confidenceman | you're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel

Christmas was in two weeks. Funny, how Christmas still stood out to Sawyer year after year, even though he didn't care much for the holiday, either in concept or in practice. He'd never been much of a religious kind of guy; the thought that there was someone sentient up in the world who gave all the crap the world went through His stamp of approval just rankled Sawyer. There was, he couldn't help but think, a reason why 'God complex' had a negative connotation, which was that it didn't matter who was in the position of power, to believe that one could completely affect a chain of events, or even that one had a right to try, was dangerous. Even condescending. And maybe a part of him also wanted to think that there was no one up there pulling on puppetstrings, because it was terrifying to think that far from being just another person in the world unable to swim against the current, that there was a force which could render all of his efforts completely useless.

Futility, it stung like a bitch.

From the religious connotations of Christmas to the commercial aspect of it all, Sawyer wasn't a fan of the holiday, but he suspected that he'd recently come into the company of a great number of people who did. So that morning, he was sitting in the kitchen with a few books laid out side by side, mostly do-it-yourself manuals with ideas for gifts he could feasibly make on the island.

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This is the most difficult part of knowing the people Sawyer knows. On the island, so many intents and desires swirl around, enough to confuse anyone living there, let alone anyone trying to understand one another. Whatever part of Juliet's act is an act (and Sawyer suspects that something is), he doesn't know, not right then, not even as he looks in spite of the fact that he's told himself he shouldn't. So he only lets his gaze linger for a bit before he smirks and looks away again, as he always does, down at his book.

"I'm at the beach a lot too, go figure," he says warmly, less prickly than usual, and certainly less guarded. Ironic. She's an Other, after all. "And possibly startin' up a radio show soon. If you ever wanna stop by the booth, feel welcome."

With one last wink, he pushes aside his empty mug and opens his book once more. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind, though. My guess is that there'll still come a day when I get shot on this island. Some things don't change."

A flash of a smile crosses her features. "A radio show? I didn't even know there was a radio station here. I'll be sure to listen for you."

As Juliet turns to go, she catches his last comment, and she turns in the doorway to look at him. "Well. I've still got your back. That hasn't changed either." She smiles one more time before going, disappearing down the hallway.

She seems like a radio kind of person, he thinks to himself. Like she'd enjoy turning the dial and never knowing where the static will clear, but being sure that somewhere it must, that there are people who want to talk as much as there are people who want to listen. She's the latter type when she has the luxury.

All Sawyer can do is watch as she retreats from the corner of his eye, before he looks down at the pages of his book again, the smile gone from his face, even if the expression is still a soft one.

"Still got yours too, Blondie."

you're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel

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