𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 | 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝑵𝑬𝑼𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑰𝑪

𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 𝘛𝘞𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘠-𝘖𝘕𝘌

☼

"You can sit, if you'd like."

Deanna Monroe was looking at Delaney from behind the sofa, from where she stood beside a tripod holding a camera. That alone made Delaney feel entirely too exposed, yet the woman in all of her five-foot glory looked to Del with no little amount of kindness. It was overpowering in a way. To see genuine interest that didn't appear to be hiding some kind of fouler intention.

The house was big. It was pristine and pretty, and the room they were in was certainly lived in. It had books stacked on windowsills, spilling out of the already full bookcases. There was photo's of Deanna's family on the mantle piece and ornaments and all sorts of sentimental things visible to the naked eye. It was overwhelming. So far it was making Delaney uncomfortable, because this was someone's home. Her eyes swept across the room, over and over as she paced back and forth behind the single armchair like some cornered animal.

She didn't fit in places like this. Hell, she didn't think she'd ever stepped foot in a home as nice and polished as this one.

The camera was recording already. The red light blinking on and off as Delaney refused to sit herself within it's lens. So far Deanna had been patient, more than most would have. Delaney paced because she felt trapped, a growing unsettled feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. It wouldn't go away with kind invitations and smiles, because places like this - pristine, pretty, white picket fences, they were never her kind of thing.

She was too poor for that sort of thing. She lived like trailer trash, stereotypical and very much real. She had never seen glimpses of neighborhoods like this one, and that alone was a big leap. The world outside of these rust coloured walls were nearer to her home life, and that said something...didn't it?

"Do I make you uncomfortable, Ms. Dixon?"

There was the barest of pauses, "You, nah."

Delaney had been honest at least. Deanna wasn't the problem here and Del knew that. It was her surroundings and the implication of it all. Exhaling, she turned her head to look at the shorter woman. She exuded authority in way that Del was inexperienced with. If she had to guess at a former job, she'd pick a title like town mayor or something equally as dedicated. Hell, even now, Deanna wore the clothes of a spokesperson.

"...Then perhaps it is my home?" Deanna seated herself on the sofa opposite. A wooden coffee table separated them and with a glance Delaney noted the water glasses and the book with just the peak of a bookmark sticking out it's pages. "You have nothing to fear here, Ms. Dixon."

Delaney lent forward then, resting her arms over the back of the armchair. Her gaze was scrutinizing at best, looking Deanna up and down as if she could figure out her goal. With the slightest twitch of her lip as if she had found something funny, Del spoke.

"I've had people tell me similar before. Nothing ta fear. Nothing ta worry 'bout..." Traces of humor left and Delaney's features softened a little. She thought of Terminus. She thought of Scout. Scout - he was told he had nothing to fear, wasn't he? Beth too - nothin' to fear dear, you're going to see your sister...