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Thorne was flustered.

He hadn't expected a response to the ad he'd put out for a roommate or two to share his flat, hadn't even expected it to enter the public eye. He was scraping by on his own, but having someone else split the cost of his cozy apartment (which smelled of paint, looked like an artists warzone, and was two seconds from collapsing solely due to the ex-captains anxiety levels) would be nice.

He just didn't want to go through the process of finding one and this was all happening way too fast.

The knock on the door made Thorne swear under his breath. Millicent was already skittering towards the sound, backwards as far as cats were concerned. As Thorne jogged towards the door, bending to scoop the cat into his arms as he did. She relocated herself against his shoulder, claws pin pricking the bare shoulder of his arm.

In retrospect, Thorne should have attempted to look decent for any potential roommates, but they would have to come to terms with the fact of this sooner or later if they even considered moving in with him.

He opened the door in a tanktop thoroughly beaten by paint stains and fingers dusted in charcoal, Millicent perched against his right arm and every ******** tattoo of his on display from the shoulder to the wrist.

"You must be Preacher," he said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his tone, "I hope you like cats."

Maybe. Just maybe. This wouldn't be so bad.

Alright, just kidding. This was going to be a trainwreck. But the kid in front of Thorne's door looked a little less like something out of a horror novel and more like a... well.... like he could squish her if he wasn't careful. Oh god.

Thorne scoffed, shifting to lean against the door frame and glance down his nose at her. "It's not my fault I didn't stop growing in the fifth grade. I'll try not to trip over you." The joke was amused and dry, and Thorne thought maybe this wasn't the best way to start off a potential roommate conversation, but he was an anxious mess, not a liar. And he wasn't going to try and censure himself for someone else.

"Millicent. Here," Thorne pulled the large cat from his shoulder and offered her to Preacher. "Harmless, really. Just clingy." He smiled crookedly. "Thanks. Got any yourself?" Thorne stepped backwards into the apartment, full of the scent of baking things and paint in coffee mugs and plants and dirt. "I have coffee if you want it. I make s**t tea though, and I'm sorry in advance." He gestured with his head to the kitchen area that conquered the left side of the open space just past the entrance and the shoerack and the succulent city he was growing slowly but surely. The right side was full up on living room duty, conquered in the back by windowsills trembling beneath the weight of plants and wild, growing things, sketchbooks and novels and bound leather books full of articles piled into uneven stacks.

"The place is a goddamn a mess."

Thorne chuckled. "A fact, maybe. And I invite you to try." His grin was fanged and wry and he led her into the apartment once she had a hold of the cat. There was a fraction of him pleased by Preacher's acceptance of Millicent.

Cats and Thorne were as inseparable as Thorne and his tattoo addiction, after all.

"Are you new to Ashdown?" The man asked, wandering towards the kitchen. He let Preacher get comfortable, not worried at her wandering the apartment with his cat. He trusted Millicent, perhaps more than anyone ever should, to tell good people from bad people.

"Milk or sugar?" Thorne asked over his shoulder, glancing back at Preacher as he worked. "And I've never been known to be a fine hand at organizing things. My habits make sure of that." His eyes flicked to Preacher and the cat, strange and suddenly at home in his new living space.

"As for that, splitting rent wouldn't be a terrible thing. It's not necessary, but I wouldn't mind it." Thorne turned, leaning his hip against the counter. "I have a few new projects lined up as well. This space will be empty when I'm out of the house for work, even when I'm the studio. It would be a shame to waste it, and I..."

He shrugged.

"I'm thinking about filling the emptiness. If it works out. If not, I can always get another cat."

"Maybe. Would you be daring enough to take it?" Thorne grinned at her, padding across the hard wood of the apartment and offering her the mug.

She might have taken hers black, but he filled his with enough sugar to kill something. The nervousness wasn't unnoticed, but Thorne didn't bother to address it just then, settling on the sofa and watching Preacher talk.

"Come from anywhere nice?" He asked, kicking one leg up over the other. "Or are you looking for something better out here? And mostly freelance projects from clients. Don't worry," he added sardonically, "I keep all of the nude modeling out of the house."

He paused, and then realized that Preacher might take him seriously and added, "Just kidding. What about you?" He smiled, a lazy cats grin. "Any big plans now that you're in Ashdown?"

"That's true," Thorne retorted with a smile. "Millicent is a good cat. She'd survive." His grin was infectious. "Do you like her?" He tilted his head and leaned back, fingers curling around his own mug as he observed the other girl. She was young. So young. How did he keep finding these not-delinquents?

Not that he could say he minded much. "Alright, alright," he rumbled, kicking one leg over his knee at her explanation. He didn't look judgmental - rather like he understood the concept of walking away from a place that had always been meant for leaving. "Well, I'm a wandering degenerate from a woodland wasteland back west, so I guess we fit."

His laugh was bright and deep-bellied at her response, and he grinned at Preacher with honest affection. "Alright, because you asked so nicely, maybe I can swing it," he said in amusement, "But we have to be professional here, yeah?" He shrugged and tilted his head, whistling through his teeth. "I know how that is." He shrugged, glancing down at Millicent. The cat had come to him as a stray that he'd rescued from the dumps of some wayward gas station stop outside of Ashdown.

So really, what were all of them but lost kids here in this room?

"That's why I cam here too."

Thorne cocks his head at Preacher, a laugh in his throat.

"Yes, and so much better than me."

He gives a shrug, cocking a brow at the mention of ugly cats. He smiles, tilting his head to once side, considering. The sharp grin makes him smile wider, because it just seems like Ashdown loves temperamental teenagers and delinquents. Where do they keep coming from? And why here? Who knows. Thorne was a delinquent once. Maybe that's why he's a magnet for them now.

"That would be appreciated," he responds, easily. His eyes flick to her, languid and warm. The question isn't expected, but he swallows it with ease, thinking as he does so. His hand comes to his neck, and he turns it down, hair falling over his face as he rumbles in thought.

"Somehow," he says. "It's hard falling into step in a new place. I'm still trying to do it, pick myself up. I think you'll get it too though. It might just take time. Oh, and avoid the shady takeout joints. They'll kill you faster than anything else could in this town."

He shakes out his head and leans back, scooping Millie to his chest when she returns to him.

"It was nice meeting you," he says, "I hope it works out here for you too."