notfaking_it | (no subject)

"Maybe," agreed Sawyer hesitantly, his nose wrinkling as he shook his head. "Maybe there's a whole lot more to France than the stereotypes, but hell, stereotypes still exist for a reason, don't they?" It was a question innocently posed; for all that Sawyer knew people had a tendency to think of him as somehow bigoted, racist, and everything else in between, the fact of the matter was that after the other island, he never knew what to expect from people anymore. His world, which had up until then been so narrow, had been widened, his view proven wrong— or at the least, not always applicable. And the same seemed to hold true on Tabula Rasa.

"I mean, Australia was... dry. Lots of land, real open. Lots of kangaroos, too, so they weren't exaggeratin' about that," Sawyer added with a shrug. "Though I was there for work, so I didn't get to go on one of them outback tours for the full effect."

"The only French stereotype I'll allow myself is eating baguettes," she said, grinning. As far as food was concerned, stereotypical or not, she would be happy with it and as far as she knew -- although maybe that was a stereotype, too -- the French certainly knew how to eat. Another one of the reasons she wanted to at least visit for a time. "No berets and no... I don't know, moonlit visits to the Eiffel Tower."

For a moment she fell silent, thinking of Australia, of how big and open it had always seemed. Like someone could get lost out there in all that expanse and no one would ever be able to find them, especially if they didn't want to be found. There was something dangerously appealing in that. Disappearing without a trace, leaving no clues.

"What sort of work?" she asked after a moment, a faint smile turning her mouth up at the thought of being able to get lost there.

"See, I know that there's more'n one kinda French bread, but I couldn't tell you what's what to save my life," Sawyer admitted, shaking his head. "There's croissants, and then there's the really long kinda French bread, and I used to call those all baguettes, until one day I went into a French bakery— not in Paris or anything, just by Jackson— and they kept on insistin' that once it gets to be a certain width, you actually call it bastard bread or somethin' or other. Naturally, that was the only thing I remembered from their explanation."

Rubbing his chin, he noticed the building finally peeking out in the distance, and hoped that he'd be able to turn the topic of conversation away from his career, soon enough. "And it was detective work. Huntin' down a criminal," he explained. "Pretty notorious thief runnin' around, rumor said he'd hopped a jet to Australia, so there I went. Wasn't there, though."

With a laugh, Lily shook her head, trying to imagine herself in a French bakery, trying to explain to the bakers that she didn't care what it was called as long as it tasted good. The bread, though, was far less interesting than what Sawyer said next and her laugh died slowly as her smile gently relaxed into a faintly curious expression.

"Detective work?" she asked. She knew he was on the IPD, but she also knew there were plenty of people on the island who weren't continuing on with the same type of work they'd done before their arrival. "Did you get him eventually? Somewhere other than Australia?"

As she waited to see what he might say -- waited to see, really, if he'd tell her more or change the subject -- she studied him, trying to imagine him as a detective. In truth, she knew very little about police work, but that didn't stop her from using her imagination.

"Nearby island," confirmed Sawyer, and if his throat felt tight, it didn't reflect too noticeably in his voice, the shrug of his shoulders still easy as he kept on the path. He'd answered those questions countless times whenever stopped on a bus, stopped on a plane, and somehow people always trusted him in this, that there was a man that he had to find. Wished him luck in finding the sonuvabitch.

(Except, he thought, for his colleagues. They hadn't wished him luck; they'd shoved him right in the direction of the fire.)

"Took a while, but yeah, found 'im on that nearby island."

"Hm," Lily said softly, watching as the Compound grew closer, as they neared the front doors. There were other questions she could ask, things she was sure he wouldn't tell her unless she did -- and maybe wouldn't tell her even then -- and for a moment she considered pushing. Asking more. Prying, even.

But that almost never worked. There were people who could be pushed into talking more, but Lily didn't know many of them and she liked it better when people volunteered information.

"Well, add Australia to my list of places I'll go if I ever leave here," she said instead of asking more. "Though I doubt I'll be doing any sort of detective work while I'm there."

"So that means if I wanna find you once we hop offa this island, I should head on over to Australia and look for a girl with ink on her back who's tryin' to follow whatever piss poor amount of tourin' advice I can give?" asked Sawyer, nodding his head slowly, as though in deep thought. Chances were, they weren't from the same world. He considered asking for a moment if she'd heard of the Oceanic flight that went missing, if she knew more about how the six had fared since they were rescued, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with finding out, once and for all, that their worlds were disparate. Or, possibly worse yet, to have her grow too curious about the plane crash, and how it was that six of their number managed to make their escape while the others were left behind.

"Place is big enough that I'd probably end up havin' to do twice as much detective work for the both of us."

"If you wanted to find me, yeah," Lily replied with a grin, her gaze drifting up toward him again. "I would say that I'd stay in one place, make myself easier to find, but I'd never be able to do that for very long." She wasn't the type of person to stay in one place for long, not without a reason. At the moment, the fact that she couldn't go anywhere else was reason enough to stay, but there were other things about the island that she liked, reasons she didn't want to go anywhere just yet.

That they didn't come from the same world crossed her mind as well, the reminder that there were people here from space, from worlds she knew to be fictional, worlds she'd never even heard of. The chances of them being from the same one seemed slim and yet she found herself unwilling to accept that there was no chance. There was always a chance.

"You could show me all the kangaroos," she said, still grinning. "If you found me, I mean."

"Oh, don't worry, Carmen, I'd be able to find you no matter where you go, if I wanted to. And if it wouldn't make you cry uncle," Sawyer asserted, allowing himself a slight huff of pride. Truth be told, his tracking skills weren't all that great, as Kate liked to point out repeatedly whenever the two of them were trying to trail after someone on the island, but what Sawyer lacked in the ability to spot trails himself, he made up for in being able to get other people to find them for him. "Ain't like you'd be able to stay away from dancing for long, and unless you plan on turtleneckin' it the whole way, I think you're pretty easy to spot."

He brushed the pad of his thumb briefly against the bottom of his nose, ridding himself of an itch.

"Especially when I'm tryin' to find you to take ya to the kangaroos. It'd be a crime to miss 'em."

The name got another laugh out of Lily, but she knew he was right. It wasn't something she thought about very often, but if she allowed herself to imagine life after the island, even just a little, she knew she wouldn't last very long without some kind of company or studio to use at least every other day. And there weren't many dancers with tattoos like hers, he was right about that. Someone would know exactly who she was if he asked around at all.

It wasn't like her to think about what ifs or possibilities, but the idea of him finding her in some dance studio in Australia one day was something she allowed herself to consider for a moment. Such a thing wouldn't be so bad, she thought.

"And since you're the one who's given me all this Australian tourist advice, I wouldn't want anyone else to show me," she teased with a grin. "Those kangaroos are all yours."

"Well, boy howdy, now I feel special," he laughed, shaking his head and briefly running his fingers through his hair, so easily blown askew by even the soft breezes on the island. It was nice, in its way, to know that Lily wasn't against the idea of finding him later on in life, whenever she was off doing the things she did best. While he'd never had occasion to test the theory, a part of him believed strongly that the other Oceanic survivors wouldn't much want Sawyer in their lives once they'd all returned to the jobs, the families and more that they knew prior to the accident. He was a survivor, and quick to think on a dime, but what else was he really good for?

"Guess that means I gotta start goin' more places, just be your all-around tourist. Though you'd probably get sick of me," he nodded, reaching out for the front door and holding it open with a slight bow of his head and a sweep of his arm. "After you."

"Never," she answered, grinning as she headed inside the Compound and then turned around in the hall again to face him. "Especially not with such chivalrous door opening skills. You'd be surprised by how many people can't hold a door open for anyone. You know, once, in California, I held a door open for this elderly woman and she told me to fuck off."

Lily grinned again and shook her head at the memory. "I think I was fourteen and I was completely blown away by this. Stunned. My first lesson in just how unhappy some people are, I think." And she remembered, even back then, even as just a kid, she'd never wanted to be like that. It had struck her as odd, especially the explanation her mother gave her, that some people were just angry.

She'd never wanted to be an angry person. Not in California, not in New York, and not here. It was at least part of why she was still so forgiving of the island.

The lesson that Lily had taken away from the incident struck Sawyer, in a way. Had he come across some crabby old woman, he wasn't sure that his immediate impulse would have been to assume that she was deeply unhappy in life, so much as not wanting to be bothered, or venting her anger elsewhere. And hell, he might've vented right back, depending on how well it looked like the person could take it. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he could stand to learn and adopt more of that type of mentality.

"Well, we had our share of folks who could use a bit of soap to clean our their mouths, where I'm from, but the stereotype kinda holds true, too. If a Southern boy don't open up the door for a lady, for kids, for them older folks, sure as hell he'd get an interestin' look," Sawyer replied, easing into the building and feeling the rush of air conditioning, driving the slightest shiver down his skin. "I ain't been to California all that often, but people didn't complain s'far as I remember. Maybe you've just gotta work on your smile."

"Maybe it's my distinct lack of dimples," she replied with a smile as she turned and headed for the kitchen, though she suspected it was more than that. Some people simply didn't want anyone to hold a door open for them, saw it as a slight, somehow, a suggestion that they weren't capable of doing it themselves. She'd never really understood that mentality and certainly didn't hold that opinion herself. It was nice to be treated well.

The kitchen was quiet, though not empty, which was how Lily liked it best, and she set her bag down near a chair. "So, what's for lunch?" she asked, opening the refrigerator to take a look inside. She wasn't really much of a cook, having always prefered a restaurant to using her own kitchen. "I make an amazing sandwich," she offered with a grin.

"Funny," Sawyer pondered, pursing his lips as a crease ran across his forehead. "Seems like I always forget I've got a pair of these until someone reminds me. But heck, they're the only real reason why I'm still capable of so-called boyish charm. I sure ain't gonna manage that by talkin' sweet." He thought, in that moment, of any number of other people who sported similar dimples on their cheeks. Neil. Kate, even, though hers weren't nearly as prominent, only showing for that split second in her smile, before it became full-blown.

Breaking away from that train of thought, Sawyer makes his way over to Nina's side, peering over her shoulder at the offerings inside. "Could grill it. Ain't sure if we've got any cheese, but that sounds damn good to me right now," he admitted, hands settling on his hips. "And I wouldn't mind seein' those sandwich skills of yours. It'd let me know whether or not I've gotta bury my head in the sand outta embarrassment for myself."

Lily laughed, then began to take things out of the refrigerator, handing them off to Sawyer. There was some kind of bird, a nice looking avacado and a few containers with what looked like a dressing or sauce. "I spent so much time at the studios that I had to either accept that my life would be filled with shitty sandwiches from a vending machine or make my own," she said as she turned from the fridge carrying some more vegetables and the cheese she'd found.

"Just for you," she said with a grin, holding the bit cheese toward Sawyer as if it were a gift. Eating on the island was a different experience from anything else she'd had, but she liked it just the same. It was far healthier than she'd ever managed to eat back home and she definitely noticed the difference.

"Seriously?" Sawyer asked, easily transferring the food off as it was handed to him, placing it all neatly on the counter. He frowned for a second, a furrow forming between his brows. "I would've thought that those folks would keep a closer eye on y'all, seein' as how you needed to stay in shape for what you do. Thought maybe they'd bring in some ballet equivalent of craft service."

When she held out the cheese, he split into a grin again, peering around the cabinets for some oil and a griddle. "Perfect," he said, laying the griddle on the stove and sparking up the fire. "Ain't gonna be quite the same as butter on toast, but the coconut oil's got a kick to it." He turned to glance over his shoulder, grin cheeky.

"God, no. Food is... well, a lot of dancers have a complicated relationship with food, I'll say that much," Lily answered honestly. It wasn't everyone, it wasn't even most dancers, but she'd seen more than a few girls in her career who couldn't quite get a handle on what they were doing, and no one ever said anything when they heard the sounds of someone throwing up or noticed a distinct lack of meals being eaten. Everyone always looked the other way. Even she was guilty of it. And the teachers had never helped any of the dancers find healthy alternatives, they only commented when they thought a dancer looked too heavy.

Getting a knife from the drawer, she began to slice cheese and the jungle fowl for the sandwiches, returning Sawyer's grin. "I'm expecting to be impressed now," she told him, though she was sure she would be perfectly happy with whatever they ended up eating. Her own relationship with food, even after being told she could stand to lose weight several times, had never been particularly difficult.

"Can't say I'm too surprised," Sawyer admitted, shaking his head lightly as he poured the oil on the griddle, tilting it in each direction to give the surface a good coat. The smell almost instantly spread through the air, sweet and thick, almost cloying. "I buy that some people're naturally thin, but when it's that big of a majority." He shook his head, turning with an arch of a brow.

"And I ain't even talkin' about thin like..." Vaguely, he waved a hand towards Lily. "I mean girls who look like they could fall over if the big, bad wolf took a huff." Carefully, he reached out for a thick slice of bread, sliding it into the pan with a light sizzle.

"Girls who can still use all their muscles to stand on their toes," Lily pointed out with a grin as she washed the avocado and then returned to the counter to begin slicing it. But she knew the type of girl Sawyer meant, the type she'd seen plenty of times in her own classes and in the companies she'd worked for. They were never the girls who were stars, though. The stars were strong, even if they couldn't see it in themselves.

"It's hard, especially if you don't have anyone outside your dance classes to ground you," she said, looking down at the food she'd been preparing. The oil smelled good; different, unexpected, but she liked it. "It's hard enough being twelve or thirteen without having a teacher tell you that you need to lose weight. Kids shouldn't be dieting."

But it happened. She'd seen it happen.

"Yeah, well," Sawyer muttered, flipping the bread over on the other side, watching as the heat of the pan browned either surface of the slice, deepening its naturally gold hue. He'd never minded burnt bits much, but he did his best to make sure everything heated over evenly before chopping off a slice of cheese to lay on top. "Lots of things kids ain't supposed to do, but they've always happened anyway. Gotta admit though, almost seems worse to be makin' them diet than it is to make them work a couple years early."

Turning the heat down slightly as he moved to help slice the fowl, he glanced up at Lily. "Did you start that early? Twelve, thirteen?"

"I started classes when I was seven," Lily told him, slicing other vegetables for the sandwiches, grinning down at the food for a moment. "But I started pointe training when I was twelve. I was going to four or five classes a week by that point already, twenty hours total." Sometimes, class was the only thing she could remember about being a kid. After dancing had come into her life, she hadn't spent a lot of time running around or playing outside or even playing with any other kids unless they were dancers.

"If I wasn't in school, I was at in rehearsal or dance class," she admitted, but she was still smiling as she said it. Although she hadn't had the same time of childhood as most people, she didn't regret a single moment of anything she'd done. Her parents hadn't been the ones pushing her, as was often the case, even at such a young age, Lily had been pushing herself to spend more time dancing.

She seemed comfortable with everything that she'd grown up doing, and to Sawyer, that was most important by far. At that age, he'd never had anything exactly like that, no single art to pursue, no field that he liked to call his own. All he had were his cons, though he excelled at them. And they were the bulk of what lingered in his memory. Foster homes were always of varying quality, and Sawyer had spent as much time as possible away from the watchful guardians and resentful housemates.

Cons had been the only bite of independence possible for a kid who otherwise had to beg for an allowance. And he'd comforted himself at the time with the notion that everyone he swindled had it coming. Whose fault was it for being so naive and free with their cash?

"Heesh," Sawyer sighed, shaking his head. "And here I thought havin' so many hours of school was already enough for a kid. I ain't ever had anything that took up so much of my week."

She laughed softly, nodding her agreement as she finished with the vegetables, then turned around to lean against the counter. "It's one of the only careers like that," she said, though she knew some sports followed the same sort of regime, kids who spent all their time either in school or playing or practicing. "You start as young as you can and then, by the time you're thirty..." She trailed off and flicked her fingers through the air, miming a wave goodbye to her career.

"I mean, you can keep dancing after that, but you're less likely to get any lead roles and your body is more likely to start protesting," she said. It wasn't something she liked to think about much, having joined a new company with only a few years left before she'd be expected to retire or move toward the back to make room for younger dancers. She'd had no intention of doing that, of course, but it would still have been expected of her.

"Just like pro sports, then," Sawyer concluded, reaching out for some of the vegetables to place on top of the cheese, flipping over the top layer of bread and giving each a considerable press. Hot plates might have been more even, he thought belatedly, having experimented a fair amount ever since arriving on the island. Hurley was the better cook, though, somehow managing the most creative of dinners while they were all on the last island. Even on Tabula Rasa, he'd managed to swing by the kitchen and fix up snacks for the both of them.

And Sawyer clung to that, as one of the few things he had left of his friend.

"You ever think about what you'd want to do after you quit? I'm guessin' you don't go into retirement completely," he considered, sliding the sandwiches onto their separate plates and turning off the stove. "D'you teach? Body might protest, but there are some things you ain't just gonna learn through technique. Or somethin'."