towerofanimus | ❝Just hold on don't turn around❞

Characters Willow (

sunneversetson). CLOSED.
Setting: Whatever dorm room is England's ~~I'm lazy~~.
Format: Action tags, I guess?
Summary: It's about time she checked up on one of the people she'd met during the tower renovation.
Warnings: None!

[She really has been finding herself with far too much free time at the tower, even despite recent events. (Goddess, those recent events. It was so much like Sunnydale here it was uncanny, only without the people, arguably the most important difference possible.) When Willow grows idle, she grows social-- she always has, gravitating naturally to occupying herself by supporting other people.

And there had been one person she'd met while the tower was being renovated that stuck out in her mind. That had been a crazy, mind-numbingly hectic day, but she was left with several impressions. One, that she could count on all the people she'd thought she could count on; and two, that she could also apparently count on someone named Arthur Kirkland.

Thankfully there was only one of him here, so it was easy to find his name placque. She takes a moment to steel her nerves against impromptu social interaction, which she can still get kinda nervous about... and knocks on his door.

There is, noticeably, a plate in her hands covered in tin foil.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Thankfully, due to Link's potion, England was mostly healed up and could leave the infirmary. Which was wonderful, because he was pretty sick of being there; hospitals in general were crappy places to find oneself in, but especially here in the Tower, where the medical staff (that weren't hired nurses) seemed robotic to a point...

A knock on the door had him out of bed, his embroidery hoop -- which he thankfully could work on now that his fingers weren't bleeding and taped together -- momentarily set aside so he could answer the door.

He blinked in surprise a little at Willow. Of course, he expected to see her again eventually, but for her to actually seek him out?

No, wait, don't assume. Maybe she's here for one of his roommates. He gives a polite smile.] Ah, good day, Miss Rosenberg. [...just "Willow" probably would have been better, but he doesn't know her that well yet. Best be on the safe side.] You're well, I hope?

[She grins at his formality, undaunted.]

I'm great. And seriously, call me Willow. I think if you keep calling me Miss Rosenberg for much longer I'm going to have flashbacks to my English high school librarian.

[Oh, good. Maybe it's just the military man in him, but it feels weird being so formal to someone you've been in battle with. He chuckles a little.] Then you are free to call me Arthur. I'm glad to hear that you're alright.

Do you require something of me?

[That was honestly her problem with it. Even Giles dropped the last name thing after they'd fought demons together.

She's happy to get a laugh out of him, and answers cheerily,] Just to feed you cookies and see how you are. [She holds up the plate pointedly.] See? Cookies.

[Feed him...cookies?

He blinks owlishly at the plate. Okay, he's not used to random gestures of cookie-giving. Or people checking up on him without plans to irritate him.] Ah-- I see. Thank you. [Smooth.] I'm doing quite well now, actually. [His hands have a plethora of new scars, but he has so many anyways, he doesn't even notice them.

Oh, wait, manners; since she's actually here to see him and all...] Would you like to come in?

[Yup, just like Giles. Which probably explains why she'd thought to drop in on him at all. It might be a bit unfair to Arthur, but Willow can't help that the association is a comforting one. Only adult she's ever really trusted? Check. She'll take any reassurance she can get, no matter how marginal, in the midst of all this magic using she's been doing.

Unexciting yet friendly conversation is just what she needed out of today.] That might be good, [she says, amused at his awkwardness.] Did someone heal you? You do look hale and hearty for all of the fighting you did.

[He's blissfully oblivious to any associations she might be making, moving aside so that she can come through the door.] That's correct. A-- [Ooh wait is he allowed to call her a friend?] --n acquaintance of mine by the name of Link brought me something from his world. Worked like a charm.

[He shifts a little.] Though I'm rather accustomed to combat, so that was likely a factor in my improvement as well.

[She steps in and out of the way so he can close it again, perking up as he explains.] Oh, I've met Link! That was really nice of him. [She sure does think Link is a guy...]

That was all just one big mess after another. I'm glad it's over with and we're all okay.

[Yeah, England thinks Link is a guy too. Though he really couldn't care less; gender is a bit of a nitpicky thing to worry over when it comes to someone who's helped you like three times already. He closes the door behind Willow after she enters.]

He's been of great assistance to me quite a many times. [A small grimace.] I wish I could more effectively return the favour.

[But his moping aside.] I'm glad for that, as well, even if I'm not entirely convinced that there won't be more trouble in the future. [Okay so he's cynical, but come on. It's realistic when it comes to this place.]

[It's not that Willow would care one way or the other, she just likes to know these things about her prospective friends. Hard to be supportive when you don't know you need to be supporting.

She takes a few steps further into the room to get out of the entryway before turning to respond.] I'm sure you'll get your chance. Hero types don't exactly do it for the return, anyway.

[As for more trouble on its way... Willow's just as cynical about it, she's just also, well, oddly perky.] Piffle, of course there'll be more trouble in the future. But we just gotta take it one crisis at a time, right? Otherwise all the crises build up until there's this big crisis mountain, and it's totally unscalable and even when you try to climb it anyway, it just blows up. And yes, that is the voice of experience talking.

[Fair enough.]

I can only hope. I'm not exactly a miracle worker. [Seriously, nothing can come close to equaling saving him from drowning by giving him a magic water-breathing shirt. Honestly.

He's quiet for Willow's words of wisdom, and when she's done, he chuckles a little. There's an odd weight of resignation in it, and in the words that follow.] The voice of experience is preaching to the choir, I assure you.

[He nods in the vague direction of his bed.] You may sit, if you'd like. [Don't mind the embroidery stuff and the big ol' Shakespeare collection tome laid on top of the sheets.]

Luckily for you, most people don't need miracles to be happy, [she says with a smile as she takes a seat. Ohhh, embroidery and Shakespeare. She forcibly restrains herself from commenting on it, and settles herself on the edge of the bed, holding the cookie plate in her lap.]

Never thought I'd have a choir of my own. [It's an idle witticism, just meant to keep the flow of the conversation. Willow unwraps the tinfoil and crumples it into a ball, holding it to the side in one hand as she offers the plate up with a hopeful look.] I hope you like sugar cookies, because I was getting kinda tired of all the chocolate chip.

[He refrains from making that too personal. Mostly because it always seems like a miracle when he's actually happy.] I think that's lucky for everyone involved. [Yes. Much better alternative.

He meanders over to the bed and primly sits on the edge of it, a respectable distance away from Willow, before he absently nudges aside the hobby materials so they don't get in the way. He affords himself a small chuckle.] For metaphorical purposes, I assure you that my voice fills the cathedral on the matter of experience. [Literally, not so much. At least he doesn't think so. Granted he doesn't really do much singing anymore.

He looks to the plate with a small smile, reaching out to graciously take one of the cookies.] I can appreciate the taste of anything made by loving hands. [Unlike some people.] I don't mind. [Seriously, he's a sugar fiend. Don't tell anyone.]

[It's a lot easier to see how proper he is about everything when they aren't in the middle of a pitched battle, and Willow can't restrain an amused look. She won't tease him about it, though. At least not yet.]

That's an impressive metaphorical voice, [she answers lightly.] Must be a whole heap load of experience there if you're at opera singer level. [Where is this metaphor going, now? Like Willow ever knows.]

Not too picky about your cookies and where you get 'em, huh? Can't say I blame you on that. [She takes a cookie and munches on it herself, sparing a moment to indulge in a blissful expression.] ... Mmmm. Is it horrible to congratulate myself on my own cookies?

❝Just hold on don't turn around❞

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