Ellison woke with an incoherent mumble. With eyes still closed, he lifted his head from where it laid flat against the linen, propping himself up on his chin. A small string of saliva ran from his bottom lip but it was the first of many hurdles he needed to go through before heading down. With a groan he rolled and laid flat against his back, his eyes opening watching the ceiling while he wondered if the blonde sleeping in the next room was even capable of speaking to him in any other way besides brazenly.
Guessing not, he sat up and stretched, his back popping in fifty different places much to his pleasure. Ellison stood, swallowing hard in an effort relieve the dryness that found his throat, before making his way to the bathroom. His eyes moved to the reflection in the mirror, Ellison looked the sweaty mess and he did the best to remedy it at the sink. He regretted not having enough time to shower, but returned to his room to change all the same.
The outfit he had laid out was rather similar to what he had been traveling in. He wore another baby blue button down, but one that was more appropriately sized, with the sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone. Though his hair was dominantly blonde, the hair on his arms and chest were brown and Ellison slipped into a pair of khaki shorts before grabbing his camcorder and making his way to the door.
"You know... you could at least tell me your name." Ellison said to no one as he stepped out into the hallway. His face took on a blank expression as he realized he shouldn't have been surprised that the woman hadn't waited for him. Securing his hand in the strap of the video camera, Ellison found his way down and the house's breezy architecture was made lively more than ever with the amount of people that filled the space. The American swallowed, doing his best to not appear anxious as he doled out smiles and polite nods.
Ellison cut through the crowd, moving towards the kitchen where he assumed the only familiar face remained. Mrs. van Jude. The smell hit him before he even made it to his destination. It was aromatic and reminded Ellison just how hungry he had become over the course of the day but before he could find his hostess, he found the blonde.
Ellison bumped into her from behind, apologizing only until she turned and he realized who she was.
"Oh."
It might have seemed like a miracle after his limited interaction with her that the young blonde woman was that she was capable of smiling. Not just smiling, but doing so warmly. She spoke with another woman who was probably in her mid-forties, judging by the Rivera of grey streaking through her hair and the nest of wrinkles forming at the edge of her eyes. As Dover spoke, she did so with a great amount of expression.
Her hands were constantly moving and the smile brightened, as straight and perfect as any model's. Whatever Dover was saying seemed funny enough, for the older woman was laughing and shaking her head in bemusement.
Their conversation ended and Dover was about to move on to find herself a drink when something paused her, physically. Stumbling forward when someone hit her from behind, she whirled around, and came face to face with their unwelcomed guest.
Oh. That's all he had to say for himself? No apology for his rudeness? No apology for barging in on their lives? No apology for slamming his stupid face into her? She did what she could to contort her face in to something semi-pleasant, but the smile she put on seemed more like a grimace.
"Oi," She greeted.
A noise of thought came from Ellison's throat, a baritone pur really, as he seemed to mull over what to say. The both of them looked out of place in the center of it all, but Ellison could only see what was different about them rather than what was alike. An apology was in order, but the question was how genuine?
"I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." The archeologist sighed, running a hand through his own messied blonde waves. He wasn't sure if she could understand what he was saying so he offered his hand in an effort for something a little more universal.
"I'm Ellison by the way." He noted. "Sorry again... I'll be more careful."
He wasn't the evil she made him out to be in her head, perhaps, as he did apologise and go to offer his hand out towards her. She eyed it with some suspicion, understanding him perfectly well but settling on her previous thought: she wouldn't tell him she was fluent in English.
Instead, she shrugged and gingerly took his hand, giving a small shake. It drew some suspicious sideways glances, so Dover perched up and kissed both of his cheeks, as was customary in Brazilian greetings.
The sideways glances were satisfied and continued on with their conversations.
"Dover," she replied, gesturing towards herself.
Ellison watched the woman with a quirked brow while she watched his hand with great distrust. Had he misstepped? The archeologist read a little booklet on the flight over, but as she surprised him with the kiss on his cheeks he quickly considered the idea that it had been just tourist bait.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dover." He went on to say, returning his hand to his side and still gripping his camera with the other.
He swallowed and his mind raced to find a line of conversation to take up. He was frazzled by it all, more than he would ever care to admit, but none of it showed in his expression. Instead Ellison just put on the same easy smile he always did, swaying lightly as he balanced his weight between the heels and ball of his feet.
"Do you speak English or am I just going to have to learn Brazilian real fast?"
For a split second, Dover considered indulging him and admitting her fluency in his mother tongue, but ultimately thought better of it. He seemed nice enough on the surface— but he'd just shown up in her house a few weeks after her grandfather passed. The man who had raised her like a daughter, dotted on her, and sent her things like postcards from all his adventures. The thought was like liquid cement solidifying in her gut. His man, Ellison, knew nothing; clearly all he cared about was his own career and success.
Feh. Asshole.
Shaking her head, she withdrew from him. "Brazilian?" She questioned with a scoff. He didn't even know what language they spoke. "Portuguese?"
"Portuguese." He repeated after her, smiling politely even through the first of many stumbles to come. If he hadn't misstepped with his hand he certainly misstepped now. Ellison nodded, before shaking his head and pointing at it with his free hand. "Sorry, sorry. Still not one hundred percent on... you know?"
Ellison paused, frowning. Did she know? He felt like he was talking to a wall. A wall in a pretty sundress. A wall, he quickly realized, at least understood him enough to berate him.
"This... dinner. Is it something that happens often?" The archeologist spoke slowly, but his eyes watched her with a focus.
It would have been very easy to fall into English and tell him how she really thought of him— but then, what fun would that be? She knew her relatives kept looking to her, expecting her to break into English at any moment, but she refrained. Dover bit down on the edge of her lip at his question, flicking her oceanic blue eyes back to the crowd of family members.
Her family were mingling around the kitchen table and all through the bottom floor of the house. They were telling stories and laughing. The adults carried beverages in their hand, while the children ripped around playfully underfoot.
Uncle Joao had thrown the whole spit pig on the fire after the beans had come off, and people were taking bites of food straight from the plate with their fingers. They licked them clean, and didn't bother with things like plates or utensils unless it was the bean stew.
"Dinner," she echoed after him. No, she thought, it didn't happen so often. A few times a year, but everyone wanted to come meet the American. Some of the younger, single women were eyeing him like he was the last dinner roll at a feast, giggling and whispering about his blonde hair and pale skin. The young men, meanwhile, watched him with disdain that he was the center of attention, even if it might not have seemed like he was.
Most were too afraid to approach him— too afraid of trying to communicate in English or interpretive dance to bother, but that didn't stop the stares. Dover was unique in the crowd herself, but to them, she was just Dover. She stopped being special some number of years ago.
Dover waved for Ellison to follow her towards the dining table that was brimming with various dishes— many constituted of rice, chicken, beans, corn, or some combination. Most were finger foods, and Dover reached over to peel a hunk of breast meat away from a whole cooked chicken and pop it into her mouth.
"Dinner."
Ellison's was a stranger to it all. Not just a stranger to Brazil where they spoke Portuguese, not just to the woman standing in front of him, but a stranger to the whole atmosphere of such a gathering. He was not used to the levity, to the quiet rumble of conversation and laughter among family. His own upbringing was stark, cold, and one that brought on a darkness he did not need weighing on him in that moment.
His mind went elsewhere, to those around him and their behavior. The stares were familiar at least. Whether it was Egypt or the Middle East, Alaska or Hawaii, it seemed within the nature of locals to want to see what exotic thing just came rolling in. Even if Ellison, in his dress shirts and shorts, considered himself anything but.
"Alright then." The archeologist cast aside his suspicions for the time being as Dover seemed to misinterpret his words. He didn't offer any resistance though, following the woman over to the dining table and watching her with a small grin on his face as she picked at the food. Ellison could hardly blame her, the food on the table looked sensational, an array of vibrant and hearty dishes plated on colorful ceramic. The American nearly followed her in suit, his hand and tongue twitching alike at the sight of the roasted chicken skin, but the sound of instruments playing redirected his attention rather quickly.
Just outside the kitchen, the yard that he had entered through was unsurprisingly filled with friends and family to the van Judes alike. Young children splashed about the pool, their older relatives gathering in circles to sing with their guitars and drink their spirits. A crowd of young women giggled at the sight of him while they danced and Ellison's brow raised along with the corner of his lips.
He cleared his throat quickly, turning back to Dover and motioning to the food with his camera. "May I?" He asked. The dinner and the air of life in Brazil would be a hell of an establishing shot for his documentary and notes.
She might not have liked the reasonings for the gathering, but even Dover could deny that she enjoyed the atmosphere. It was light and playful, loving, with the lush aromas of delicious food. The music and the dancing put a more genuine smile on her face, as did the chicken melting over her tongue as good as butter on a pan.
When she turned back to The American, he was busy motioning towards what Dover assumes was a camera but it was unlike anything she'd ever laid eyes on before. Narrowing her eyes at the device, she tilted her head and reached out for it.
Without permission, she ran the tips of her fingers over the lens cap and buttons. She wanted to get her hands on it, but once she realized who it belonged to, she yanked her hand away and gave him a nod of agreement, waving towards the food to welcome him to photograph it. She wanted to see the device in action.
Ellison watched her with a curiosity not entirely unlike the one she possessed herself at the sight of his camcorder. The American did not shy away as she motioned forward, his expression remaining pleasantly bemused as she examined and later pulled away. She gave her his consent and Ellison turned from her, flipping the side of the camera out to reveal a tiny blue screen. The archeologist pressed a red button on the other side of the device and the blue flickered out into a washed out image of the dining table with the date and time in the top right corner.
Ellison moved carefully and with purpose, pressing his eye through the traditional sight and first filming the food. The roast chicken, the steam rising from the rice, he went over all of it quickly before turning to capture the festivities all around them. When he slowed to a finish he landed on Dover and Ellison revealed that the side screen could flip entirely so their person in front of him could see exactly what was being filmed.
"Say hi?" He asked with a grin that was borderline playful.
Dover, beside herself with annoyance but badgering curiosity, didn't shy away as he dealt with his camera. He didn't seem to be taking pictures, she realized, but she couldn't quite make out what he was doing. It clicked then that it was a camcorder only after he began to sweep it back and forth. It'd been so long since she last saw one, or even thought about one, that it took a little while to register.
Solidão was archaic in its technology. It was povery-ridden, for one, and the people of the town were entrenched in ruts that went generations deep. Most held disdains for modern technology-- microwaves, televisions, computers. Such devices were making their way in from the larger cities by the younger generations, but the older people of the city resisted. As it were, their villa was technologically much more advanced than most homes, mostly because her grandpa brought all sorts of things back from his travels. She had a laptop, though it was mostly useless... there was no internet availability in the town. They'd only just gotten phone lines running through the city a few years back.
Hands propped up on to her hips, Dover continued to watch, startled when the camera turned to her and he flipped the screen so she could see her own image. It pleased her though, and she smiled, fascinated by all that could be done by the little device.
"Olá," she said, warmly. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers, hoping he'd trust her enough to let her try. "Posso?" she asked.
Ellison watched the image of Dover's smile through the lens of the camera. He cleared his throat, rising up to see it in person. His eyes trailed downwards to the hand extended out to him, returning to meet the woman's gaze with a hint of confusion.
"Posso?" He repeated after her. Ellison blinked once, twice, and his face lit up with recognition when he realized what she was asking of him. "Oh... oh... posso." He seemed to hesitate, pausing to glance at both her and the device. The archeologist wasn't sure what her intentions were.
He figured it couldn't hurt to find out. Ellison nodded and took a moment to slip is hand out of the strap, turning it over and placing it flat on her hand.
Dover looked to him with a look of twisted amusement at his response. "No," she clarified, pointing her finger into her chest. "Posso..." When her finger pointed at him, she clarified, "você pode." Not that her little grammar lesson would be any help to him, especially since she was still too wary of him to admit she could speak English.
Dover might not have liked the man, but she treated his device with the utmost care when he handed it over. She slid her fingers through the strap and looked it over, pressing a few buttons and seeing all the things it could do-- from zoom in to zoom out, to slow motion. It caused a genuine smile to settle over her face as she explored it. Given the opportunity, she would have taken a screw-driver to the small screws, but it wasn't hers, and her grandpa had invited the stupid man... she might not have liked him, but she loved her grandpa enough not to disrespect his death wishes.
It still stung to know that his last hours were spent writing to some random, rude American, and leaving nothing to his own flesh and blood.
Turning the lens of the camera back on Ellison. "Diga oi," she said, repeating what he had told her in English: say hello.
The quirk of Ellison's brow turned into bit of a furrow when Dover corrected him. He remained smiling gently all the while, as intrigued as he was confused by their interactions. He left her for a moment as she began to fiddle, grabbing a plate and piling both beans and rice atop of it. He had just shoved the first spoonful into his mouth when she called for him and Ellison spun on his heel in reaction. His look questioned her again, while his mouth was treated to the rich heartiness of authentic Latin food. He made a noise with his throat as he swallowed, shaking his head and coughing before he could oblige Dover.
"Hello." He grinned, a hand coming to his chest as some of the rice clearly went down the wrong pipe. He coughed again and continued with a bit of pain in his otherwise pleasant expression. "Welcome to Solidão."
Dover couldn't help but snort at his comment. Welcome, she thought... welcome he was not, that was for certain. Maybe she'd get lucky and he would end up as one of the individuals vanished from the village. Probably not, as all those that had vanished had been women. Yet, her eyes trailed to his crotch for just a second. Then again, depending on how much of a man he actually was...
Smirking in her own amusement, she slid the camera from her hand and extended it back to him to take. "Obrigada," she thanked him, minding her manners even if she didn't particularly like him. He had, after all, allowed her to see his camera and the least she could do was be polite to him about it.
Ellison was being polite just like she was. It was why he smiled, why he entertained her and handed over the camera. He was trying to be seem pleasant because all throughout his career that's what worked. It got him contacts, associates, and on some occasions... a little fun. You didn't have to like a person to socialize with them, not truly. Ellison, who only ever liked a few people, realized that quite early on.
He took the camera with a nod, sliding his hand through strap so he could eat without it getting in the way. He quickly threw another spoonful into his mouth, but only so it could delay the conversation further. As he swallowed, Ellison made a motion with his hand and nodded over to a group of rowdy uncles happily drinking the night away.
Another thing he learned very early on, was that alcohol made everything a little bit easier.
"Where do you keep the spirits?" He asked verbally, though Ellison wasn't quite sure why.
Dover didn't mind the silence. In fact, she turned back to make a small plate of beans, chicken, and rice for herself and ate it with a fork, humming contentedly at the rich taste one would never be able to get anywhere else. Some of the boys were out back, poking at the pig spit over beers, and some of the younger men were demonstrating their strength and charisma in a rousing game of back-yard Bocce. Kids were being given split open chunks of sugar cane, and were slobbering down the tasty treats while running all underfoot.
Most of the women, young and old, were tittering away in the kitchen, all of their eyes occasionally drifting towards Ellison. It was clear he was the main topic of conversation and juicy gossip.
Dover, meanwhile, began to gravitate towards the others, pausing only when Ellison turned back to her once again. She raised her eyebrows at him, deciding how much she wanted to pretend she understood when an idea struck her. She set down her plate for just a moment and went out to the backyard, where the men kept their bottles of hard liquor. Pouring out a shot--not a cocktail--of home-made sugarcane liquor, cachaça, she brought it to him wordlessly. She held the small shot-glass between her thumb and pointer finger, staring at him with a smirk of expectation.
As Dover left to procure him a glass, Ellison found himself quickly approached by others. Women introduced themselves to him with honeyed smiles and vibrant laughter, children looked at the white man with big brown eyes filled to the brim with wonder. He could only smile and gesture to his full plate at each and every person who came. It was incredibly awkward, but Ellison figured things could be worse. They could hate him but he also figured that the night was still young.
Dover returned and Ellison quickly decided that he did not trust the look on her face. He didn't trust the contents of the glass either, but a part of him wondered if not accepting the drink would have been something incredibly taboo. Either way the glass found itself between his fingers and he looked down at the murky liquor with both trepidation and interest alike.
Ellison set his plate aside and threw his head back. The burn was intense, but there was a sweetness to the shot like nothing he had tasted before. He came back down blinking, cheeks on fire like his throat. The archeologist was sent into another fit of coughs.
"Thanks." He muttered. "That...was uh. Wow. Is it supposed to burn this long? Shit."
The alcohol exemplified manliness, and Brazilian culture as a whole. Eyes watched what he did with the shot, but when he took it, smiles of agreement filled the faces of the van Judes and their family friends. Dover clapped him once on the shoulder, but stepped around him and ventured into the backyard. The yard was fenced off with a charming little fence separating the grass from the gardens down below. Beyond, the long rows of sugarcane stood branching towards the quickly darkening skies.
Evening turned quickly to night. Stars ripped across the blackness and torches were lit to provide just enough light for mingling. As more upbeat music began to play, men took their women out into the yard to dance barefoot. They shimmied and shook in intricate, intimate numbers, which were as sensual as they were playful.
Single men ventured up to women to ask them to dance, and Dover was among them.
Ellison placed one hand on the edge of the table, watching behind a thin filter of Brazilian-shot-induced tears as Dover walked around him and outside the door. He coughed and he sputtered for a little while but the man felt better as he found a glass of water to drink. Ellison finished up his plate of food and interacted a little more with those too reserved to go outside before he found himself meandering through those wooden doors himself. There was a lightness to his steps that had been missing before, a warmth that settled into his belly which egged him on to be more courageous.
And Ellison, as reserved and intellectual as he was, was already a courageous man to begin with. It took guts to do the work that he and Louis had done, to venture off for weeks at a time on a dig deep in the jungles of Madagascar with little more than a hand drawn map and a band of mercenaries to protect them from whatever animal stumbled upon their camp.
What was a simple party compared to that? Child's play. Or maybe that was just the drink thinking that. Ellison didn't know, he was pretty damn inebriated.
The American settled down on one of the patio chairs with a gruff breath. He watched from afar as partygoers moved and swayed to the beat, a streak of jealousy finding him at how easy the movement came to them. He was not a terrible dancer, but his feet could not match those movements even if he had a whole day to practice beforehand.
A woman approached him with a wild mane of black hair. She was one of the younger guests, but clearly adult in her pretty floral dress. She smiled sweet and introduced herself but Ellison didn't quite catch her name. She asked him to dance in broken English and Ellison surprised himself by agreeing. He rose and her hand found his, drawing him deeper and deeper into the crowd. Ellison danced with the lot of them, the heat of the movement and drink alike staining his shirt with a pleasant amount of sweat as he got lost in the rhythm of the music.
Dancing was a van Jude pastime. They worked themselves into sweat and laughter, dancing barefoot underneath the swatch of stars until grandma pulled the first flake of meat from the pig's flank and announced that it was done. Two of the young, strapping lads, both third cousins to Dover, went to pull the charred animal from the fire and threw it across the table. It was a whole pig, tied to a spit stake by its hooves; the only thing it was missing was the apple in its mouth.
There were no silverware served to help eat. Instead, people came and peeled chunks off with their fingers, nibbling small bites in-between dances and conversation. The tender meat was seasoned with a spicy sweetness, and pulled easy off the bone.
Dover, with a shimmer of sweat across her forehead, pushed the blonde locks of hair back and laughed in conversation with another as she went to the pig, peeling a small slip of meat right off the animal's cheek. Grandma van Jude stabbed out one of the deflated, cooked eyes from the beast and held it up on the fork. As she did, the crowd went silent and turned to her as she began to speak in Portuguese:
"We have a guest staying with us now, an American, a friend of my husband. I'm sure you've met him, but his name is Ellison. It is my and my late husband's wish that you take him in and treat him like family."
Dover crossed her arms over her chest, the easy smile fading away from her features.
"And for good luck, we give him the right pig's eye." The old woman turned towards Ellison, extending the fork towards him with an encouraging smile. "For... for you," she spoke, barely managing out the correct English words.
Ellison danced closely with the woman in the floral dress. She held his hands at eye level, their hips swaying and moving in unison while his blonde hair fell damp over his forehead once more. Together, they sweated happily and by the time the music died down Ellison was sobered up when he placed a playful little kiss on her cheek. Perhaps he had crossed a line with such an action, but she seemed more than happy to return the favor with a close hug. There in an exchange of whispers he asked for her name again and made sure to remember it this time.
Alongside Giovanna, Ellison made the return to the patio where a table had been set up for what he could only guess was the main event. He watched the sight curiously, it was not his first roasted pig but it was a grand one all the same. It looked rustic, some sections more cooked than others, but the smell was divine and brought on a grumble in his gut once more.
Ellison swallowed hard as he took note of Dover taking a strip. Like everyone else though, his attention was brought to their old hostess and he grew quiet. He struggled to understand, squinting as he tried to make out something familiar among all the vernacular. He heard his name and he blinked—the little nudge Giovanna gave him reassuring him that he had heard right. Ellison stepped forward, trying not to look sheepish as it dawned on him that tonight had been a way to welcome his arrival.
"You are too gracious." He thanked her calmly despite being anything but. He was nervous and the crowd of faces watching him with quieted expectation only made it worse. Ellison turned up them, his blue eyes washing over the crowd until they landed on Dover's. She looked unimpressed with him or at least that's what he thought. It caused something inside of him to shift, the resurgence of a competitive fire that drove him into the position of Louis van Jude's assistant, that drove him to where he stood today.
The American smiled warmly at the crowd before, with very little hesitation, he took the fork and ate the eye whole. A streak of juice ran down his lip at the first bite, the spiced taste surprising him but not deterring him from pumping a fist up happily.
Ellison swallowed and he spoke even though he was certain no one would understand him.
"Thank you, thank you. I feel welcome already."
Tired of the fact that there was a man standing in their house— a man who stole most of the relationship she could have had with her grandpa before he died, and tired with the fact everyone was loving and celebrating him, Dover quietly excused herself from the party. Everyone, too busy with cheering and admiring as the American age the eyeball of good luck, didn't notice the young woman's departure.
Heading to the front of the house, she slid out into the night and wrapped her arm back around herself and pulled the zipper down. Stepping out of her sundress, she walked towards the pool in nothing but her undergarments.
Submerging up to her thighs, Dover sank back and sank deep into the water until it lapped up over her cheeks and the bridge of her lip.
"Stupid man," she growled, letting the water pull away the stress. "Stupid, ugly man."
Ellison found himself showered with affection. It was a little overwhelming, men he never spoke to offering him shots, women approaching him in hopes of getting a little of what Giovanna got. The American barely had time to actually eat any of the roasted pig. He had gotten a few good tears in before deciding he had enough of the adoring public. Sucking his fingers clean of the fatty grease, he took a step to the side, doing his best to try and sneak away to his room. He moved through the crowd, pretending that he really needed a bathroom break in order to dissuade anyone from following him.
He was halfway up the stairs with a cast off glance caught her in the window. The pool, surprisingly enough, was unoccupied save for one soul. A soul, whose exterior was the closest to his within the next forty five mile radius.
"Dover?" He breathed, daring to pull himself away from the path back to his room so he could watch her for a moment through the open shutters. She was such an odd woman and Ellison still did not know why she alone stood out among her family. Was she adopted? How was she even tied to Louis? Ellison was curious, more than he would ever care to admit, and he found himself drawing closer.
He joined her outside in a courtyard that was undisturbed compared to the rest of the home. It was quiet, just the sound of her wading in the water combatting the faint sounds of the party behind them. He nearly called out to the woman before his foot tipped a clay pot, the small little ceramic breaking and Ellison jumping behind a nearby bush to not seem like a creep.
He quickly realized that a bush wasn't the smartest idea considering his intentions.
Dover ended up on her back. The cool water bouied her against the hot summer air until she was relaxed. The gentle splashes pulled all the stress from her body until all she could think about was how nice the breeze felt, and how funny the music sounded with her ears below the surface. She might have floated there forever if she could.
The shattering of ceramic against tile caused her to snap up. Her feet planted on the floor of the pool as she swam for the edge and pulled herself up on to it, flicking hesitantly through the darkness and falling out for whoever was there to stop being stupid.
No one replied, but the bushes rustled and Dover furrowed her brow. Thinking it was one of her younger cousins playing a prank, she marched towards them and yanked back the green boughs.
The face was not of a guilt Juliana or Marcio, but of the American. For the second time that day, he'd seen her in less than appropriate attire. Squeaking in surprise, blushing too hard to be angry, Dover yelped and tucked her arms across her bra.
Ellison found himself in an incredibly awkward situation. He supposed he couldn't claim full innocence, he had made the conscious decision to step outside after all. His intentions were far from lecherous however and it was a great shame that he wouldn't be able to explain that to Dover in a way she would understand.
"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." The archeologist began as calmly as he could. He stepped out into the open with her but made sure that his eyes did not wander. In fact, his gaze remained firmly locked with hers, but only because he had nothing to hide. Anything beyond honesty would only make things more awkward.
"I was just on my way up and I saw you out here. I didn't mean to catch you off guard but I didn't see the uh... pot." Ellison went on to explain, sheepishly motioning towards the little plant that had fallen on its side. He sighed, slicking back the blond tousles that had gone astray during the party.
He closed his eyes and pointed back toward the door. "You probably don't understand a single thing I'm saying but I was not creeping, I swear. I'll just leave and pretend this never happened."
Dover stood staring at Ellison like a deer caught in headlights. The party was still roaring in the background, so she hadn't expected him, of all people, to be there. A large part of her wanted to yell at him for being such a weird creep about the whole situation, but what was she supposed to do? She was standing in front of him in her undergarments, clinging her hands to her tiny frame, all wet and drippy.
There wasn't much she could say, unless she unleashed a torrent of English on him and she wasn't ready to admit her language capabilities to him yet... or ever.
Gulping down a huge lump in her throat, she flickered her eyes towards the shattered pot as he explained and waved towards it. "Uhhh..." was all she managed to mutter out before clearing her throat, the shade of red in her cheeks deepening to a near-neon tone. "Ok."
"Ok?" Ellison repeated after her, dumbfounded. He expected to be attacked verbally at the very least, but instead it seemed she was content to let him go.
For now, anywyays.
"Ok." He repeated a little more firm this time around. He wasn't about to stick around and see Dover change her mind. Judging from Louis' letter, Ellison would be here for a long while. He didn't need to make that any harder than it was. "Alright, I'm going. This never happened. What happened? I have no idea." The archeologist cleared his throat once more before turning on his heel and walking away briskly.
Ellison went up the stairs, through the hall and into his room, locking it behind him. He figured Dover would come up soon so he took the opportunity to shower—stripping himself quickly only to realize that he had broken his camera when he jumped into the bush. He cursed openly at the revelation, but had no time to fix it until tomorrow. Ellison showered, quickly, in fear of a third awkward run in between them. After he slipped into a pair of boxers and fell onto the bed. The party went on for sometime, but when it ended Ellison could not know... by then he was long out in hopes of resting up for a rather busy first day.