Posy's Theories.

Who: Posy and Open
When: Afternoon
Where: The Vicarage

As soon as Posy had heard the shouting subsiding and doors slamming, she had assumed it would be a good time for her to descend from her attic room and explore the rest of the house. She had spent 30 minutes or so wandering through the house wrinkling her nose at the dusty decor and testing creaky floorboards but had failed to find any people. Either they had left the house (she herself was considering this, but it looked cold out there) or were sulking very discretely somewhere. She wanted to meet the inhabitants, of course, but it wasn't pressing. They'd stumble upon her soon enough.

Then, she had found the computer, and buzzed with disinterest through some of the journal entries. They were all panic and bluster and very little planning - although she hadn't got further than reading the first handful. Apparently they (the "test subjects") had been moved into these houses during the night much like herself, and there was a fair amount of spiteful half-baked chatter about "The Scientists". Alright then, the experiment was still happening it seemed. The scale of it all blew Posy's mind a little. She was impressed with the set up, if not a little confused as to it's purpose? her first guess was some sort of military science, because who on earth but the military would be able to pull off something so spectacularly illegal? She had become bored however with the tone of the journals, and had switched the computer off. She wanted to meet these people first hand, not discover them through the blankness of a screen. You couldn't gauge people's responses in the medium of type, after all.

Now, she was curled catlike on one of the big red sofas on the first floor, scowling every time the power flickered (not that the lighting in this place was particularly friendly upon the eyes even when it was switched on - she felt like she was in a rather cliched representation of a haunted mansion.) writing a clipped summary of her theories on the whole "military science" thing in one of her heavy leather-bound notebooks, and waiting for one of her housemates to turn up. It was funny, Posy had never lived with anyone other than her parents before. It was a really bizarre sort of adventure. She found herself hoping they were all clean at the very least.

 - .

Brett most definitely wasn't clean. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, he was covered in streaks of rust and oil. It had been three days since he'd last shaved, and he hadn't actually done more than run a hand through his hair that morning. He really needed to have a shower as well, but since he'd woken up that morning to a standoff between two other people in the house, been betrayed by the one person he'd actually gotten to know and then spent the rest of the day taking apart and fixing the piece of shit wheelchair the scientists had seen fit to give him, there hadn't really seemed much of a point.

But that was all done with a 'shower' was starting to be on his list - as had 'lunch' been, though that got cancelled pretty quickly as he saw the size of the kitchen. No fucking way he was going in there. But first, he wanted to know what else there was here, so he was exploring the ground floor. Or he had been until he saw someone he didn't recognise. A first for today. He'd got about five foot into the living room when he saw her - and immediately started to turn around to wheel himself out again.

 - .

Posy arched a slender eyebrow when she saw Brett. Clean was right out, then. As was able to walk, apparently. Fabulous.
"I gather yours was one of the dulcet tones I heard this morning, then? Wonderful. Don't leave on my account, I'm not about to get into a fight with you. Who are you?"
She pronounced every word with heavy emphasis on not dropping any letters, giving her speech a very brisk feel to it, and very little sincerity. She was trying to be what Posy considered friendly, however, as she didn't particularly want her first contact to leave without giving her ample chance to assess him. She gave him a small, tight-lipped smirk and closed her notebook with a snap.

 - .

Brett stopped, but didn't turn. He never missed an opportunity to truly alienate someone and ensure that they knew he wasn't worth the fucking hassle. "If you mean was I one of the people shouting, yeah, that was me. Helluva a way to wake up, right Princess?" he sneered, putting extra emphasis on the sneer. "And I'm not leaving on your fucking account - I'm leaving on mine. And not cuz I'm afraid of any fucking fight either." He didn't bother telling her who he was - though he'd give his name if she specifically asked for it. He didn't have a problem with that, but right now, giving it didn't fit with the image he was putting forward.

 - .

Posy stretched and cast her gaze over Brett's back with slight disdain, unfazed by the swearing and general aggression, but hardly enamoured by it. If he wanted to act like a spoilt child let him, it didn't affect her. She wasn't here to make friends and kiss things better, after all.
"I've woken up to less bizare circumstances, if that's what you mean. But I hardly expected the Ritz, I knew what I was signing on for."

She couldn't help but notice he had directly ignored her query as to who he was. Rude, wasn't he? Perhaps it was a mistrust of strangers.
"You didn't, I gather? Know what you were signing on for? Did you lose the ability to walk in the experiment, or is it a birth defect?"
Perhaps more...direct questions would get the root of the man's attitude problem - and his identity, of course. She knew that the experiments had been what some might call "hard core" and she wanted to gauge just how roughly these people had been treated.

 - .

"I knew as much as everyone else," Brett told her. "Social experiment. Nobody knew more than that - but I assume from the way you're talking you're not one of us. Just arrived? Volunteer?" he asked, making that sound like an insult. "And as for my 'ability to walk' it was neither," he told her, not offering up any more information than that. He didn't share about his past and he had no intention of starting. Especially not today - especially not when the one person here who he'd told about where he'd come from he just turned around and slapped him for it.

 - .

She didn't even really catch the insulting tone of his voice. He was boring her now, with his woe-is-me angry at the world routine. If he wasn't going to tell her anything then he was just another dull person who she didn't care about..
"Yes. A volunteer. I was curious to see what had happened. I still am, really. What did happen to you, anyway? How exactly were you tested?"
Her tone showed the boredom, and her gaze was wandering. She wasn't really expecting answers from Brett at this point, but whatever, there was no-one else around to ask about these things.

He seemed touchy about the disability. She never got that. It wasn't like it was some secret that you were crippled, especially if you were in a wheelchair. Why get angst-y when people decided to ask about it? Posy found herself feeling like she often did - that she was really one of the few sane and well balanced people in the world.

 - .

Boredom was a good sign - he'd take boredom. If she was bored, she might not try talking to him again, she might leave him alone. He'd encourage boredom. "Sorry, doll, this isn't twenty questions and I'm not just here to satisfy your curiosity - though there's probably plenty of other people who'll do that. Just take a walk round town, I'm sure you'll find some emo bastard just longing to spill their guts to you about the trauma they've been through," he suggested to her.

 - .

Posy shrugged. She was beginning to dislike this boring man with his broken legs. He seemed to think he could annoy her, press her buttons. What people didn't realize was that Posy didn't really have buttons. She would keep asking her questions in her blunt, despondent way until he either left or didn't have anything she wanted to know any more.
"I considered going out already, but it's cold out there, and you're right here. You'll admit that the experiment was traumatic then? In what way? It can't exactly hurt to tell me, can it? Unless you're one of those people who believe that if you don't discuss something it simply didn't happen. Like with your wheelchair. It's obvious you can't walk, but you won't tell me why because if you don't mention it, what? Your legs magically work?"
It wasn't a tirade. It was just a soft reeling of what Posy thought. Like she was presenting a thesis. There was no anger, no annoyance, just the words.

 - .
"No - I won't tell you about me, or about the experiment because, quite frankly, it's non of your fucking business," Brett told her. "Just because you're a nosy bitch doesn't mean I have to play ball, so how about you go back to your scribbles and find out from someone else. Really, ask the guy upstairs - I'm sure he'd be happy to fill you in. He's an organiser sort," Brett suggested, starting again towards the door.
 - .

It was not the first time she had been called nosy. That was what happened when you asked questions. People had a problem with questions, it was one of their irrational problems she couldn't really understand. If Posy was asked a question, she answered. She rarely had secrets. However, she took his rant with good grace (well, silence) and sank back onto the couch, stretching fully across the red fabric, resuming the cat-pose. She took Brett's advise and flipped open her notebook again, not even waiting for him to leave before turning her gaze away and absorbing herself once more in the note-taking.

"Yes, well, it shouldn't be hard to find someone more useful than you, should it?"
Spite was not beyond Posy, even though she rarely bothered with it, but she felt that Brett deserved some for his lack of informative conversation. Her words were still calm, bored sounding, but the emphasis on the word useful was an obvious slight.

 - .

Brett didn't hold her comment against her. He wished her luck in finding someone who'd help her out, really. Just as long as she left him alone - just as long as everyone left him alone. He was definitely of that opinion today, especially. "Nope, shouldn't be at all," he agreed. as he neared the doorway.

 - .

Posy cocked her head slightly at his change of attitude. Where was the growly demeanor now? Was he really that easy to disarm?
"You're really more interesting than you let on, aren't you?" she pondered, more to herself than to him as he was obviously leaving. But she made a mental note - keep an eye on the cripple. There were some serious emotional problems there. Was everyone going to be as surly and problematic as him? She bloody well hoped not, considering how wearing she found the whole process of getting people to open up to her.
"Before you leave - name please? I ought to know, as I seem to live here for the moment."

 - .

"Brett," Brett told her, bluntly, ignoring her suggestion that he was 'interesting'. He didn't want to be interesting, he wanted to be fucking boring to her. Not worth the effort on any of a number of levels. But, whatever - she could have his name if she wanted it, she'd find it out easily enough anyway. He wasn't going to return the favour and ask for hers though. She might think he was interesting, but he wasn't going to show interest.

 - .

Brett. She'd keep it in mind. She'd ask about him. Even if he offered up no other information, there were ways of finding things out. She lived in a house with him, for goodness sake, how hard could it be?
But yes, she didn't care for his attitude. She'd be glad to have him out of her hair. And maybe she would go upstairs and speak to the so-called "organizer type". What did that even mean? people were odd.

"Marvelous. I'm Posy. Don't let me keep you from whatever pressing issue you have to address, Brett."

 - .

"I won't," Brett assured her, though he didn't make any attempt to make his tone pleasant as he left the room. What was pressing was hunger. Shower and hunger - which meant attempting to face that kitchen again.

Possibly a shower would be easier...