The Burroughs

Music echoes from one of the rooms inside, soft with content while twisted with a solemn tone as Rourke places one of the pieces he had been studying earlier. However, he hears something from down the hall and he stops, listening. Then he sets his violin on its stand with the bow leaning near it and steps out of the room, eyes moving towards the door. He spots a figure standing outside of it, so he steps over and opens the door, having not locked it.

"It's ethereal."

Staring outside a moment longer before he turns and closes the door to look at her, Rourke arches an eyebrow at her. "What's ethereal?" he questions, walking into the living room.

"The music I heard you playing."

"Thank you.." he says quietly, studying her closely.

"Sorry for the intrusion."

"No, I opened my to you," he shakes his head. "I told you that you could return anytime you needed."

"I'm not sure that was necessarily the best move on your part, but I thank you."

Rourke offers a small smile. "I never said it was the best move, but it was certainly one that was on the board."

"And why was it on the board? I'm not a friend of yours, and you have no obligation."

"I don't see people as either friend nor foe," he answers. "I make no decision until I've seen them, and understood how they talk, think, move, before I decide something as crucial as that. I don't have to have an obligation to do anything-- it's only whether I want to or if I don't."

"And why do you want to help me?"

"I want to find out if you're friend or foe." Rourke shrugs, tone almost nonchalant and matter-of-factly.

"I could be either, physically. Honestly."

"Thus why I've reached out," he says, arms spreading from his sides a little.