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Oh. [David pauses in his inspection of the kitchen, which at least has the decency not to be disgusting. His feline lower half folds itself into a sitting position, tail curled around his legs and wings folded as compact as he can manage. It's clear he's used to trying to make himself small in this shape.]

The 'X-Files'? That sounds...hmmm. Like a really cheesy television show.

[There's no malice behind it. Just an observation.] Oh, nothing. Just getting a feel for the space? I assume you've been here, like, three days or something.

It's not.

[ With the deliberate patience of someone who's had to explain this more than once.

My job is real is enough for now. Mulder hops up on the countertop, and it's probably better that he doesn't own much, or his tails would have knocked everything askew. He regards Rose with the attitude of someone who's never been in the habit of folding himself up for others' comfort and gives a wry, fanged smile. ]

Three weeks is closer to the truth.

Uh-huh.

[David plants his hands on his hips, falling easily into his natural state: bossy and entitled.]

Okay. So three weeks in, and you've got...no furniture. I shudder to think of the state of your spine. First order of business is buying you a bed. Frame and mattress.

[Even if mattress-on-the-floor is a huge upgrade from sleeping bag-on-the-floor.]

[ Mulder shrugs, stretching his back after for good measure. As explanation - ]

I don't sleep much.

[ Now doesn't seem to be the time to inform the guy that he catches his z's on a leather couch at home. ]

Okay, well, what if you have guests over?

[He shoots Mulder an appraising look. The whole fuzzy-fox thing is cute, but if he squints, he can imagine that as a human, he's not at all bad to look at.]

Tall drink of water like you, I'm sure you're bound to have some company sooner or later. And nothing kills the mood like "right this way to my sleeping bag."

[ He raises a brow, and though there aren't any whiskers up there, there's a few dark dots where whiskers might have been, not unlike a particularly thin five o'clock shadow in a particularly odd place. ]

All right. So I get a bed. Nothing fancy.

Doesn't have to be. Although...

[He hesitates.] I have to know what you consider to be fancy. It's a pretty subjective word.

[And he has, well. Fancy tastes.]

Let's say overly complicated. [ There's a pause, as he considers how best to elaborate. ] I'll spend money on things that last, but I'm not interested in scrollwork or little decorative plaster cupids on columns.

[ Please don't make his apartment look like a mobster's house on Long Island circa 1996. He's not new money here. ]

Interesting patterns are fine, though. I'm red-green colorblind - whatever color scheme you pick out, I probably won't notice.

[ This also means his knowledge of Dana's hair color is purely academic. ]

Oh. Oh, God, no. [David waves his hand, a quick, almost-nervous laugh escaping him.] No, no, there won't be any of that.

[Absolutely no cupids are happening on his watch.]

Besides, the whole point is to make it look like you picked everything out, not me. So tell me what you do like. Wood? Metal? Leather?

All three?

[ A shrug. ]

I had a leather couch at home. Wooden bookshelves. I could use a desk in here somewhere. [ The details feel random as he throws them out there. The idea of decorating a place deliberately, as opposed to slowly filling it with more and more clippings of news articles and the detritus of existence, feels more than a little alien to him. ] Oh - would you like some coffee? I'd offer you a seat, but.

Okay. Okay, that's good. Good starting point.

[He pulls his phone out of what turns out to be a belt bag tucked beneath his sweater—the best alternative to pants pockets he's come up with in his monster form—and starts typing a new note.]

A desk, okay. Desk chair, too, and a lamp...hmm? [oh. Coffee. He smiles thinly.]

Mmmhmm. I'm not exactly chair-friendly anyway. Yes to the coffee, though. Do you have almond milk?

Almond milk? [ David might as well ask for zebra milk - even Starbucks doesn't have anything but cow's milk, where Mulder comes from. ] I take mine black, usually.

[ Which is to say, there's currently a half-eaten takeout box of noodles in his fridge, and nothing else.

Regardless, he slides down from the countertop, his tails swishing along the surface and then continuing to do whatever the hell they want behind him as he gets some water and coffee grounds. At some point, maybe he'll get better than alien Folger's, but so far, he's made no effort. ]

You can pick up anything else that looks useful, too. [ With considerable fondness: ] It'll get Scully off my back about this place.

Uh— never mind. Black is fine. I'm just going to...take some notes.

[He gestures vaguely as he heads back toward the living room, though Mulder's last comment doesn't escape him. He pulls out a tape measure and starts taking measurements of the room.]

Oh? She's...on your back?

[Intriguing.]

Metaphorically speaking.

[ Mulder follows, leaving the Mr. Coffee equivalent to drip. And he follows - Rose isn't the first one to make noise about Mrs. Spooky. He leans against a wall, arms crossing, as he takes in the details of the man's feathers, tries to imagine what kind of bird they might belong to under other circumstances. ]

You're not the only one who believes in furnished apartments.

Uh-huh. [It's too late; the wheels are already turning in David's snoopy little brain, trying to figure out what the deal is there. He's going to have to do some reconnaissance on this one for sure.]

Oh, there are lots of us. I'd say probably more than there are people who live in blank, unfurnished depression boxes.

[He lets his tape measure snap shut to emphasize his point.]

What about art? Do we like art?

In my defense, I have a fully furnished place in Alexandria. I'd stay there if it weren't for the commute.

[ And you know what sounds like a waste of an alien planet? Furniture shopping. ]

Art's fine. [ At the very least, it fills up empty space on the walls. ] A television would be better. Maybe an aquarium.

Yeah, sadly that's not really a possibility here, what with the being on another planet shit.

[Okay. Art he can do. A television he can do. But...

His nose wrinkles.]

Mm, I don't do live animals. If you want an aquarium, you're on your own.

That works for me.

[ He'd rather buy his own fish, anyway. This, at least, won't be boring.

A pause, looking around the place. Have they missed anything? ]

So how'd you meet Scully?

[ Nailed it. ]

Hmm? [David glances up from where he's tap-tapping measurements into his phone, and then has to think about it a moment.]

Oh, um...I advertised my store on the network, and then she ended up testing out some products for me. And now we're friends. She's good people.

A store. Something besides this interior design business?

[ Note to self: Look up ads on the network forums. He's not stalking Scully, he's being normal about all of this. ]

Edited (typing a thing and then wanting to type something else) 2022-10-22 23:13 (UTC)

Mmm. Adjacent. It's called Rose Apothecary. We sell home goods, skincare products. Luxuries inspired by Earth.

[He seems very pleased with himself about it, too.]

Oh, and coffee bar. Very important. I make a mean latté.

A coffee shop with face wash for sale? You should've called it the Soap Bar.

[ All Mulder can picture is bubble bath bottles and all the smells that emanate from the Bath and Body Shop on the rare occasions he's walking through a shopping mall. The world of skincare products as major investment is still a distant dream for him.

Speaking of coffee, though - as he goes to check on the coffee maker, he takes advantage of the distance between them to ask what he really wants to know. ]

How's Scully been doing here?

[David immediately pulls a face.]

No, I think I like the name I picked.

[Mostly finished with his initial measurements anyway, David settles down in the middle of the living room, his huge lower half laying down Sphinx-style while he awaits his promised plain black coffee.]

Um, good? I think? She mentioned getting a job at GemSci. Meeting a few folks. [He at least has the tact not to brag about nabbing a friends-with-benefits situation with her, mostly because that's not really his style.] You haven't asked her?

I've asked. But you know how Scully is.

[ Does he? Mulder's got a feeling here, one he's going to try to pin down into something more certain.

The sounds of ceramic clinks and hot liquid pour out from the kitchen. He opens the cupboards, as though food might have appeared on its own while he wasn't paying attention, and finds a half-eaten bag of potato chips and an ad for a takeout place. Probably not servable to this guy. ]

She's going to say she's fine even if her leg's in a bear trap. [ This, on his way back into the living room, offering a mug to Rose. It's black with silver letters on it, advertising the name of a self-employed gem Mulder neither knows nor cares about - the equivalent of getting a magnet from a realtor and sticking it on your fridge. ] So: She's really been okay?

Mmm. [Brief; noncommittal. He glances up at Mulder as he comes back in bearing two mugs, taking the black one with a nod of thanks.] She seems very self-reliant.

[He takes a sip, braces for the worst and finds that it's actually not too bad. He even goes back for a second sip!]

She's been okay. I had to sort of...cajole her into, like, asking for help when she needs it, so.

[vague!!]

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