[ Amos Burton does not — get hugged. It's not that he's never been on the receiving end of one his entire life, but as a general rule, this is not a familiar thing for him in any way. The action is known, understood, recognized, but it might as well be a foreign language to him for how little he's experienced it; more rarely, ever given one. He just...doesn't. Though not expecting the touch at all, Amos doesn't so much recoil or pull away, as simply remain frozen in place, like some wiring has glitched and needs a reset and he's not sure what to do next so he doesn't do anything at all.
The feeling part of him is the part that he's less in touch with, not easily connected to, and if he was, maybe, his response would have been quicker, more immediate, more obvious. His logic and practicality, his mind (and less his heart) are what generally guide him, and that's enough to keep him there in the moment because she's hugging him and maybe it's something she needs to do and wants to do, and it doesn't upset him that it happens. Nothing important is lost because she hugs him. So — this is okay, he decides. Just as he gets to that point in his head, he starts to consider maybe he should respond, too. That it's the kind of thing people do, and he should try it. But she pulls back and he hasn't gotten to that part yet — to mimicking the motion of her arms, testing it, seeing if he gets it right and this is a thing he should repeat, wants to repeat.
That's fine, though, he reasons, because they need to get out of here.
Something he files away distantly in his mind is that she's the kind of person who hugs people freely, people she doesn't even know. Someone she's just met in this weird building. He's not going to go deep examining why she did it, other than just a feeling of relief, but she did it, is the thing. She hugs people and he trusts her for the length of time they're in this space together. That counts for something.
As she speaks, Amos listens, takes it all in, comes to the same conclusion. He's not the type to toss out words of comfort or positivity, though. Best he can do is — ]
That message got posted around — we ain't the only ones who saw it.
[ These aren't words for the sake of them, and they feel real enough to be a possibility. He feels like he sees it, maybe. Something a person like her probably has at least — a little more than he does. That kind of thinking where you know shit is fucked, but you believe there's a chance it can work out. While Amos doesn't believe they're completely screwed, he's less about having hope or not. Something will happen or it won't, and he's not the type to get stuck holding onto one belief or the other. He just wants to know what he's dealing with.
But something happened to her before, and the situation they're in still isn't better. They're still stuck here. That trapped feeling is still like a heavy grip around him, but he's finding that the more he focuses on trying to distract her, the more that feeling eases. So, he'll keep her talking. Maybe it'll keep something going in her. That, at least, is one thing he can possibly semi-control in all of this.
At the same time, he's thinking through all of their options right now while they wait. He hates that, feeling like he can't do anything but wait. So he rummages around in his pocket, pulling out his car keys. It's raining so heavy outside, he figures it won't help much, if at all, but it's more than he was doing a moment ago. So he stays in front of the window, holding his keys up to it, trying to catch some kind of light maybe, to reflect off the keys when the lightning flashes. If anyone comes by, they could see it. So he rocks his keys back and forth near the glass, while he looks over at her, to keep her talking, keep her with him. ]
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The feeling part of him is the part that he's less in touch with, not easily connected to, and if he was, maybe, his response would have been quicker, more immediate, more obvious. His logic and practicality, his mind (and less his heart) are what generally guide him, and that's enough to keep him there in the moment because she's hugging him and maybe it's something she needs to do and wants to do, and it doesn't upset him that it happens. Nothing important is lost because she hugs him. So — this is okay, he decides. Just as he gets to that point in his head, he starts to consider maybe he should respond, too. That it's the kind of thing people do, and he should try it. But she pulls back and he hasn't gotten to that part yet — to mimicking the motion of her arms, testing it, seeing if he gets it right and this is a thing he should repeat, wants to repeat.
That's fine, though, he reasons, because they need to get out of here.
Something he files away distantly in his mind is that she's the kind of person who hugs people freely, people she doesn't even know. Someone she's just met in this weird building. He's not going to go deep examining why she did it, other than just a feeling of relief, but she did it, is the thing. She hugs people and he trusts her for the length of time they're in this space together. That counts for something.
As she speaks, Amos listens, takes it all in, comes to the same conclusion. He's not the type to toss out words of comfort or positivity, though. Best he can do is — ]
That message got posted around — we ain't the only ones who saw it.
[ These aren't words for the sake of them, and they feel real enough to be a possibility. He feels like he sees it, maybe. Something a person like her probably has at least — a little more than he does. That kind of thinking where you know shit is fucked, but you believe there's a chance it can work out. While Amos doesn't believe they're completely screwed, he's less about having hope or not. Something will happen or it won't, and he's not the type to get stuck holding onto one belief or the other. He just wants to know what he's dealing with.
But something happened to her before, and the situation they're in still isn't better. They're still stuck here. That trapped feeling is still like a heavy grip around him, but he's finding that the more he focuses on trying to distract her, the more that feeling eases. So, he'll keep her talking. Maybe it'll keep something going in her. That, at least, is one thing he can possibly semi-control in all of this.
At the same time, he's thinking through all of their options right now while they wait. He hates that, feeling like he can't do anything but wait. So he rummages around in his pocket, pulling out his car keys. It's raining so heavy outside, he figures it won't help much, if at all, but it's more than he was doing a moment ago. So he stays in front of the window, holding his keys up to it, trying to catch some kind of light maybe, to reflect off the keys when the lightning flashes. If anyone comes by, they could see it. So he rocks his keys back and forth near the glass, while he looks over at her, to keep her talking, keep her with him. ]
What'd you drive here in?