally.

"I guess I'll just hafta take your word for it, then. Though my daddy had a thing or two to say about the places where he grew up."

In other words, Gene won't have to do too much convincing to get her to appreciate Manchester.

"An' you've never lived outside the city?"

He shakes his head briefly, drains his glass, and signals for refills for them both.

'Hardly ever left the city, never mind lived anywhere else.'

This is a bit unusual for the 1970's, but not so much that people of the older generation would raise an eyebrow. Apart from a week's holiday every year to Lytham-St-Anne's - about an hour away - he just doesn't see the need to go anywhere else. He would, if he had reason. But they rarely come up, so he stays put.

'What abou' you? Before the...trouble. You move around much?'

He doubts it, but clarification won't hurt.

"Which trouble?"

She accepts the refill, but dubiously. She's beginning to feel a little light, and a little warm.

"Green Lake?"

She's not entirely certain she told him much about her daddy's farm, come to think of it. She shakes her head.

"I was born in Oklahoma, but I lived most of my life on my family's ranch, just outside of Heyser. Went to New Orleans for school. But other than that, it wasn't until I lost the property that I moved to Green Lake."

'You lost it? How'd you manage that?'

Not the sort of thing you can misplace. But yeah, it can't be easy to be in charge after your only male relative dies, in this day and age. He gets that.

She hesitates.

It's not hard to see there's a story there; her eyes are focused intensely on his, trying to remember back to that first argument more than a year past. How much did she say back then? She can't rightly remember. But she does recall one thing with absolute clarity: Gene can be passionately defensive about fellow lawmen.

Things are going so well now that they've moved to a more comfortable venue, and she doesn't want to risk changing that.

"It's ... a rather long story. Perhaps y'should ask me again another time."

Edited 2011-06-22 14:14 (UTC)

Like that, is it? In which case, he definitely won't be pushing this any further. Just like her, he has no desire to ruin the mood of tonight. So he nods minutely, and says no more about it. And then glances around, to make sure there's no one within earshot, and no one paying them particular interest.

'So. We stayin' longer, or headin' back?'

There's a small pause, where he wonders whether that came out sounding more pressurising than he meant it to.

'Just so's I know whether to get another drink in or not.'

She exhales, reclaiming her smile but softly.

"S'up to you. The night is young."

'Yeah, I know.'

His gaze on her is openly appraising. In a good way. But he's still wondering, a little, whether she's trying to put him off.

'An' this is fun. But it'll be fun tomorrow an' all. Tonight, we could be...well. Y'know.'

Never let it be said that he's not keen. But he will, of course, respect her decision.

(It may be clear that he's a bit rubbish at dates, on the whole.)

(Kate isn't much better herself.)

She looks out on the room at large. His eyes traveling over her like that heat her face. She takes a drink to cover up if she's turning red, looking over the hall to see if anyone's looking back. A few are, of course. Kate's the only woman in the whole building dressed like that. She happens to turn heads.

She clears her throat quietly.

"You're terrible at keepin' a convincin' cover," she whispers, turning around to face the bar instead. "People pay attention, y'know. T'looks like that."

The smile trying desperately to loose itself on her lips makes it a rather unconvincing scolding. She happens to like it when he looks at her like that.

'I'm not used to it. Everyone knows who I am, back 'ome.'

Coppers, anyway. And the important criminals. These are just about the only groups of people that matter to him back in Manchester, so he's happy with it.

'An' bein' undercover don' suit me.'

He turns to the bar, putting his back firmly to the room so they can't see his expressions.

'Are you tryin' t'put me off, an' being nice about it?'

Edited 2011-06-22 22:07 (UTC)

She hesitates.

"No."

Maybe.

She hadn't thought about it quite like that. To be honest, she's tried to put the end of the night far from her thoughts. She's been enjoying Gene's company for what it is, and she knows he's eager to move to the next stage but she's not quite as anxious.

"No, I just..."

She glances up at him, a touch of nervous excitement in her eyes.

"I'm jus' tryin' to be careful."

He wants to ask why, but doesn't want to ruin things by making her spell out stuff he might not want to hear. So he focuses on the hesitation instead - which isn't any more pleasant, but in different ways.

'You don' sound like you mean it.'

He sounds disappointed.

'Enjoyed las' night though, didn' you?'

She looks up at him fully, her eyes widening.

"Gene."

Her expression switches from one of surprise, and concern, to subtle embarrassment. A smirk touches her lips, and her voice drops even lower.

"Thought that was rather clear."

The tips of her ears must be red. They feel like they're on fire.

"It's only ... the walls in our hotel are thin. An' a woman rides into town with a man, unmarried, wearin' britches and guns and people like that barmaid start whisperin' about me like I'm common trash. You can see the difference yourself, the way people have been treatin' me while I'm all gussied up. Suddenly I'm a lady, and it's all right keepin' company with me. But the more rumors fly, the more they'll be lookin' at us both crooked. Based simply on how I present myself."

It's not a proud thing for a woman to be independent and in charge, to wear man's clothes and flaunt how she manages her sex life. She can, and she would, but things will be so much easier for them if the pretense at the very least is there.

"Besides all that... Well. What y'said last night. About. Our ... differences."

That nervousness is back.

Even before she adds that last bit, he's starting to smirk. But it's sort of...fond, and certainly not malicious.

'You're worried about thin walls? Don' scream then.'

Though if he has his way...

'Look. I don' care how any of 'em look at me, and seein' as we're leavin' in a few days, I don' see why you do either. But I wasn't exactly plannin' on announcing it to the whole town. No one'll know, if we're careful.'

He relights his cigar, which had gone out.

'As for the...er, differences...you let me worry abou' that.'

Edited 2011-06-22 23:12 (UTC)

She does care about what other people think. She doesn't know why either, most of the time. It's so deeply a part of her breeding that it's hard to shake, save for when folk have her mad enough not to care. But that's not her only reason for hesitating.

She never planned on being with more than one man in her life. As far as she's concerned, Doc was it for her. She crossed a line last night she's still not sure how she should feel about, and if they go to bed together then... that's it. There's no more excuses, and no turning back.

She catches his eye, searching him out slowly and carefully. The bundle of nerves in her belly are enough to remind her of how much she does want him, and just looking at him — hearing him reassure her — is enough to remind her that she does care about him. She didn't lead him on all this time; she's not a tease. Not with the people who matter.

She swallows a deep breath (and another gulp of whiskey), and reclaims her resolve. She doesn't need to say much; if he's paying attention to the look in her eye and the tiny nod of her head, he'll know her answer.

"Play a few more rounds," she murmurs, laying down enough of her winnings to cover their drinks. "An' then meet me back the way we came."

He swallows the good girl that nearly comes out, as it would have been all too triumphant. But the sentiment remains in his head. All he does is nod though, and drain his glass.

'Right then.'

Finally.

'You be careful out there though. Sure you don' want t'stay an' let me go first?'

Doesn't seem right, sending her out there on her own. Could be all kinds of nutters lurking about.

It's a very good thing he swallowed that comment, or he might have found himself locked out of both rooms.

"I can take care of myself."

Her lips twitch.

"Jus' don't make me wait too long."

She turns at that, making her way back to the roulette table presumably to inform the gentlemen that she's cashing out while she's still hot. She does lay down one last bet, though, throwing the croupier a wink and telling him to keep her winnings. And she does, indeed, win.

Gene gets one last look from across the room, and then she heads out into the night, making her way back to that first stock pen where their little side street spilled out.

Edited 2011-06-22 23:52 (UTC)

Those looks across crowded rooms are starting to drive him insane. As is the idea of waiting another few spins of this damn wheel before going to meet her. But, rules are rules - her world, and if he wants her to respect his when she comes out, he'd better behave himself now.

So he wanders back over after getting one more drink, and gives one of the blokes a black look because he dares to look at him as though something was just going on.

'Quite a livewire, that boss of yours.'

'She's a bloody pain in the arse,' he grumbles, managing to look sour, and promptly loses three bets on the trot. The gents at the table commiserate disingenuously, but he couldn't care less. He just wants one win, as it gives him an excuse to get out.

And on the fifth try, there it is. OK, so he spread five bucks about to win on that one number, and it barely covers his stake, but so what?

'Tha's me, gents. Have a good night.'

Two minutes later, he's strolling down the side of the stock pens, smoking his cigar, looking all the world like a bloke out for an evening walk back from the pub.

Edited 2011-06-22 23:59 (UTC)

Kate's stroking the muzzle of one of the cows, admiring her the way a good cattle woman would. She's a good animal. Not the best Kate's seen, but certainly worth stealing. She hasn't forgotten what Gene told her over dinner.

She hears him coming, sees the dull point of light at the end of his cigar, and steps back. She turns to the street that will lead them back to the hotel, and moves into the shadows. Her steps are slow so he can catch up with her along the way.

Which he does, offering her his arm as any respectable gentleman would, and without breaking stride either.

He doesn't say anything. There's nothing that really needs to be said, to his mind. They both know where they're going, and it's a nice night. Easy enough to just walk back quietly.

Anyway, there's less chance of him saying the wrong thing if he keeps his mouth shut. There's that too.

She takes his arm, perhaps allowing herself to walk a little closer to him than she would have when they were in public. There's nothing really that needs to be said, and not solely for fear of spoiling the moment. Just because it's ... comfortable.

They reach the hotel in short order and she resumes her respectable distance, letting him open the door for her. Still, no one is at the desk and so it's easy enough to quietly climb the stairs, check the hall to make sure they're alone, and then turn to face him.

"Your room?" she asks, voice quiet.

'Whichever you like.'

He was thinking hers so that, if she absolutely has to, she could kick him out before morning and maintain the illusion. But thinking about it logically, he supposes his room makes more sense - if there are obvious sounds of shagging from within, people might just assume he's got a hooker in there.

'D'you need to...I dunno. Do whatever it is women like t'do, first?'

He's quiet too, unlocking his door as he speaks. It had never occurred to him she'd come straight in. Women always seem to be going off to redo make-up, or...something, before. He never understands it.

She's actually not sure what he means by that. She looks up at him sidelong, smiling lopsidedly.

"I would've thought you'd like t'help with the takin' off of my clothes."

Quiet; so quiet it's barely audible.

'Oh, I do.'

And he's still quiet as well, but definitely no less emphatic for it. He stands aside and gestures her through the door.

'After you, then.'

And if the tightness of his tone betrays some of his anticipation, well, what of it?

Edited 2011-06-23 01:37 (UTC)

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