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Doesn't look like this rain is quitting any time soon.
Through her hair, she stares up for a bit, hoping for any sign of it waning.
Under the QC Diner's roof, she leans back and sighs to herself. Then, she takes out a small, yellow book, skimming through the pages with a furrowed brow.
Quite some time has passed, the rain has not let up.
Susie is sitting down, her legs crossed on the floor, cheek held up from boredom with one hand, while the other keeps turning pages.
Her half-lidded eyes come to a stop, and her maw gives, the slightest bit of surprise to her.
"Oh, shit."
She brings the book close to her face, reading through it.
"That's..."
Squinting, she looks off into the distance.
"...Not exactly close."
"...Ughhh..."
"Fine."
"Fine."
She pockets the small, yellow book, and sighs to herself, gathering courage.
Before venturing out into the rain.
Her mood immediately sours the moment she starts getting drenched, but she does not stop.
"O--oh, my goodness, you..."
"Please, please, come in."
"No, I just..."
"Hi."
"I just came here to deliver something."
"Miss... you're soaking wet. Please, come in, dry yourself off."
"I--... I really should be going."
"Listen. Miss. Wherever it is you need to go afterwards, I can give you a ride."
Susie, drenched, stands at the entrance of an apartment building, hair sagging down in wet clumps, her clenched, pissed off expression betraying any subtleties about her current mental state.
But, with that last sentence, she seems to unwind a little.
"Y--you... you can?"
The turtle offers a smile, taking a step back towards his house.
"Of course. Please, I will get some towels ready. There is also a hot shower, though I can't promise my clothes will fit you."
"You... you know what, screw it. Fine."
She steps in, not before discarding the wet brick of pages that used to be a book, ten minutes ago.
The priest's abode is interesting, to say the least. An atrium of an art study, with a small wooden balcony for... students? to take notes from. The central portion of this room has a raised wooden platform... but it has a few lecterns on it, like it's just another space for painting or writing.
Susie freezes up a bit, realizing the priest has been frozen in a gesturing position towards the bathroom, not really... calling for her attention or anything. Suppressing a throat-clear of awkwardness, she walks through, with the slightest of head nods in his direction.
Alvin stares towards the studio that hung onto Susie's eyes, his eyes tracing over the one lectern he cares the most for.
Hearing the water turn on, in the other room, he retrieves cleaning supplies, and gets on to drying the mess Susie made on her way in.
"H--hey, uhm... I don't know if I should be..."
"Sue, was it?"
"Susie."
"Right. Apologies. Susie."
"Some of these are my old clothes, from when I was younger."
"I picked the ones I thought would fit you better."
"You didn't really... n--nee..."
"Though, do be aware."
"I used to have a rather large shell in high school. Some of these might be... torn."
"Oh."
She holds one up.
"Yeah I see what you mean."
"Uh. Thanks."
"Please. You are my guest."
A hot shower and a (mostly) fitting change of clothes later, and Susie seems mellowed out.
If sleepy.
She stretches, stepping out, and actually looking over the study that sits mostly unused. A nearby broom sits with a fresh sweeping's bounty sitting on its foot. Seems this place gets cleaned up a lot.
Noticing the priest, standing in front of the kitchen wall, in front of a table with tea and... pastries, she approaches.
"You, uh, draw?"
"Me? Oh, no, no. Ha ha. That is my late father's study. I just enjoy keeping it tidy."
"Why do you..."
"Umm, you made tea."
"Yes, please, it is for you."
"..."
"...Alright."
She approaches a chair, and briefly pauses when Alvin pulls the chair out for her.
"I, uh. I got it."
Susie sits.
"Umm, people gotta tell ya to sit down?"
"Hm?"
"Sit down, man, I want to... I want to talk to you."
"Right. Apologies."
She smirks in annoyance at that, but doesn't make a mention of it.
"So, uh, you're Alvin, right?"
"Oh, I never introduced myself, where are my manners."
"Yes, I am Alvin, son of Gerson Boom."
"And I believe you are one of Kris's friends, and miss Alphys' student."
"Right. Yeah."
"Ugh. Has she been talking about me again...?"
"Miss Alphys? No, no."
"I just keep good correspondence with Miss Toriel."
"She speaks highly of you."
Susie looks around, idly rolling the tea between both palms.
"...Huh."
"Well, uh, I'm here to deliver something."
"Well... whatever it was, I'm sure it could have waited until day, but..."
"I can't say I'm not intrigued."
"Though, why wade through the rain for it?"
"Well, mainly, because you don't have a phone number, man."
"Oh."
"I had been meaning to"
"I"
"..."
"So you endured that storm because of me."
His mood sours just a little, in Susie's eyes. For someone this clean and collected, she's surprised to see such a pang of guilt form at the ridges of his eyes.
"N--no, man. No. Look."
"Look."
"I did this... because of me."
"Mostly."
"Really, it could have probably waited till whenever but."
She sighs, leans back, and starts sipping from the tea.
Then stops.
"Did you... is this chocolate?"
"O--oh, are you allergic? apologies, I... I have something for th--"
"No, man, sit back down. It's cool. I'm just..."
"God."
"It's fine."
"I like it."
"Chill out for a second."
"Very well."
"Yes, I put chocolate in it."
"But it's mostly tea."
"That's..."
"Cool."
"I didn't know you could put chocolate in tea."
Alvin smiles. Susie suppresses her own in response, looking off towards the study.
She tries to talk, but elects, in a sudden and unprompted burst of wisdom, to let the silence hang for a moment.
She looks towards the one lectern, seeing it's definitely bigger than the rest.
And the canvas is... a little torn.
The old man didn't seem to be a big fan of subtlety, it seemed.
She smirks.
This does get Alvin's attention, seeing the purple girl stare longingly into one of his old man's possessions.
He looks with a slightly concerned, though mostly curious, stare.
Susie notices, and shrinks back a bit, in her seat, staring at her cup.
"I..."
"I have a letter for you."
"A... letter."
"Yes."
"Miss, I know you are... relatively new in town, but, you do know we have a postal system, right...?"
"Yeah, but."
"I, uh."
"Wanted to deliver it myself."
"It is from... you."
"...myeah."
"I see."
He leans back a little, letting Susie take the stage.
Instead, she takes a pastry and full-on consumes it in a single bite, filling her mouth.
Alvin patiently waits for her to finish chewing, eyes tracing around the edges of the home.
"So, umm..."
She pats at her pockets.
Different pants.
"Oh shoot."
"I mean, shit."
"I mean... I mean shoot."
She stands and fast-walks towards the bathroom, prompting an eyebrow raise from the priest.
"Sorry, sorry sorry. I just... left it..."
She shuffles through her old pile of wet clothes.
"...in..."
She retrieves the little freezer bag in her pocket.
"...here."
...It seems the bag wasn't closed correctly, and the letter is a half-solid piece of wet slop.
She stares at it for a moment, half-crouched, before dropping it and banging her forehead against her palm a few times.
She silently growls at herself.
With a twitching snout, she stands back up, staring at yet another failure of hers.
Susie turns, walking past the art studio.
She stares at the lecterns, the balcony, the unused hearth.
What made her think she could do anything right?
She steps up onto the atrium, and goes to the back, where bookshelves span up to the ceiling, around the fireplace.
She sees a small table in front of the dead hearth.
"I guess I..."
It's not a table.
It's an anvil, with a green cloth draped over it.
She takes a deep breath, and turns.
"I'll have to deliver it myself. Verbelly."
"...I see."
"Who is it... from...?"
Susie jumps off the stage, a smile plastered on her face.
"I think you don't need to know that."
"A--alright..."
Her confidence drains, now that she's standing in front of Alvin, but a quick crack of her knuckles gets her moving.
"Alvin."
"It's..."
"..."
"Your old man was proud of you."
He leans back, a skeptical look to him. Yet he does not interfere with the message.
"The reason he didn't go to church alot--"
He raises his finger, but quickly shrinks back. No time to make corrections.
"--... is because he wanted you to follow your dream."
"And, uh."
"He's sorry he never like."
"Said that right."
"..."
"Write your own stories."
"Even if they suck."
"Ass."
"Or if they're not perfect or something."
"A..."
"A friend."
"The letter was from a friend."
Alvin is leaning uncomfortably away, but slowly takes his seat once more, sniffing stoically.
Susie's confidence plummets after the deed is done, feeling like her fists weigh a couple of tons.
"...I..."
"I should see myself out, now."
"I'll, uh..."
She takes a few steps towards the bathroom, and starts gathering her clothes.
"Rain stopped. I'm just..."
"Thanks for the clothes."
"I'll, um."
"Give them back tomorrow."
"Miss."
"No, no, it's fine I..."
"I don't know what I was thinking, man."
"This was a stupid idea but."
"I don't know."
"Needed to get it off of my chest or something."
"Whatever."
"Don't believe it."
"Or... or whatever."
She flinches.
Apparently Alvin can be very sneaky, when he wants to.
For a hand is on her shoulder, causing her to freeze up.
"It is alright, miss."
"Susie."
"Your words did not hurt me."
"Nor did they seem to have that intent."
"..."
"Though I wonder what the... expectation behind them were"
"They were very sweet"
"And made better"
"By the fact that you felt the need to say them to me with such urgency."
"See, what the hell...?"
She stands, and turns.
"I don't know what the hell he was talking about."
"Talking...?"
"You know so many big words and stuff. Why didn't he tell YOU instead?"
"Why me, man?"
"...Miss... what exactly are you--"
"No, he WROTE IT DOWN, made me READ IT, to then PUT IT BACK INTO PAPER?"
"What the hell is his problem?"
"Was he being dense on purpose?!"
Alvin, taking a step back, processes this a little further.
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips like an unstoppable force,
but a pang of skepticism brings it all back down.
"Are you here to... pretend to know my father...?"
"Pretend? Nah. I wish. He'd probably hit me over the head if I lied to you right now."
"So, um, no."
"F--HECK no, man. I owe my life to him right now, sort of."
"Just, um."
"...ugh, I don't expect you to understand."
"Uhhh."
"You did a cool sermon, man."
With an empty smile, she stands, having put all of her clothes in a garbage bag, slung over her shoulder.
"And, uh, like I said, I'll give you the clothes tomorrow."
"...Keep them, I, I do not think I will be shrinking back any time soon."
"Heh, see, you're funny."
Susie turns, and walks out the door.
On the apartment building hallway, Alvin hurries out, hand outstretched towards a Susie that's already halfway gone.
"M--miss. Susie."
"...?"
She stops, and cocks her head in his direction.
"I..."
"..."
"Thank you for stopping by."
"You are... always welcome."
"Here, or in the church."
"..."
"...Right."
"Gyeh-heh-heh, or whatever."
"Bye."
Susie hadn't turned her face to Alvin in that last interaction.
So, she did not get to see how her last sentence hit the priest in the face like a shotgun blast. Eyes wide, maw open, ridges of his mouth twitching aghast.
He backs away, back into his room, and closes the door.
Both hands hold the door, hold himself, both, to keep either thing from falling.
For his reality feels like it is crumbling.
...
Alvin stumbles to the atrium, staring with clouded, watery eyes at the shapes on his old man's lectern.
He sniffs once, hands supporting him against the stage's lip.
He pulls back, and almost trips backwards on a chair, the tea set he had put down earlier rattling, from the bang his hip makes on the table.
He's spinning, right now, staring at the window, the kitchen, the desk.
No, life, standing, seems impossible.
He crouches down, a hand supporting him against the floor.
Small pitter-patters cause him to flinch, but he soon realizes it's his own tears on the wooden floorboards, now flowing freely.
He remembers the pitter patter, when he was oh-so-young.
He hadn't ever put in the mental muscles to remember his childhood.
Yet now, it is flowing like a waterfall
and so is he.
He remembers a leathery mitt of a hand, propping him up on stage.
Yet he could never gather the confidence his father had.
Just... follow along, do the things he did.
And... it felt nice.
But never good.
...
He goes from his uneasy lean, to a sit, on the floor.
In a triangle position, his hands meet his face, while Alvin desperately tries to center himself, ground himself to reality.
He can't put into words how he's feeling.
But he has to try.
He raises up, slow.
And stares at the far end of the room, at his father's anvil, and the singular, white pen that lays in a glass case.
Untouched for years.
Carefully dusted by Alvin.
He steps, slowly, towards it, stopping near the bathroom.
He cranes his head at the crumpled up remains of a letter.
The ending is still legible.
"it's okay if even if there not perfect Sinserely a friend."
...
He reaches the anvil, and grabs the case.
His whole body freezes, but, with a deep breath, he opens it.
He expects something, a lightning bolt to strike him where he stands, for the winds themselves to pick up forebodingly.
Nothing happens. The glass case clicks.
He takes the pen, with bated breath.
And he cranes his head to the bookshelves, honing in on the empty books.
He takes one out.
And writes "The."