Any Of This Ring A Bell?

Who: Conor and Sarah
When: Afternoon
Where: Campfire

With some of the chaos of the day winding down, after the body had been found and buried, Sarah instinctively went off to find Dan, but while walking, changed course to search for Conor instead. Dan had Nic and she doubted that today, of all days, he would want her clinging to him because a dead body of a girl she hadn't even known freaked her out. It didn't take long to track him down, given he was sitting in the general campsite area, near where the fire had been burning the night before. He'd seemed to be in a foul mood earlier, when she had first woken up to the discovery of the body, so she braced herself for that and went over to him, her fingers gripping the sleeves of the sweatshirt that belonged to him.

"Hey," she greeted, sitting next to him and getting comfortable. "Mad day. How are you?" Which she realized what a stupid question, given the circumstances, and he may not even tell her the truth, but she felt it was a necessary question.

His chest was still sore from the events of the morning. Usually after an attack, even one as mild as his had been, Conor liked to drink a cup of coffee, get the airways opened and working properly again. In lieu of that, he'd settled for water, breathing exercises, and taking it easy, none of which he particularly enjoyed. After he and Zania had parted, Conor had spent a little time wandering, trying to ease the irritation clouding his lungs. Eventually, he turned back to the campsite, though he wasn't enamored with the idea. He'd gathered a little firewood in hopes of clearing his head and his chest, as well as being properly ignored by everyone on location. Then he'd sat in front of the fire he'd helped build up, staring into the brightest of the flames. He heard someone approaching but didn't bother to look up, only hoped that it was someone tolerable rather than anyone that wanted to give him shit after this morning. He glanced up as Sarah spoke, eyes still slightly bloodshot from the effort. He inhaled quietly, relaxing beside her. "Alright," he said with a shrug, giving her a slightly baffled look. "Why? Oh-- you mean the body. Don't worry," he said grimly, still feeling oddly wheezy. "I'm not a corpse virgin. How're you?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for his cloves and handing them over.

Sarah looked at him in mild surprise, wondering exactly how many bodies he had actually seen in his lifetime. Morbid curiosity had her nearly asking him just that when he was suddenly offering her a cigarette. Her hand came up to wave them away, but she found herself taking one instead. One wasn't going to hurt. "I'm fine." Okay, so maybe she wasn't, but that was neither here nor there, especially when he looked so terrible. "What happened to you?" she asked, studying his bloodshot eyes. "No offense, but you look terrible."

Conor glanced over, shrugging at the look on her face. It wasn't like he had caused the dead body or anything; he had just been unfortunate enough to find it. It was why he had been so capable under the pressure, why he hadn't felt the breakdown coming until everyone had persisted in being obnoxious, useless morons. Incidentally, he was glad he hadn't been forced to help bury the body, or even so much as touch it. No doubt the others had been put off by his display, but Conor wasn't about to have an audience to an asthma attack. He lit the clove for her, clearing his throat at her answer, giving her a dubious look. But she held off any of his concerns by asking about him, and he looked away from her again. "I'm fine," he said flatly, mimicking her. Since they were lying.

"Liar," Sarah replied simply before she glanced down at the cigarette she held. "Your eyes are all red, and you sound terrible." Wheezy, almost. Not to mention he looked a tiny bit exhausted, though that could have been from the situation they were in. But she'd seen a similar condition several times in the past from her brother and she wondered if he had asthma, like Joshua, or some other medical condition. Or maybe he was just more traumatized by the day than he was letting on. "And before you say it, yes, I'm lying too. But unlike you, I am a corpse virgin so the whole thing has sort of weirded me out, and I'm trying not to think about it so much, otherwise I may end up losing all of the candy I've eaten from my bloody easter basket all over the ground, and that's not very lady like at all, now is it?" Releasing a quick breath, Sarah nudged him lightly in the arm with her own. "Your turn."

Conor coughed, rubbing at his chest inconspicuously and continuing to stare at the fire. She was listing off all the obvious things with the sort of tone that spoke to a basic knowledge of his ailment. Seeing as she hadn't been telling the truth either, Conor wasn't about to open up and spill his guts, but Sarah cut him off at the self-righteous path, and he scowled as she admitted to what had her on edge. It was easy enough to guess. He hadn't known many people that had seen a dead body. He raised his brows in agreement, shrugging at the mention of the contentious candy and projectile vomit. Conor reached into the pack, plucking out a clove and sticking it over the flames, putting his face close enough to feel the heat as he sucked. It started him coughing and he rolled his eyes as he tried to get the fit under control, eventually settling back into place. He turned his face away, spat, and cleared his throat again. "I'm a people-not-listening-to-what-I-say virgin," he croaked, taking a drag on the clove and thinking he was a fucking idiot.

An asthmatic one at that, Sarah thought as she watched him curiously. She resisted the urge to reach over and massage his back. It had always been a comforting gesture to Joshua, though she was pretty sure Conor wouldn't be that appreciative of it. It was obvious his problem irritated him and she didn't want to draw attention to it unless necessary. With a wry smile, she nodded a bit toward him, understanding now why he looked so cranky. "I guess when you have as many different personalities as this place has, you can't really expect everyone to fall silent and look upon one leader for guidance. Some of them will, but some want to take charge themselves, you know? Observing how people work around here over the last couple of days, I've noticed some have distinctively different ways of dealing with certain situations." Like finding a dead body. Resisting the shudder that threatened, Sarah cleared her throat and paused to finally inhale tentatively on the clove in her hand. She, herself, had done what Zania asked and then tried to stay as far away from the body as possible.

She was watching him. Conor glanced over, saw the look in her eyes, and sighed, realizing he was caught at his own game. Apparently she knew someone, or was someone, that suffered from the same. "Don't rat me out," he said gruffly. He hated having it out in the open, because in any situation with a higher than average amount of stress, people started to watch him. And above all things, Conor hated being watched, at least for weakness. He listened to her assumption, vaguely amused that they were on the same page as ever. He nodded, coughed hoarsely. "Mm. God forbid they listen to anyone with a modicum of sense." Just because he was new didn't mean that he didn't know how to handle anything. Regardless, he'd gotten the ball rolling, and he supposed he ought to be glad he hadn't been forced to do anything more than that. He looked at her as she cleared her throat, smoked hesitantly, and reached over to tug lightly at her hair. "Sure you're alright?"

She smiled a bit when he tugged her hair and shot him a look before elbowing him lightly in the side. "Just a bit shaken up, I suppose. But yes, I'm all right. Feeling better now, actually." Between he and Zania, Sarah was learning that talking with someone who actually listened and maybe wanted to talk to her too was calming. Sarah took another small drag on her clove, a bit more steady this time. "And don't worry, I'm not going to rat you out. I'll just add it to the ever growing list of 'Conor Secrets' I'm keeping for you," Sarah teased, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. She had no reason to tell anyone he had asthma, unless she absolutely needed to - say the doctor, though he had been noticeably absent from the camp today. And really, no one needed to know that Conor was there simply to gain a new Jaguar. He would be lectured, no doubt, or shunned by those who would think it frivolous and selfish.

Conor snorted. Apparently between the two of them, the most comfortable method of flirting was the one they'd learned back in third grade -- tugging on her hair, elbowing him in the ribs, shoving each other down on the campsite. Not that that had happened, yet, and not that it would have the same implications now as it might've when they were eight. Conor smirked at the thought. At least she hadn't lost it because of all the chaos, because he wasn't exactly in the mood to comfort anyone, although he figured he could manage, for her. "Good," he shot back. "I'd have to take away my sweatshirt, since that would prove conclusively that you'd lost your humanity," he teased. Truthfully, he didn't give a shit what the other subjects thought -- he just didn't want to have to deal with them for any avoidable reason.

Grinning, she shook her head, pleased that he seemed to be a semi-better mood than when she first found him. Given the situation they were in, it was tough to find much humor among anyone lately. She knew it was to be expected, but she missed honest laughter. "I've still got my brain, and my humanity in tact. So I get to keep this," Sarah said confidently, tugging at the sweatshirt. And then she shot him a pointed, playful look. "You do realize that eventually I'll have accrued so many of your secrets that I'll have to use them to blackmail you somehow."

Conor flicked the ash of his clove, smiling slightly at her declaration. Well, it had been a week, so either he had been wrong in his estimates or she had lasted longer than everyone else. Whatever the case, he was glad. He didn't think he could tolerate it if Sarah lost her mind. She was one of the few here that he could actually stand so far. The smile on his face widened slowly at her claim, and Conor looked at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling sly and smug. "Really," he declared. "And exactly what would you want from me?" he asked her curiously. If she was going to blackmail him, he was interested to know what it would be for -- money? It seemed unlikely. Besides, he had an inkling -- and she'd probably hate him for it.

"Hmmm." She pretended to think about it, looking up toward the sky thoughtfully. "It would have to be for something really good. I couldn't blackmail you for money, because obviously you don't mind losing it, so that would be no fun. I would say your jacket, because it's wicked nice, but you've got enough money you could just buy another." Shrugging, Sarah flicked the ash off of her own clove before shooting him a grin. "I suppose I'll have to give it some serious thought. Money and materialistic items are clearly off the table. And it would have to be something brilliant that you wouldn't give me willingly which means I'll have to get to know you better to find out what that might be." She released a dramatic sigh. "Damn, trying to be diabolical is hard work."

He watched as she discovered how pointless it would be to try and blackmail him, because without a desire for money, he really had nothing to offer. That paused him momentarily, only in this case, because he wondered if that made him a little pathetic. Probably not. Conor grinned. "You're not cut out for diabolical," he agreed. "Must be that cute button nose. Makes it hard to see past to any kind of evil you might commit," he taunted. Conor sucked lightly on the clove, smirking, eyes glittering mischievously. "I guess you'll have to keep learning more about me until you come up with something useful." Like his first name, maybe, although no one would know who the hell she was talking about if she ever used it. Only his mother ever called him by it, and only when she was in a piss-poor mood -- which, actually, was happening more and more often. "And how do you think I might blackmail you?"

She wrinkled the aforementioned nose for a moment. "I could be diabolical if I really wanted to be." Maybe. Probably not. "See, now my cute nose? That's all part of my genius plan to be completely cute and unassuming and get away with said diabolicalness - which, by the way, I'm not really sure is a real word or not." Sarah laughed a bit and shook her head. She didn't know exactly how they'd gotten onto the ridiculous topic, but it was better than corpses. "In any case, I know there's more to you than money so I'll come up with something eventually. And honestly, do you think I'm going to tell you how to blackmail me?" Her smile widened. "If so, you're even worse at diabolical than I am."

"Ah, I see," he confirmed. "Play light and innocent and then stab them from the front." Connor nodded sagely. "Most heartbreakingly evil." He smoked idly as she spoke, watching her with interest. She was an attractive girl, if a bit obviously unnerved. It struck him that she didn't seem comfortable in anything that she did -- that her jokes were almost defensive, that she was never quite at ease even when he was hoping to make it so for her. Either someone had done a number on her, or Sarah was poor in social situations. The latter seemed impossible. She was genuinely funny, extremely sweet-- and she'd mentioned the ex-whatever. Conor suspected he had a large hand in it. He reached up, ran his fingers through her hair without thinking. "Oh, come on," he taunted, shifting to the side as casually as he'd touched her. "It's only fair. After all, even if it didn't matter, you could blackmail me. And besides, the question is more about what you think I'd want out of you." He smirked. "I'll give you leave to think on that in quiet for a bit." Conor exhaled, smiling slyly, and toyed with the clove between his fingers.

Sarah was a bit taken back when he slid his hand through her hair that she lost the response that had been on the tip of her tongue. She covered up her reaction quickly with another smile, hoping against hope that he would assume the pink in her cheeks was from the fire being so close. The last guy who had run his fingers through her hair in any sense was off doing whatever with his new boyfriend. Wow, how sad was that? Refocusing, Sarah leaned over to put out the clove. "Hmm. I'd say my shampoo but I offered that to you for free, so it couldn't possibly be that," Sarah replied with another soft laugh. Honestly, she was afraid if she gave it more thought she'd blush and stammer. Though she had to admit it was fun to flirt with someone who wasn't itching to run away from her. Sarah rested her arms in her lap and returned a sly smile of her own. "Besides, even if I did guess properly, does it matter? You have no blackmail material on me yet."

The flush of her skin didn't go unnoticed, and neither did Conor generously put it down to the fact that they were so near to the fire. It improved his mood to know that he could make her blush and he wasn't going to sacrifice that for her to save face when she didn't need it with him. In this situation, Conor was more than sure of himself -- she was still wearing his sweatshirt, after all -- and it didn't matter what protests she might have made; he had already come to his conclusion. Besides, he liked to tease her, and saw no incentive to stop, not when it made her fidget and laugh. Next time he wouldn't offer her a clove of her own, he thought wickedly. "Are you sure?" he asked in a low voice, a devious smile curving his lips. "How do you know I haven't got any blackmail material on you?"

"Oh, I'm positive," Sarah replied with a roll of her eyes and a chuckle. "I know you haven't, because no one else in this place does, so you couldn't. Nice try, but you can't trip me up with a dose of paranoia. You're just trying to get the upper hand here. I'm the one holding your secrets, not the other way around." She knew it was childish, but she stuck her tongue out at him anyway, as if that made her the winner. Yes, so she could resort to being eight years old when she had to.

"Ah, well, that's true," he conceded, waving it off casually, even if he couldn't help but continue. "But no one else knows you like I do." Conor was willing to bet on it. No one else knew what he knew about her because no one else had viewed their interactions. Anyone that had might be able to see what he could, but then, he was brilliant at playing platonic. He snorted as she stuck out her tongue, tempted to reach forward right then. Instead, he exhaled smoke sunnily in her direction, smirking as he leaned close, his mouth next to her ear. "See, they don't get this close," he murmured. "So they can't see you blush." With a wide grin, Conor straightened, flashing her a knowing look and returning his gaze to the fire. "Though, I'll say I can't see you trying to make a secret of that. So blackmail on that count will be a little more difficult."

He was a terrible flirt. Not that she minded, in fact, she was sort of having fun with it. She knew they were just playing about and it was the first time in a long time since she'd arrived there that she found herself completely distracted from the situation. She didn't counter that there was someone who knew her better than anyone - because she didn't want to think about Dan at the moment and ruin the fun. Smiling as he spoke in her ear, she then bit her lip and spared him a look when he pulled away. She was feeling extremely playful now, which was a refreshing change of pace. "You'll be disappointed to learn that I have no secrets," Sarah told him with a grin, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder with mock regret. "My life is an open book, you can ask anyone who knows me. So I think you need to just accept that currently, I hold all the power here. Not even your wealth can save you from that." She gave a tiny, amused 'tsk' in her throat and pulled her hand back to wrap her arms around her drawn up knees.

Conor was amused at her reservedness in the face of such interaction. He wondered if it was due to the possibility that she was still hung up on her ex, or if she was afraid of being hurt. It wasn't as if he was serious; Conor enjoyed the play as much as the next man, so he didn't think she had any chance of coming away from this with regret. But by contrast, because he thought these things, Conor suspected she actually had a lot of secrets, more than she was willing to admit. That made her normal, naturally, because the entire point of a secret was that no one else was meant to know it. He shook his head, grinning slightly as she patted his shoulder -- feeling oddly like the school-age boy with a crush on his substitute teacher for a moment -- and snorted at the comment about his wealth. "No, but it'll hire me a viciously focused private detective to dig up dirt on you," he said solemnly, though the smile remained tugging at the corners of his mouth. "If you're such an open book, read me a page or two," he suggested, and now he was serious. "I don't even know what you do -- well, what you did, before you joined the experiment. What job would allow you to take off a full sabbatical year?"

"That would be a complete waste of your money," Sarah laughed, clasping her hands together over her knees. "Anything your detective would find, you could find out yourself for free with a simple question." As he had just proven with his inquiry into her occupation. And this type of question she was more than comfortable answering. "I'm a set designer for a West End theater in London. We just wrapped a successful, long running show, and I don't know, they seemed pretty supportive of my decision to take some time off." She had needed it, after Dan's abrupt departure triggered her into running herself ragged for six months. Facing him, she gave him a small smile. "What about you? Obviously you can afford to take a year off, but what did you do before you got here?"

Normally, Conor didn't believe anyone that told him he would be wasting his money to do something -- because normally, that was in hopes of protecting themselves. But Sarah genuinely seemed to think she had nothing interesting in her background, which was curious enough. Her occupation was unusual, but somehow suited her. Conor didn't see her putting the set together. or anything, but he could imagine her designing it. "I take it that doesn't require you to wear a toolbelt," he said, "but does it extend to interior design? I mean, people would be like a cast of characters in a certain setting. It would probably make you more money," he said contemplatively. Her question made him grin, because he'd been asked once already and the answer had been unsatisfactory. "I walk dogs," he deadpanned, keeping a straight face. "And in the evenings, pigeons. They have better night vision."

"No tool belts. I mean, I used to put the sets together, but that was just part of paying my dues. I design them now, sketch them and let others do the labor. I've never thought of interior design, to be honest. I think if I weren't working at the theater, I would be trying my hand at selling some of my art, but that pays even less than the theater does so...it's not really an option for me." Unfortunately. She loved the theater, but just the thought of being able to do nothing but paint and sketch for a living was beyond what she could really hope for. At his answer, she snapped her gaze back to his with mock enthusiasm and surprise. "Wow, that's so interesting! I would imagine it's much more difficult cleaning up after the pigeons than it is the dogs. Messier too, I would think." She shook her head, trying to keep the grin and laughter at bay but not being very successful. "I have this new found respect for you, Conor, unneccesarily subjecting yourself to such an under-appreciated job."

If she was any good at set design, and it sounded like that might be the case, Conor suspected she'd be a force at interior design. All it took was exactly what she did with theater -- learn a character, know him, and know the way in which he'd like to live, as opposed to the way in which he did. "Well, when we get out, you can come redecorate my place. I promise I pay well," he said with a smirk. Conor supposed it was an intelligent -- if vaguely plebian -- assumption to make, that he had a job that paid him the millions of dollars he was worth, but really, that had been his father's doing, and now Dorian's. Eventually, he was sure he would fall into some kind of occupation and make decent money, but Conor had grown rich with his meager ($60 million) inheritance by investing wisely. He knew how to play the stock market and he knew what to expect from consumers, which had quickly increased his wealth. He grinned at her, shrugging. "You asked," he reminded her, and straightened slightly. "Alright, fine, at the moment I am currently gainfully unemployed," he said slyly.

She smiled a bit at his offer to redecorate his place. He had an American accent, which she assumed meant he still lived in the states. Her redecorating his place meant she would have to fly to the states. Which was a fairly exciting thought, but she didn't allow herself to commit to it, because just as with the flirting, she didn't really think he was serious. With her elbows resting on her knees now, she reached up to brush her hair behind her ears and rest her face in her palms as she studied him. "Unemployed? Is that because you have money and don't need, or want, a job? Or because you haven't found exactly what you'd like to do yet?" She honestly hoped he wasn't one of those rich playboys who went around blowing their money on jetsetting around the world, fast cars, loose women and...well, he was in the experiment because of a bet to win one of those fast cars, but he really didn't come across as the stereotypical, spoiled rich boy at all. So she was incredibly interested in his answer.

The thing about Sarah was, she didn't give him an inch, unless he desperately needed it. She didn't push when he made it clear she shouldn't and she followed along when he dropped nuggets of conversation. And she surprised him by playing the game but keeping entirely on her own toes, not requiring anything of him to continue the banter. Conor liked that, that they could have the sort of interaction that allowed them to follow a certain easy rhythm. "Ah, you could say it's both, I suppose," he conceded, shrugging slightly. "I went to college. Got my degree in psychology. I was considering doing another turn in anthropology and sociology, but the bet came up. I might go back. I don't have to work and I haven't found anything I enjoy doing, so I'm not going to commit to anything yet." He grinned. "Maybe I'll write a book one of these days. Never know." But he doubted it. He wasn't sure he really had the patience.

"Well, you've got all the time in the world for sociology. A bet of such magnitude only comes once in a lifetime," Sarah pointed out teasingly before waving her hand. "Or maybe more so, in your case, I don't know. You'll have to track me down someday and let me know what you ultimately decide on doing with your life. Even if it's just taking a road trip cross country in your Jaguar Roadster." She paused a moment, her gaze wandering over some of their housemates in the distance. "It's interesting you have a degree in psychology and you're here. You could probably write an entire book on the people in this place alone."

Because Conor didn't intend to die -- ever -- he knew he would have plenty of time to do the things he wanted. Having the money he did, he figured he was practically unstoppable. "If I track you down, you have to decorate my place," he told her, amused that she thought he was just kidding. "I'll even fly you out to the States. Where do you live primarily?" Calculated in his head, he assumed it would only cost him about a thousand bucks to get her a flight, then depending on how she felt about accommodations -- he would willingly set her up at his place, but there was only one bed, and his couch was notoriously uncomfortable -- they could settle everything as needed. He grinned. That was, of course, providing they actually bothered to contact each other after all this. "I don't think I'd write a book on this place. Not unless it proves more interesting. At this point, it seems like a bad film," he said dryly. Bodies in the lake, camping out in the forest after the location burned down. Seemed like a farce to him. Maybe Mel Brooks was directing.

"Primarily? London, though I visit my parents in Manchester as often as I can," Sarah told him. She couldn't help but laugh a bit at the thought of him contacting her in England just to fly her out to decorate his house. It seemed absurd, but it was fun to think about, even if she had only known him two days. She'd been around the other housemates for more than a week, and really, Dan and Zania were the only two she had as much contact with. At his assessment of this place so far being less than interesting, Sarah released a playful gasp, grabbed Conor's arm and leaned in toward him. "Hey, be careful what you wish for," she whispered, eyes sparkling with amusement. "We've already lost the house, I don't want to wake up tomorrow and find everything is gone and we're left to live like savages with loincloths and spears." Which reminded her of Zania and their Lord of the Flies.

From her accent, he doubted she was from London, because she didn't have the angled, strange manner of speaking he remembered from that part of England. Manchester, he could see, but he wasn't an expert. Conor would never have guessed on his own. Neither would he have guessed she'd be concerned about what would happen next -- he was interested in the prospect of change, but it looked like they were being left on their own on this one. Most of the rebuilding had been done by subjects. He didn't know why that would change, unless the scientists had compiled all the information from this stint that they wanted. "Why? Afraid of how you'd look in a loincloth? I would look fantastic in a loincloth," he declared. "All pale and gangly and sunken-chested," Conor joked, grinning. It was all a clever ploy to get her imagining him without any clothes -- because he had no doubt that she'd give him a fairer estimate than he had done himself.

She was laughing way too much. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, because it was making her feel good, no matter how ridiculous the conversation. In truth, she thought he would probably look really good in a loincloth, but it wasn't something she could bring herself to say past all of the amusement she was feeling. And a part of her was scolding herself for even picturing it, like she wasn't allowed to or something even though there was no valid reason behind it. Looking over at Conor, she pushed the image from her mind and grinned. "Really? Strangely enough, that's exactly how I would look in a loincloth. I didn't realize that we had so much in common, Conor. It's eerie."

Now she was inviting him to imagine her barely-clothed, and Conor smirked at the prospect, staring at her for a long moment and wondering how long it would take to get her blushing. He was pleased with how amused she was, how everything that normally plagued her seemed to have drifted away. Conor wasn't normally the sort of man who was good at that kind of thing -- mostly because, normally, he wasn't around a woman long enough to bother -- but he found himself enjoying it. "You know, some people would call me a narcissist." The point being, of course, that people considered him the type of man to want to have sex with himself. Conor smirked. "Would that make you one, too, with how much we have in common?"

Sarah didn't blush this time, nor did she mind him staring at her with that knowing smirk on his face. It wasn't as if she hadn't flirted with men before, and now she was simply having fun rather than reading too much into things. She glanced over when he spoke, wanting to say he didn't seem like a narcissist, but she'd only known him two days, so either she simply didn't know him well enough, or he was putting on a complete facade. "You know, I don't think so," she said with a smile. "I think we may have a lot in common other than that." Arching an eyebrow, she shot him a look. "Do you consider yourself a narcissist?"

Conor knew she wasn't a narcissist -- not even close. She blushed too much, made too much fun of herself; of course, by that count, he technically wasn't a narcissist either, but Sarah seemed to prefer hearing his own answer rather than making the same conclusion. Or, if she already had, she was testing him. He didn't know what that might mean. Conor grinned, taking a moment to smoke and gather his thoughts on the matter. "Completely," he finally decided. "Who wouldn't want to drag me into some dark back room and take advantage of me?"

The answer made her laugh, more because she really had no idea if he was being serious or not. It didn't really matter - either way, he amused her. "Touche," Sarah replied with a playful roll of her eyes. "I don't think I could claim the same, however." She shook her head, still smiling. Though she was confident in who she was, inside and out, she was a bit more modest than that. Or at least, she thought she was. Sarah had never really given it much thought. "And I'm sure you've endless possibilities of women wanting to haul you into those dark rooms." He seemed like the type - handsome, charming and wealthy. Why settle for one woman? But then again, just like with his narcissism, she simply didn't know him well enough to know for sure.

"You couldn't claim to have the desire to drag me into a dark back room and take advantage of me, or you think that no one would want to do that to you?" Conor asked, smirking slyly. She really was a pile of fun, even if her lack of confidence in normal situations would have turned him off. This, as he had come to recognize early on, was not a normal situation -- and he found her endearing, which was strange enough in and of itself, because that wasn't really a word in his vocabulary that he'd ever used without at least a small amount of derision. Of course, this was the first time he'd met a girl who was truly endearing, rather than one that was pretending to be. "I can almost guarantee you, neither of those statements are true," he added coyly.

"Oh, so you think I want to drag you some place dark and have my wicked way with you, then?" Sarah asked with another arch of her eyebrow and a soft smirk. It was silly, how badly she was flirting but she couldn't help herself. Since Dan left, her confidence in guys at all, even flirting, had taken a blow. It was tough to let yourself be interested in someone when you were almost positive they were going to up and abandon you. So now, even if neither of them were terribly serious, Sarah was proud of herself that she hadn't frozen or stumbled about and looked for some excuse to leave.

A feral grin twisted his lips and Conor eyed her closely. If this got too serious, would she leave as skittishly as she occasionally looked, or would she stick through the tough to get to the tender part of the meat? As far as he was concerned, they were blatantly skirting the edges of a juicy, tempting steak. "It's not as though there's a conspicuous lack of dark places into which you might drag me," he conceded matter-of-factly. "As for your wicked way, the real question is whether or not I would allow it." Conor smirked. "Or if I would simply take control of the situation myself."

She snickered and then shot him a look that clearly challenged the one he gave her. "Please. The only way you're taking control of any situation with me is if I allow it. Contrary to what you might think, I'm not some dainty wallflower who falls over for every charismatic guy who loans her a sweatshirt," Sarah told him with a teasing grin before poking him in the arm. "So you're going to have to just enjoy those dark places on your own."

Conor snorted, appreciating the first hint of true fire. He'd never take advantage of her, but it was good to hear that if anyone ever tried, she'd be feistier than a self-righteous society girl. He reached over, tugging playfully on her hair, tangling his fingers in the honeyed locks and smirking at her. "Good to hear," he told her, and laughed at her suggestion, flashing her a wicked look. "All this talk of loincloths and you taking advantage of me, I think I can make do on my own for a little longer," he teased her devilishly. "But I'd be willing to bet you, you won't be able to stop thinking about those dark places either. Especially if you think I'll be in them." He smoked to hide the grin on his face.

"You and your bets," Sarah laughed. She brushed the hair he'd tugged behind her ear. Her cheeks were starting to get sore from all of the smiling. That was a rarity lately. "If it helps you to think that you'll be starring in my nighttime fantasies, I won't shatter your illusions," she remarked with a broad grin, reached over to mess his own hair with her hand before she stood. "I should go check on Zania, see how her ankle is doing before I give serious consideration to dragging you into the trees."

"Can't live without them." It wasn't true, probably. He was sure he could go at least a week without a genuine bet, but it was so rare that he was wrong, it was hard to bother. If Conor profited, it was usually not monetarily. He preferred not to bet for money, since he didn't need any; and he hated things as a rule. But he let people put up what they wanted -- so long as they knew what the stakes on his side would be. He could hardly expect anyone to match him in the same way. Conor snagged her hand as she tried to retreat, flashing her a wicked grin as he pressed his lips to her fingertips. He didn't release her hand. "I can go with you," he suggested, noticing that he felt much better now than he had earlier. But he didn't stand.

Her gaze fell to where his lips pressed against her fingertips and she arched an eyebrow, refusing to let her expression give away how her heart jumped in her chest. That was never a good sign. Instead, she smirked a bit, deciding not to pull her fingers from his hand. He would have to let go first. "I'm sure you could. But after your attack, you should probably sit here and relax for a bit longer until you're feeling up to getting up and moving around again. I wouldn't want you doing anything that's going to kick your heartrate dangerously up again." If there was an innuendo in there, he could find it himself.

Narrowing his eyes, Conor rose to his feet and stood mere inches from her, trapping the heat from their bodies in the small space between them. "I thought we were going to pretend that hadn't happened," he said in a low voice, trying to sound menacing even when he was merely teasing. His fingers stayed curled around hers and he reached up, stroking her hair back from her face, letting his short nails skate gently over her skin. "I think you owe me," he said solemnly. "Especially for that little barb at the end. Are you calling me weak?" he demanded, eyes hard even as laughter played on his lips.

Sarah took in a slow breath, resisting the urge to look around to make sure no one was watching them. Her eyes stayed on his, even when he pushed her hair back from her face. But she didn't want to back away, because she knew he was playing a game with her, which she had been a willing participant of, and backing off would make him think he'd gotten to her. Even if the game had gone farther than she thought it would. And he was making her heart race in a way only Dan had in the past seven months. A tiny smile curve at her lips. "I don't owe you anything. I never said I would pretend it didn't happen. I only said I wouldn't tell anyone. And having asthma doesn't make you weak." She squeezed his fingers with her own and gave him an innocent smile. "I was only looking out for your health."

As had been his intention, Conor seemed to have distracted her from her original goal, which was leaving him. That definitely wasn't satisfactory and it didn't mesh with his goal, which meant it was utterly intolerable. His fingertips trailed down her arm, his other hand still holding hers, and he stroked the inside of her elbow with his thumb. He didn't care who was watching, whether they thought it was serious or a game. Content on pushing a little farther, Conor leaned in, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. "Seems I'm breathing just fine now," he murmured against her ear. Looking out for his health should be the furthest thing from her mind. "And telling me counts as telling someone," he taunted, lips brushing her cheek gently. His nose trailed lightly against her jaw as he slowly pulled back, straightening eventually with a sly smile on his face. "Wish we were in those dark places now?" he murmured smugly.

Sarah's eyes had drifted shut for only a brief second until he pulled back. When's the last time any guy had touched her like that since Dan? And why did she keep comparing them? This wasn't anything. It was just fun, despite the way her pulse was thumping. Sarah noted the smile, the tone of his voice. She wasn't naive to what he was doing. She was a grown woman who'd had her fair share of flirtatious encounters. He was playing her, definitely, and that was fine. She could play back and shake off the rest later. Refusing to budge, she licked her lips and returned a sly grin of her own. "No, but given that you won't let me go, and with how close you're standing to me, I would definitely say that you wish we were."

Conor didn't really consider himself a player, although he supposed in the strictest sense of the word, he probably was. His encounters tended to the brief and frenzied and string-less, but he had been involved with women steadily in his lifetime, the rare few that kept his interest and had no care for his money. That was rare to find, but here, his wealth had no bearing. Of course, should they ever meet outside this microcosm, Conor couldn't be certain how it would turn out, their differences so apparent. Still, he found it useless to think of here. He snorted at her play, rolling his eyes as his fingertips slid beneath her chin and lifted it slightly. "Inarguably," he agreed, lowering his mouth to hers.

Sarah's eyes widened briefly when Conor tilted her chin up and her first instinct was to pull away. What if someone saw? What if Dan saw? What would he say? Or think? Would he even care? And why was she so worried about him when he was clearly over her and with someone new, if he'd ever wanted her at all. And...while all of this was rushing through her head, Conor was kissing her and she was kissing him back, her fingers tightening around his in the brief moment she allowed it to happen. He found she quite liked his lips and the way he tasted and it jarred her from the act itself. Sarah stepped back quickly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked at him. She then forced a smile, not really sure what was going on, but not wanting to look like a daft cow for being effected by it if he was still playing around with her. "I wouldn't necessarily call the campfire a dark place."

Actually, he was a bit surprised and definitely pleased that she'd let him do it. Conor had thought Sarah would pull away before anything could happen, but she had proved him wrong by not only allowing, but returning his kiss. His hand slid to her jaw, fingertips cupping behind her neck as she let it continue. Considering he hadn't expected it to start, he wasn't shocked when she pulled away. Conor released her at last, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets and rocking back on his heels as he looked at her, grinning slightly. "Is that an invitation or a ceasefire?" he teased, guessing it was likely the latter. Apparently she had come to her senses -- or, in his opinion, totally lost them. That was neither here nor there when the next move was all hers.

Sarah folded her arms against her chest and lifted an eyebrow curiously. "I would say a ceasefire. I'm still trying to figure out if this is still some game, or what point you're trying to prove here, if you have one at all," she added with a slightly amused smile. The last thing she needed was to feel anything for some guy she'd just met who was simply playing around - even if it was just physical attraction. Because she was not going to be a willing participant in more humiliation like she had been with Dan. Sarah liked to know and set her limits. Usually, she was the one drawing that line. It was absolutely the best way to refrain from being hurt again.

It was as he expected, although Conor had been anticipating leaving the conversation entirely unscathed. He hadn't thought she would put too fine a point on her suspicions, even though he was aware they -- and her reservations -- were undeniably present. It seemed a bit early, a bit presumptuous to make such statements, and he couldn't help but feel bothered by them. She couldn't call him to account without doing it to herself, too. "Alright, I'm a little insulted," he admitted, furrowing his brow, displeasure rising in his chest. "Exactly what makes you think that I'm playing a game, or that I must have an agenda?" he asked, taking a minute step away from her as he regarded her neutrally. "I'd think you would know better about me," he said calmly, lifting a brow. Perhaps he was the one that had been thinking presumptively. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

"I didn't mean to insult you by it," Sarah said, dropping her arms to her sides. She didn't point out that she'd only known him two days, because somehow, in the circumstances they were finding themselves in, it felt a lot longer. "I'm not implying that you have an agenda. We were just flirting, and having fun. I just didn't know if kissing me was a part of that, or something else and now - " She trailed off with a small smile and shake of her head. "Now I feel really foolish. I think I read into things more than I should and it gives me the occasional moment of sticking my foot in my mouth." And wearing her heart on her sleeve at the most inopportune times which was where the humiliation generally kicked in. Such as this. "I'm sorry."

His eyes crinkled slightly as he flashed her a rueful smile. "You backpedal faster than anyone I know," Conor told her, reaching out to brush his fingers against her hair. He could make her a bet, but he thought she'd rather have a promise, and he wasn't all that good at those, despite his doggedness in wagers. There was a definite distinction to be made; in a bet, only pride could be hurt. Feelings were involved in promises. Conor shook his head. "I'm impressed," he said with a lift of his brow. "If you can get your foot that high, only imagine the tricks you could do," he teased, and brushed her comments off dismissively. He hadn't meant to embarrass her, only to steady her; she had gone down a path that wouldn't be conducive to further inquiry, discussion, or dark places. "Don't be sorry," he commanded with a grin. "You can make it up to me."

She still felt silly, and stupid, and she hated Dan in that moment for making her so insecure about things that she had once had complete confidence in. She was probably going to spend the rest of the day in her tent, completely mortified. His joke made her laugh anyway and she shook her head, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ears. "How exactly do you propose I do that? Or is that something I'm going to have to come up with one my own?" she asked with a curious look and a grin.

Acknowledging that her last relationship -- with the ex that was here -- had diminished her confidence only frustrated him slightly. It hadn't been any fault of his, though he despised the treading that would be necessary. No man should ever destroy a woman, and in Conor's opinion, all it took to destroy a human being was to shred their esteem to pieces. Of course, the other party was responsible as well, but the strength to avoid such devastation was rarely a human characteristic. He had known few people that could care deeply for another person and then, when wounded by them, pick up all the pieces and walk away -- no one left unscathed. There were always shards left behind. He wouldn't know himself. "I think you're creative enough, Ms. London Set Designer," he joked, putting his hands in his pockets. "Besides, you don't seem all that fond of my proposals." He grinned wickedly.

"I think I'm creative enough too," she announced confidently, a bright smile on her lips. "So when I think of some incredibly creative way to make up for my moment of utter stupidity, I'll come find you." She pulled away to walk back to her tent before glancing over her shoulder at him with another grin. "Just for the record, I rather like your proposals."