Welcome to Gaia! ::

There's another picture of Ivy, eyes blissfully closed, leaning her head on the window frame of some passenger seat somewhere with her ears streaming back in the wind; from the periphery and the angle it looks like she must be sitting in Taym's lap.

Taym is obviously one of those people who takes a lot of photos of his animals, and also shares them a little too readily.

Like what, besides the obvious?

Spent my fair share of looking at Help Wanted signs recently, might be able to point you somewhere.

He thinks back to when he'd gotten a room here, and had to immediately go out and buy a bottle of bleach even though he'd been sleeping on a sidewalk up to that night.

That's a rare ******** talent as far as I can tell.

You ought to be tending bar somewhere, if you're trying to make money quick. I'm sure you're already aware of that.

The last, added somewhat grimly in response to the obvious being enough.

Ah, right. Forgot about the whole age gap thing. It'll happen to your memory, too, when you're as decrepit as I am.

Not too long. Tim's not a bad guy but as soon as they can find some certified guy to take my place they're gonna boot me out, because as it is I'm not doing much more than cleaning toilets myself.

I'm gonna be honest: I'm a little offended that you've yet to inform me how adorable my dog is like I don't already know.

His shaking hands are not equal to the task of keeping up with her rapidfire messages, and so his replies lag behind, one at a time.

It's this damn newfangled technology all the kids are using, with the goggles and the clapchats and the instant grahams.

(Imagine me shaking a cane here, as apparently there's not a shaking-a-cane emoji. Not that I'd know how to use an emoji, of course.)

(I actually legitimately have no idea how to use an emoji, if I'm being honest.)

I'm afraid with as many admirers as Ivy has you'll have to take a number.

And he pauses. Because the opening is right there but he's inexplicably shying away from it; it's been too damn long and he can't remember how anything goes and it feels a little like he's balancing a full glass on the tip of one shaking finger, watching it tip back and forth as he struggles to keep up while simultaneously accepting inevitably defeat.

But it's been a long time--a long, long time; too long--and he's not here for long and neither is she and that's pretty much the ideal situation, because while he's forgotten how to get things moving he's pretty sure he remembers how to bail, preferably before the other party even wakes up. The thought that she might touch him--at all, even to shake hands--makes him feel physically ill; he cringes where he's lying next to a gently-snoring Ivy as if someone's raked nails down a chalkboard just next to him.

But I'm good at vetting candidates and I bet you'd appreciate the interview practice. And if we're _job search buddies_ I guess you could coach me on how to sell myself, since you're so good at it. Never been one of my strengths. But taking compliments is.

Lying, too, is easy to remember. A pause, again.

And you'll have a chance to define exactly what you meant by "girls like me"

I give it a 6/10.

You set the bar too high with the Range Rover thing and I'm docking you points for the personal slight of "you'll do."

A pause, again.

I work late tomorrow. Text me.

It goes unanswered for an hour, then two; it's late when the reply finally comes with no apology for the delay.

Hope that means you're making the face.

Pretty ******** long but I'm not opposed to making it a little longer.

He pauses, and Ivy, impatiently attempting to get back to the motel, sits down and fixes him with an accusatory glare.

Maybe.