Sam's been hiding out in her room, but that won't work forever.

Anyway, her roommate is rather creepy and to be avoided, well, all the time.

So Sam's taken her assignment(s), readings on history and creative writing, outside. Where she sits on a bench, concentrates on ignoring the cold, and tries to get some work done.

She doesn't do it very well, but Sam doesn't actually care about her grades. As long as she doesn't fail, anyway. Failing would be messy.

Sam is far more concerned about being out in the open, despite the light snowfall the night before and the derth of other students out and about this bright morning. She doesn't really care for, well... people.

Especially not lately. Too many self-image issues.

She's dressed to perfection, despite her wholehearted wish not to be noticed. Jeans, cream-colored coat and jewelry perfection, granted, but that's pretty good for a college student on a monday morning. Her hair is brushed, sprayed and styled into artful auburn waves, her eyes are long-lashed hazel.

As opposed to that dazed one over there wandering around in a bathrobe. And dredlocks.

It struck Teague today that what he wanted to do, what he really wanted to do, was wander over in the direction of the university.

So he did.

He's strolling about, hair tied back under a black paisley kerchief-thing, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and two t-shirts. Hardly enough for this weather, but he doesn't seem to find it all that cold. It could be midsummer, for all he cares.

Slung on his back is a beat-up guitar case, containing, unsurprisingly, his guitar. The case could really use replacing, but Teague's rather attached to it. He figures, it's lasted this long, there's no reason to throw it out. Also, he has a certain fondness for well-worn things. It shows they've been of use.

Footsteps break her concentration, and she watches him approach out of the corner of her eye.

Finally, he's near enough for conversation, at which point she must ask, "Aren't you cold?"

It's an honest question. She isn't cold, but she isn't normal, either.

Doesn't she know him from somewhere? Somewhere, some time, some place.... He isn't a student, she's sure of that much.

Ah, who's this? Jetta's new,... he'll think 'pet' or 'project'.. or 'pet project', for lack of any better description. Teague looks at her from the corner of his foggy blue eyes, almost walking right past her before he stops, turns with a flourish,...and shrugs.

"Not in the least, love," he says cheerfully. "Aren't you?"

She shrugs, vaguely uncomfortable. She should be cold, she knows. This isn't a winter coat, just long-sleeved. "Not really."

Changing the subject, "Did I see you playing on Elm the other day?" She vaguely remembers liking the music.

Many things are vague with Sam. She's too tentative to be more than vague.

"Elmmm, hm?...,"

He makes a show of thinking it over, rolling his eyes skywards and rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Yes, I was," he concludes, returning his gaze to her. "Unless of course it was someone who kidnapped me and stole my identity, but that didn't happen so - yes. That was me."

"I didn't realize it was an option," she says, amusement lurking in tone and expression.

Did people kidnap him and steal his identity often? Funny.

"Do people steal your identity often?" She's joking. This is a joke.

I didn't know she knew how to joke.

"Not that I'm aware of..."

He grins drowsily at her.

"But maybe they're just so good at it that I haven't noticed yet. It could happen."

She's amused.

She also hides the amusement rather successfully (as she hides most all emotions).

"If I meet anyone masquerading as you, I'll be sure to tell you."

Nevermind that she doesn't know his name, where he lives, or anything about him.

"For that matter, you could be the imposter. Why else would you hang around this dump?"

Keaton, that is. She doesn't like her school very much.

And the question is valid - why is he wandering Keaton, hm?

Call her a curious kitty.

"Hmmm,.. good question," he replies, scratching his head and pondering over it. "Well, I suppose the imposter could be trying to make the impersonation authentic. I do drop by here from time to time. For the scenery, you know. To meet people. Catch up with... friends."

Pause.

"I've seen you around, too." This is true. "Samantha, right?"

"Oh, I. Yeah. Sam."

Samantha to people who scare her. Sam to her friends.

"We were introduced?" She's confused, a bit. And wary, a bit, because he knows more about her than she knows about him.

On the flip side, it's equally likely they were introduced and she forgot. She doesn't trust her memory.

And looking around critically, she adds, "Can't say I'd come here for the scenery." Not that it's bad looking, but Sam's travelled in her time. Paris, London, all that. This place is obscure and far away from her family. She didn't choose it for the scenery.

There is hardly anyone in Bayfield who knows Teague before he knows them.

Or knew of them. There's a difference.

"Sam, then," he nods, "No, we haven't been introduced. I've seen you around with Jetta, though. She... may have mentioned me to you, but maybe not by name. Not by my name, anyway."

"Jetta? Really?"

Huh. He doesn't really seem Jetta's type. Jetta's crowd, what Sam's seen of them, is singularly, well, un-Teague-like.

"What would she have said?"

There's a cautious edge, because Jetta seldom compliments out of your earshot, and Sam has this absurd tendency to believe every word the girl says until things are proven otherwise.

She owes Jetta a lot.

Teague smiles lopsidedly at her, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Nothing nice," he replies. "If she's said anything about 'that bastard, Teague' or similiar terms - you can bet she was talking about me. Oh. Or 'the father'. Might that ring a bell?"

Blink.

"She slept with you?"

And then she catches her breath, because that sounded so wrong.

"Sorry, sorry, I just- I-"

Awkward. She takes a moment to breath.

"You don't really seem her type."

Which is true.

Teague, huh. Nice name.

"Yes, yes, I know. Shocking, isn't it. You must not have known Jetta very long,... any attractive male within range is her type."

He doesn't seem troubled at all, mainly because he isn't. He's not, strictly speaking, Jetta's type - nor is she his type. He's of the opinion that he doesn't have a type, but that's only because his dips into the relationship pool have been few and far between.

"With me, see..., I was rather drunk at the time, and one thing led to another..." he shrugs, "Not that I'm trying to excuse anything. Just trying to explain."

"Oh."

Pause.

"I suppose I should invite you to the baby shower, then?"

Since she's putting one together anyway.

And she really can't think of anything else to say.

Teague chuckles softly.

"That's probably not a good idea. Jetta and I've had a little disagreement,... not, I think, that she's happy to see me at any time, but especially now... I'm staying out of her way." He smirks. "Ask her about me sometime. I'd love to know what she'll say."

Sam winces.

"I'd rather not get on her bad side, thanks."

Sam's being honest here - she doesn't want to risk it.

At first, yes, it was awe, and now it's gratitude, but Sam isn't stupid and she's been around the manipulative types most of her life. It's livable and Jetta can be a good friend, so... it's easy to put up with.

And asking Jetta about something Jetta doesn't like is a good way to make Jetta irritable.

"What happened, though?" If you don't mind Sam asking, anyway.

"The disagreement, you mean?" He tips his head to one side, frowning slightly. "Weelllll... we had a wee bit of a fight over the baby, about custody and such. I... guess you could say I won the argument. I get to keep the baby. Jetta certainly doesn't want her, but she'd keep her just to spite me, if she could."

"Oh...."

Sad.

Sam likes babies, you see, and children in general.

She was looking forward to having a friend with a baby.

...sigh.

...And he notices, and decides to comment.

"Ah, not happy about that? Why?"

Most people are open books to him. He can usually figure out how people will act, but would never presume he knew what people were thinking.
Which is why he has to ask.

"Because you won't let me babysit," said with a shrug and a self-depricating grin.

What? She can be honest if she wants to be.

Also she's an elf from a rather traditional strain - bards and music have strong and highly noticable effects. Namely that she relaxes, that she tells him the truth, that she doesn't hurry away because aaaaah, he is male.

Yes, even just talking, I think.

"Now did I say that?" he asks, smirking. Of course it would be something like that... "Sure I would. All you have to do is ask... come to think of it, before long, I might be asking you."

He's probably going to need a lot of help. He's never even held a baby. Goodness knows how he expects to raise a baby girl on his own...

Sam is amused (her mood's mercurial at the moment).

"Well, in that case, congratulations on your upcoming child."

She tilts her head to one side. "Is it a boy or girl? Jetta didn't say." Or Sam forgot, also a possibility.

Comparing Sam's memory to a seive really wouldn't be far off the mark.

For the record, Sam is prepared for this kind of thing via the simple expedient of seeking out the opportunity to care for small children at every turn. Babysitting, you name it.

She should open a daycare when she's done with college or something.

"It's a girl."

Teague seems particularly pleased about this. Not that he wouldn't love a son just as much, but he's gotten so used to the idea of having a daughter that he's convinced himself he'd prefer one.

"Have any name ideas?"

What can I say?

The thought of children (babies) makes Sam completely singleminded.

And as curious as a cat. Silly child.

"Mmnope, not really," he shrugs. "Probably should get to it - the baby is due next week..."

The task of naming had been given to Hunter, though,... not that Teague hadn't pondered it a bit, but he knew it wasn't his choice.

"Well I look forward to hearing the final verdict," with a tiny flash of a grin, and then she realizes that oh-god-she-has-class-in-two-hours.

"Not that this hasn't been educational, Teague, but I have to go and get the education my parents are paying for or they'll have my hide. Nice to meet you, and I'm sure I'll see you again."

Jetta, and all.

And she stands, picking up her books, putting them away.

"Alright, then," he smiles, gives a wave that's something like an informal salute, and ambles off.

"See you around."