Home sweet home [CLOSED]

Apartment hunting was slow going and fruitless, so for the time being Raphael had set up camp in his office. At the moment it was a controlled clutter of patient charts, paperwork, and junk mail strewn across his desk and slowly accumulated on the floor. The other side of the small room held a couch which doubled as a bed, three boxes of folded clothes (suits, slacks and dress shirts were all on hangers that dangled from a wire that ran from one wall to the other.) and an end table full of art supplies and reference books. The walls were kept bare save for the small feathered dream catcher that a Cree woman had given him in exchange for a painting years ago; that was carefully pinned over the sofa.

Raphael had smuggled a bottle of water from the break room earlier and snapped the plastic safety seal, padding barefoot back to his desk. He checked the watch that rested on the corner and readjusted the alarm, tomorrow was a day off and there was no need to wake up at three. Swishing the chair around backwards (per usual) he sat, running his hands through his hair and tugging it back into a loose pony. The night was still fairly young but he was already in lounge pants and a black tee, determined to make some progress on the slow ebb of piled up work before it overcame him.

Caroline was very rarely on the night shift. Taking care of patients during the day was one thing. Night, however, was a different story. More screams, more haunting voices, more chances that even her own mind would throw in a good scare. But this... this wasn't exactly work. She was still in her scrubs, but she had clocked out. In the time that it normally would have taken her to get from the nurse's station to her car, she found herself outside his office.

Dr. Gives Light. A man who had been forced into submission by the same man who cornered her and tried to assert her inferiority to him, now on multiple occasions. At least, to her. However she tried to reason it, it seemed that Dr. Gives Light and her were in the same area, and had no reason to believe otherwise. The topic of Dr. Mori's offenses were sure to arise, of this much she was sure. But for now, Caroline came simply as a coworker welcoming another. She held a sketchbook and some colored pencils in her hand, raising the other to knock twice on the office door.

"Dr. Gives Light? Are you in there? It's me, Caroline. I've brought your unofficial welcome gift." She had hoped it wouldn't come across as some sort of bribery, just an innocent gift built on what little foundation of knowledge she possessed of the man. Even so, she was not blind enough to deceive herself into believing that wasn't at least some part of it. Friends among coworkers were more beneficial to have than enemies.

The knock was sudden and startling, causing the Native to curse under his breath as he incidentally pushed a large pile of paperwork scattering from the desk. Backing from the chair, he crossed the room and cracked the door revealing a doe eyed girlish face smiling back at him. Caroline huh? He had to be honest that she was the last person he'd expected to be on the other side of the door frame.

"'Evening," he addressed her warmly, opening the door the rest of the way and stepping back. As he wasn't particularly fond of private conversations in hallways, he invited her in. "Please pardon the clutter, I'm still getting settled in. Can I get you some coffee?"

His first order of business was to gather up the fallen papers on the floor and toss them back to the desk to sort through later. He then strode across the room and plugged in an old and beat up looking coffee machine; a personal friend that helped him to stay up when the nights called for it. The couch also required him to snatch books and loose papers from the cushions before she could sit. In addition, he hastily took up an old wooden flute that lay in the creases; this possession was sacred and it was plain to see in his body language and the gentle way he held it, looking for a safe place for storage.

"Don't worry, I plan to add to it, actually. Sorry for dropping in so suddenly." She waved the sketchbook and package of colored pencils. A fond smile formed her features as she entered, a tiny giggle entwining with the breath that left her as she looked around. "Coffee's fine, thank you." She liked the smell of offices, and she liked the way they often felt. They had a certain air of dignity about them that the nurses' station didn't quite have. Even messy, it felt more like work than just mess.

Taking the seat created for her, she sat on the couch, still holding her gift in her lap as if unsure where such a thing belonged. It was a form of being courteous, she supposed, to allow him to decide where things belonged as opposed to helping him clean. She didn't need the whole room clean, and what little he'd done had been just enough. She assumed it was, as her grandmother called it, chaotic organization; everything was a mess, but he could probably find what was important when he needed it.

"Do you play, or is it a cherished possession that goes woefully silent?" she asked, motioning to the flute the man held as if it were glass. "I don't play anything myself, but I've wanted to learn." In truth, there was nothing stopping her from that endeavor but herself. She hadn't really found it a priority, just something to become frustrated at learning.

Raphael waved her apology away. More so he was just slightly embarrassed at the sorry state of his office. He liked to stay busy and likewise that made it hard to pay too much attention the ongoings inside his room. A small grin played on his features when she asked him about the flute. It was his grandfather's design and handiwork; one of the few things besides fading memories that was left after the man died.

"I play. Mostly for myself but I usually get recruited for different dances in the regional pauwaus," He paused, looking back towards Caroline. It was just a harmless sentence but would she even understand it? It was no hidden fact that Raphael was Native. It was plain as day on his features and even in the way he chose to wear his hair now and then. That being said, few actually knew he grew up on a reservation, that he wasn't 100% assimilated into "white" society. His heritage and his people's ways of life were painfully important to him.

Wickedness gleamed in his eye as he licked his lips and brought the flute to them. It was a soft and achingly comforting sound and it would have been magically had he not started to play Johnny Cash's 'Ring of Fire'. He didn't get too far into it before it was even too absurd for him and he chuckled a bit.

He didn't bother to comment on his own foolishness, instead he gestured to the sketchbook in her hands. "You've come to assign me some art therapy?"

Caroline was about to ask what a regional pauwau was, when the man started playing a familiar tune. A girlish, playful grin laced her lips as the man played. She wasn't sure what she was expecting the man to play, but Johnny Cash didn't first come to mind when she thought of the flute. Even so, Raphael stopped his playing all too soon, his own laughs meeting hers. He was a good man, this much was obvious.

"If you'd want it, it's yours. I figured you could shade and color better with colored pencils rather than crayons, at least. Though, I've never actually seen your work, so I don't know if you'd be any good," she teased, lazily holding out her offering to him. "What's a regional pauwau? I've never heard of that before. Sounds interesting, though. Are those held on reservations?" She was genuinely curious. Despite having lived in Arizona her whole life, she'd never ventured far from the cities she lived in, other than France.

Native American culture seemed like a whole different world to her. She'd been to museums of course, but there is a difference between watching videos of the culture and looking at paintings of them versus actually feeling and living it. French culture was easy to understand, not that she'd had much time to practice it other than learn bits and pieces of the language. Even so, Native American culture had a completely distant sort of culture.

What's a regional pauwau? That could be a loaded question. Most people had a generic idea of what a pauwau was. Unfortunately, the idea was usually taught improperly in public schools; then again so was a lot of the history that was being handed down to children. "First of all, yes, it's a reservation thing. It's like a party where neighboring tribes come together to dance, listen to stories and well, eat. There's always those that only come for the frybread." The Native grinned a bit.

At that time, Raphael excused himself to answer the call of the percolators insistent beeping. Upon retrieving a cup for the nurse, he also brought with him a handful of sugar packages all wrapped with different colors. He knew some people were picky with their sweetener, while He, on the other hand, drank it straight from the pot, whether hot or cold, fresh or three days old.

When he finished being a somewhat decent host, he remained quiet and sat on the floor.... Indian style. Raphael wouldn't ever call himself secretive, but he didn't dole out information unless specifically asked or if he felt it was necessary. And he was never quite sure if questions about his heritage were genuine curiosity or just good mannered small talk. He found the best way to not indulge too much information to someone who didn't care was to go ahead and play twenty questions with them.

Caroline may or may not have noticed him glossing over the art intrigue.

Caroline did, in fact, notice he mentioned nothing of his art. Quickly, it was let go. If he didn't want to mention it, she assumed there was a reason. This wasn't an interrogation, after all, and he wasn't one of her patients that she was trying to get information about. The need to pressure him into showing her his art, something that contained what was translated from thought to a page, wasn't hers to have. Not to say it didn't make her nosy to think about what was inside, but she did manage to refrain.

Thank you, she said, raising the glass, but turning away the sweetener. It was true, she was picky, but she preferred organic whole cane sugar, which she knew was unavailable to her. Instead, she took it black, which she rarely did, except in the company of her grandmother or on rushed mornings. She'd learned to like the taste, much like one learns to like the taste of scotch. She didn't question his decision to sit on the floor, instead busying herself by tasting the coffee. It was good, at least.

"That sounds really amazing, actually. I didn't know that such a thing happened. Are there still tribes that are at ends with each other? I imagine there wouldn't be, or at least they wouldn't be invited to any regional pauwaus. Sorry if I'm being offensive, it's just... the only time I've been to a reservation was once in grade school. I had some honey frybread, I thought it was really good. We didn't really learn much about culture, though." She took another sip, reminding herself to use Raphael's coffee maker should she ever forget her tea or juice.

"There's the Nice Carnival in France, but it usually includes millions of people from all around the world for three weeks, so I can't imagine it's too much like that." Not that she'd been to either cultural event, but still. She'd been given trinkets bought by her grandmother from the carnival, so, at least she wasn't totally out of the loop.

Raphael took his time sipping from his own mug of bitter black coffee. "History has been a little distorted when it comes to warring tribes." He offered. War among tribes was nothing more than a glorified game of capture the flag - or in their case, horse. The crow nation were usually out for blood when offended but the rest of the plains tribes busied themselves stealing horses and tagging group leaders when the itch for extracurricular activity burned. "For the most part everyone gets along." When you're shoved into a small space of land you have to learn to get along together.

He listened intently to her when she talked about France. To be honest, Native schools didn't teach anything about white history or culture. Typically those born on the reservation stayed on the reservation and what you learned were the ways to keep the reservation operating and laws to exploit when the government encroached.

"Three weeks would be one hell of a pauwau... What do these millions of people have in common that they can all participate at Carnival? What do the people do?"

"Nice is the motherland of all French carnivals. It's got a whole array of festivities like flower parades, floats of whatever you can think of, and gigantic cardboard masks. It's supposed to be about discovering the art of living along the French Riviera and how pretty Nice is as a city. Or, at least, that's how my grandmother sees it, I don't know if that's true." She waved off the subject, taking another sip of coffee.

"How are you settling into Acropolis so far, Dr. Gives Light? Other than the small house you've made of your office, of course." Caroline knew how hard it was to find a decent place to live that was nearby and didn't have an extensive amount of problems in it. Even Caroline's apartment had shifty water pressure that was either nonexistent or Niagara Falls. She'd learned to live with it.

In the meantime, she studied the man. She hadn't really wanted to stare at him before. Staring was rude, this was a general courtesy. But she was interested in his features. Had she been a painter, she might have wanted to paint him. It was very unlike her to judge appearances, since she cared very little of her own, but Raphael was certainly handsome.

The Native winced slightly. He knew she wasn't poking fun or intending to embarrass him, but it did nonetheless and he ran his hand down over his ponytail in a nervous gesture. "I know it's not the most ideal. Technically, I'm pretty sure this isn't exactly allowed either, so..." He pulled his index finger to his lips, silently asking her to keep his situation on the down low.

It wasn't as if Raphael needed a certain standard of amenities, by all rights he was quite used to living in what most would consider sub-par conditions. Hell, the idea of indoor plumbing hadn't even been introduced to him until college. What the actual problem was, that even the most rickety old apartment simply cost too much. And it wasn't as if the pay at Acropolis wasn't average but his paychecks were fed straight back to Nettlebush and into the hands of the people that required it. Raphael figured he'd bend the rules as needed if it benefited his tribe.

So how was he settling in here? Well, that was another loaded question. "It's... different," he answered, which was quite the understatement. "Lots of different personality types to work around."

Of course he thought of Mori, taking another drink of coffee. He was definitely different and much more intriguing than anyone else he'd encountered yet. Excruciating difficult, but intriguing.

Then there were his patients as well. Lilith, who was overcoming addiction and needed encouragement; Matthew, the angry boy who would be better off on medication; Jiho, the artist that seemed to be progressing nicely. Everyone here needed a different approach and navigating them could prove to be tricky but it was a part of the job Raphael actually enjoyed.

He paused in his thoughts, realizing he'd been quietly lost in them for some time now. Glancing up, he caught Caroline studying him, not unlike the way he often studied others. "Learning anything?" He grinned quickly before his stoic expression settled in again.

"If you need a place to stay, I've got a pull-out couch that would probably be a lot nicer than this one. More your size, you know? You'd just have to deal with my cat, and he's pretty spot on at being a good boy. At worst, he'll probably just get fur all over your coat. I'm also not a maid, so if you do consider it, you're going to have to clean up after yourself. I don't mind the extra company, otherwise." Shrugging, she took another sip of coffee. She knew what it was like to send money to family. She'd done it for her grandmother on occasion, mostly for her yearly visits.

"Working at a mental institution, who knew it would be so filled with personality?" A knowing snicker made tiny waves in her mug. She'd been working here for years and still wasn't entirely sure she had it down, what with the mysteries, weird relationships, and Matthew with his stupid pretty eyes and perfect teeth and just damn this place. She could leave, if she wanted to, but she never did want to, for whatever reason.

"Your skin is pretty, is all. And your hair. You're just kind of pretty, in general." Lazily, she averted her eyes, burying herself in the coffee. Perhaps if she made herself small enough, she'd be able to hide behind the mug. She wasn't privy to being shy about what she was thinking, but it might make him think she was coming on to him, which she certainly wasn't trying to do. With what little spark of courage she had left, she returned her gaze to his face. "Do you moisturize? Because if you do, I have got to switch to whatever you use."

Hot coffee scorched through his lungs as he foolishly inhaled sharply while taking a drink. Immediately he was coughing and nearly doubled over. His large, paw-like hand covered his lips as he adverted his eyes, shock easily apparent in his turned features. Was she honestly entertaining a cohabitation? He mumbled a soft apology, no doubt she took his reaction the wrong way.

In his culture women invited men to live with them only with the intention of marrying them.

Caroline couldn't have known but the surprise still bowled him over and after catching his breath, he still sat dumbfounded. A feeling and an expression that deepened when she complimented his looks. That was a new experience, really. Non-Natives simply didn't call him 'pretty'. Non-Natives simply didn't call him anything. Raphael had become quite good at living his life outside of Nettlebush in a constant stream of strictly business-only relationships and invisibility.

It didn't happen often but Raphael found himself at a loss for words. He was a relatively quiet man as is but his silence was always meaningful. This time his silence was full of folly. Clearing his throat a final time, he offered her a small grin and a timid "Thank you. I guess the sun merely loves the Valley People. Our skin weathers nicely."