Whew. Apparently on Mars, looks aren't that deceiving. Grinning a
lot as she leads the way down the hall, Daisy calls over her
shoulder, "I remembered where my flat was. And I've even got my
key. So if you don't like the Tarkin, I've got some Cherry Wheat
Ale left, too."

Following along behind with a bounce in his step and an entirely
cheerful disposition, Matthew glances sideways at the door of his
own apartment as they pass. "I'm sure I'll like whatever you have.
Where did you get it?"

"I made it," grins Daisy, spinning around as she walks to briefly
face Matt. "I haven't set anything up yet, but I swear it's the
next thing after I unpack my robots." She has her priorities in
order, indeed. Robots, minibrewery, bed, everything else. Oho, and
there's the door. So close. She goes to unlock it.

He comes to a stop in the corridor, the answer as unexpected as it
is welcome. "You homebrew?" Matt is in love. "I knew a guy back
home who was into that, but I haven't gotten around to starting up
myself here. Maybe you could give me some pointers."

"Sure, gotta keep busy," laughs Daisy, opening the door and
stepping in, then holding it for Matthew. Almost everything is
still in boxes - the only things unpacked are a refrigeration
unit, the beer, a couple of weird-looking metal thingies of
various heights. "And certainly. Only beer, though; let me tell
you, I had a still in college, and it smelled wretched."

"I like what you've done with the place." Matthew steps inside and
looks around with a speculative air. Hmm. "Minimalist, yet
cluttered. It probably says something incredibly penetrating about
your inner being. I think *my* inner being just needs to learn how
to fold laundry."

Snagging a couple of bottles, Daisy holds one out to Matt. Her
eyebrows go up. "Oh, do you want to borrow Frank? He folds my
laundry, and you're just down the hall."

Accepting the bottle and casting about vaguely for a place to sit,
Matthew raises his eyebrows at Daisy. "Frank?" There's a name that
bodes.

Daisy nods cheerfully, then perches crosslegged atop a pile of
boxes. "Go ahead and pull up a box or two. They'll support your
weight, it's all right. I have to put together some chairs." She
pops open the dark bottle of homebrew and takes a sip - mmm.
"Frank's one of the robots that got me fired from my last job.
He's very annoying, but at least he can fold clothes and wash
dishes without breaking too many."

Quite amiably taking a seat on a box, legs stretched out and
crossed at the ankles, Matthew considers Daisy for a moment. She
turns out to be an interesting person, what an unexpected bonus.
Still, though. Robots. "I don't think I'll take you up on that.
Thanks anyway."

Daisy laughs, and it's a *nice* laugh. "Don't blame you, really.
What a chip on his shoulder. I thought it'd be funny, but I ended
up programming him wrong - he has all the surliness of a head of
state, but instead of putting in the obscene word bank, I gave him
a set that makes him sound like he's on daytime television." She
takes another sip, then puts a hand over her mouth, laughing some
more. "Goes around calling people jerks."

"Gosh darn it you bad people?" Matt is amused, taking a gulp from
his bottle. Oh baby, that's the first alcohol he's gotten anywhere
near in days. "Marry me."

"'You -guys-!'" whines Daisy, fluttering a hand around up by her
head. She stifles a giggle. "I swear, it's what he sounds like."
Marry you? Giving Matt a wry look, Daisy just shakes her head.
"You'd never be able to stand me. I always win at strip poker."

That's good, because he was in no way, shape or form serious. "Oh
*really*?" Ahaha. "Poker player? Tell me you sing and I'll move
in."

Well, -that- was obvious. But a joking question always deserves a
joking answer. Daisy smirks. "My voice breaks mirrors." Liar. "But
I'll play if you sing. Brought my Strat."

She's a musician. Matthew shifts his weight to sit forward, elbows
on knees, and sets the beer bottle down between his feet. "You're
kidding me."

"I'm not either! It's vintage, it is. I tell people it was Elvis
Costello's last, but no one believes me, because it's not."
Woefully unconcerned, she is. Enter flake. Drinking some more of
her bottle and blissing a little bit, Daisy closes her eyes a
second then looks back at Matt. "It's still packed, though."

She's managed to momentarily distract him from his ultimate goal
tonight. "Can you find it easily?" Only for a second, though. "No,
forget it. Later's fine." Matthew smiles at her. "I bet you *can*
sing. Everyone who says they can't, can."

"No, honest, I'm rotten. And later's good; I only have a vague
idea of where it is." Half through her bottle. "Anything you'd
want to sing to, later?"

"Cole Porter?" He's an old-fashioned guy. Yeah right. Matthew
remembers his bottle and drains the last of it in a series of big
gulps. Must...attain...alcoholic buzz..

From one bottle of homebrew? It'd take at least two. "You...like
jazz?" This time it's Daisy's turn to mask a gape. Quick, drink
more beer. When she's finished, she manages to look at least
moderately casual.

"*You* like jazz?" Matt blinks, pleased and surprised and in need
of another bottle or three. "I'm beginning to think this is too
good to be true."

Daisy rolls her eyes, swinging back a little to drop her feet to
the floor. She pads over to the refrigeration unit and pulls out
another bottle of Dunkelhefweizer, which she holds out to Matt
again. "Set the empty next to you; I reuse them." A beat. "-Yes-,
I like jazz. Can't write it, though. Drives me crazy."

Taking the beer, Matthew finds himself once again gaping at Daisy.
"You write music?" She wants to be careful or he'll end up being
actually fond of her. "I can't believe this, what the hell are you
doing wasting your time up here? Earth's gonna start another war
just to get you back."

Laughing again, Daisy waves her hand around dismissively. "Just
hobbies. I'm a roboticist." On her way back to her box, she stubs
her toe and winces big time. "Ah-! Gottfluch -- ah, ow. Damnit."
Limp. Sit. Sulk mildly, rubbing foot. "No, I've had enough of
Earth and their competitions and ridiculousness."

Oops, she's hurt herself, and it is actual genuine doctor's
instinct that stirs Matt from his not-hugely-comfortable seat to
kneel in front of her. "Let me see that." Gently, he moves to bat
her hand away and manipulate the foot himself. "Really?" He
already knows he hates Mars. If nothing else, the knowledge of the
limited space is slowly beginning to drive him nuts. "You don't
miss it?"

Starting to protest that she's fine, Daisy realizes she was just
about to tell Matt to back off, and wonders what the hell she
coulda been thinking. Stick around! You smell nice. "No. I like to
feel useful. And if you're useful enough, then you're not on
display," she says frankly, but then grins. "Doc, will I ever walk
again?"

"Well, not *too* soon, I hope." Matt looks up, amusement returning
to the faded-denim eyes. It's May back home. Early summer in New
England. But he's not going to think about that. "You're from
Australia?" It could be New Zealand, he doesn't know accents.

Daisy mms, nods. "Melbourne, originally," she says, and finishes
off the last of her own bottle, finally. She takes a bit longer
with hers, see. "Obviously, you're American - I can't tell where,
though. The northeast? Your vowels are too short to be southern,
and the ends of your words are too clipped to be pacific." Shut
up, shut up! You're geeking out, Daisy.

Melbourne. That is...in Australia, somewhere. Ahem. Her dissection
of his accent gets Daisy another amused look, and he abandons the
toying with her foot to sit back on the floor. "Maine. You think I
talk funny, you should hear my father."

That gets another highly entertained grin. "I don't think you talk
funny!" Daisy prods lightly at Matt's knee, eyebrows up. "Maine?
You're almost from exactly the opposite side of the
world...something."

"That's true." Matt rocks forward again and makes to rest his
crossed arms on Daisy's knees. "Isn't it amazing, we started out
on opposite sides of the planet and now here we are, further away
from home than any other group of human beings, and I can't
imagine anyone I'd rather be alone with." He can talk, yes he can.

And when he talks, he says such cute things. Oho. "That's cute!"
laughs Daisy, who obviously has no problem with Matt resting on
her knees. "Very true. Funny old world, innit?" She finally sets
her own empty down, and ruffles Matt's hair. "I've been wanting to
do that."

Pleased, Matthew grins, eyes turning a glance up at her
hair-ruffle. "Dare I ask why?"

"If there's one thing I'm not, it's a psychologist. If I've any
deeply buried reasons for harboring an overwhelming impulse to
muss your hair, they're so deeply buried I've never seen them,"
Daisy smirks, taking a little longer than necessary to draw her
hand back. "Are you doing to drink that and keep talking?" Or are
you going to relent and show me your place? Or are we going to
forego your place entirely?

There are much, much easier ways of answering that than with
words. Matt reaches up to catch her hand as it retreats, rising to
kneel up and tugging gently to pull her forward for a kiss, his
other hand seeking to rest on Daisy's shoulder.

Daisy doesn't resist in the slightest, leaning forward to meet
Matthew's kiss, eyes reflecting her amusement. *That's* the answer
she was looking for.