Backdated: Betsy and Cain.

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Cain comes by to check up on Betsy's newly renovated suite. This log is backdated to Tuesday, May 17th. This post may help refresh your memories here



Cain practically whistled, walking down the third-floor hall with his hands in his pockets. He felt a small twinge of deja vu, standing in front of the room that used to be his, before he took up residence in the boathouse. He had to let out a chuckle, remembering arriving at the mansion just in time for Thanksgiving dinner, and having to sit still while Alison had come up, introduced herself, and tied his tie.

But he wasn't here to visit his room at the end of the hall, no, his destination was directly across the hall. While Cain had been slowly starting the process of getting his head together, his neighbor had hers falling apart. He and Betsy had always shared a slightly awkward friendship - not close, but bonding somewhat in the way that those who perceive themselves as outsiders tend to.

Rapping his knuckles lightly on the door, he could hear movement inside. Probably silk. The woman did like her silk.

Betsy appeared from behind her door, already smiling up at the man in front of her. "You're only going to feed their dreadful rumors, standing out here with that dubious expression on your face," Betsy joked, opening the door all the way now. "Please come in."

"Rumors, me?" Cain practically relished the thought. "I'd never do such a thing. Twice."

Stepping in, he glanced around. The wood-and-paper paneling over the walls made the room look not only larger, but as if he'd stepped into an entirely different house. Drywall had been removed to expose some of the wooden beams in the ceiling, which had been cleaned up to hang silk screens from, dividing the suite further. The hardwood floor had been the biggest change, but nothing too difficult.

"Looks like you've got yourself well set up here, don't it?" Cain murmured, proud of the work.

"Three times from what I hear about you and Domino," Betsy said, as Cain entered her quarters. She closed the door behind him, relishing the peace she found here once the door was closed. Betsy comfortably wrapped her arms around herself, satisfied. "Only because you were here to help. This would've taken ages to set up on my own."

"You know what they say about older men and younger women..." Cain joked, before frowning. "Although that ain't really too specific when you're thinking younger than me." He wandered around the room, checking the sturdiness of the joists and the mountings for the wall hangings. "You definitely got a style all your own in here, Betts," he finally noted. "I like it."

"Oh, Cain, please." Betsy protested, shaking her head at the visual images assailing her. "I do not need to think along those lines."

Chortling to herself, she came up behind him, looking about the room with complete satisfaction. Rebirth. "I really do love it now, feels like home. And it's a bit different than what everyone else is accustomed too. Which is the way I like it."

"Definitely ain't what folks expect from the prim and proper Englishwoman, is it?" he asked. Then again, neither was purple hair, but Cain had learned from experience that a woman's hair color was as taboo a topic as their OB-GYN exam, and he had no intent of tapdancing in that particular minefield.

"No, definitely not." The telepath grinned sheepishly at him. "There are a lot of things they won't be expecting, but will have to ge use to. But, for now, I haven't even shown off what we've done here."

Thinking, Cain smirked with a devilish look. "And knowing the kids here, wouldn't THAT be taken ten kinds of the wrong way..."

"You know," Betsy teased, her eyes lighting up.. "We have this awful tendency of being misconstrued. Could keep playing with that, if we wanted to be naughty."

She walked away from him, her fingers running against the silk, as if strumming a guitar. Her grin now matching his, dark and devious. "But then, that would be wrong."

Cain arched an eyebrow. "And you've been always such a regular goody-two-shoes, right." He made an effort to keep inspecting the room's furnishings, rather than its occupant. "You know kids, they're gonna talk no matter what you do. I'm not opposed to having a little fun with it."

"Would you doubt my innocence now of all times," Betsy asked, her voice dropping a few seductive octaves. She really was having too much fun and from the way Cain avoided her gaze, he knew it too. "Besides, if they're already going to talk, mind helping me set up the bed on platforms?" She motioned over toward the low-set bed. "I like what we did here, but I think it may need to come up a few more inches. Interested?"

"Innocent?" Cain snorted with amusement at the thought. "Pull the other one, Betts. I think I got a pretty good idea of who you are, where you've been. Ain't saying that's a bad thing at all, but innocent? Don't kid a kidder."

Crouching by the low-set futon-style bed, Cain lifted it with one hand, inspecting the supports. "Yeah, I could do up some arches in the wood shop, cherry wood to match the rest of this. Elevate it a bit, that should suit it fine."

"It was worth a shot," Betsy said, smirking to herself, trying to keep herself from laughing outright. Cain was what Americans called a 'straight-shooter' and however abrasive that could be, Cain was honest, if bluntly so.

As she watched him now carefully studied the bed and its' base. Her expression shifted into something more of a somber one. They weren't the best of friends, this man that stood beside her. But, he was exactly what she needed at the moment. Uncomplicated.

"Yeah," Cain finally said, after a few moments' observation and some scribbled notes on a scrap of paper. "I can have those done up and assembled in a day or two. That is, if you're still up to all the looks the students keep giving when strange men walk out of your room after hours."

"Now, I wouldn't want to disappoint anyone by denying them their small pleasures in life." Clapping her hands together, Betsy took a crouched position next to Cain, running her hand along the wood. "I didn't do as much work as I like to think in all of this. I really do owe you, Cain." She looked up at him, eyebrows raising suggestively. Then after a moment, she smiled. "Beer?"

"Said the magic word," Cain agreed, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "Lemme get cleaned up, and we'll head down to Harry's? If that meets with your approval, I mean."

"It does." Betsy walked Cain to the door and opened it. He moved passed her and into the hallway, as Betsy continued speaking. "I'll meet you down at the boathouse. Just think really hard and I'll be right over."

"Think really hard," Cain avoided the double entendre like a matador dodging a bull. "Have a good evening, Betsy." Walking down the hall, he chuckled to himself quietly. "Doesn't anyone use a phone anymore?"