"You hope?" she giggled, "What kind of job doesn't have it set what you'll be doing?"<br/>Her fingers raised to the rim of the glass, circling slowly with her eyes following as she listened. It was interesting that he wanted to settle in a bit. She got the vibe he was a bit of a wanderer, to which he confirmed with his next statement. She looked up to meet his gaze once more, soft and fragile despite their nearly-black shade.<br/>"Oh, you mean the old Miller house up the road? It's a nice little shack house for one person. I think you'd like it. Might need a little fixin' up though. What keeps you moving so much? If you don't care for it, why does it sound like its been a lifelong thing for you?" she teased a bit with her tone, scrunching the speckles across her nose playfully.<br/>She caught another look in his eyes, a flicker of - what? Hurt? Longing? Truth in them? He struck her as someone with a hard exterior to protect the soft interior. But there was no way to make that assumption until she got to know him better. Though it sounded like there may be quite the opportunity in that endeavor.<br/>"What kind of places have you been to?"<br/>Her knuckles folded her under her chin, intrigued to hear his stories. She never had a mind to travel herself, but she always enjoyed hearing from those who did. It fascinated her to hear the details and paint the picture in her mind. His voice was deep and melodic to hear, aiding in the comfort to close her eyes as she thought, her lips pulling up in the corners. Before too long passed, her finger pressed into the mug too hard, tipping the dark contents along the counter and right into her chest.<br/>She shot up with her hands up, stalling a moment before registering to sit the mug back up right. She yanked a towel from the fridge and flattened it over the dim liquid.<br/>"Shit. Sorry, go on - I'm listening, I swear." she prattled.<br/>Her nimble fingers pushed the cloth over a little to sop up what hadn't been covered. She looked back and forth from her mess to him several times before stepping over and crouching down without a though. Her "half-vest" slid up her back, the bulk of her tattoo in full view. The majority of her posterior latissimus dorsi had a stack of hexagons on them just to the left of her spine. First beginning with one, then two, then three then four then two than two more individuals that made a bit of an "S" shape before a couple sat scattered. A couple here and there were shaded a bit, with a black corner, a yellow middle, and topped with a little more black.<br/>The drawer slid with ease as she withdrew a couple extra ratty looking clothes, hopping back up as she laid another down, clenching at her stain with the excess.<br/>It briefly hit the counter when she bobbed her head back and scratched her locks at the back of her scalp. A quick hair tie consumed her wavy strands, freeing her hands to squeeze her drenched stomach once more, with a minor flick of the neck to remove an excess, flyaway strand from her eye. She didn't dare face him. Her eyes came up enough to see him a hair more than in her peripherals, the mass of her face fading to a tart red.