Wren

Want to plot with Wren? You're in the right place.

( of interest )
( more obviously )
I absolutely LOVE all kinds of plotting, and friends and enemies alike are welcome, so don't hesitate to comment if you have an idea.

It's warm for December, 40s and rainy and stretching higher in the next week or so, if the report's anything to go by (which it sometimes is and sometimes isn't). Wren hasn't bothered to put on a real coat yet; he doesn't even have a hoodie under the leather jacket. It's nice, but it feels a little odd.

"Sorry, 'nar," he says, stepping neatly out of his dog's attempts to tie him up in her leash. "I know you're looking forward to snow, but you know what they say about patience." Neither of us have much, he finishes in his head. It had better snow by Christmas. There's a reason he had much less interest in the West Coast than Lexi ever did.

The warmth is tempting him down to the water, though. Not as though he couldn't handle it at its coldest, but it makes for a more comfortable experience. And mid-day during the week, far outside tourist season but without any sightseeing weather, he might be able to shift. The thought of it flutters under his skin.

Maybe after he gets Inari home.

[ooc: find wren making his way home with his dog, or heading down to the beach afterwards! st/lt/all tags welcome forever.]

It's evening when the spell breaks, but there's still a glow of twilight, and Wren finds himself sitting in the woods, alone. He's wearing jeans and boots, a nondescript shirt and a leather jacket and fingerless gloves, like any given day of the week, and his cell phone's in his pocket, but his whole body hurts and his heart's pounding.

He's been flying. Flying?

It's like he's woken suddenly from a two-week dream. Everything here is here, and makes sense, but so is everything that was. He stands, uncertain, getting his bearings. It might be a dream, but it's as real to him at the moment as this Siren Cove is. He has to get back to Hana, because if he doesn't...

But there's no curse here, no ultimatum, and he's suddenly fiercely angry at whoever -- whatever put them in a place like that.
He doesn't know where she even is. His arm hurts and he can't remember why, and he's exhausted. Wren points himself toward home and manages to keep himself upright. Inari is sitting on the front step looking pretty proud of herself and he eyes her. Probably in some fairy tale land she was actually a shapeshifter, or a direwolf like she seems to think she is. He nudges her inside, pours her some food, falls asleep with his shoes on on his bed and doesn't dream.

He wakes up, though, in the early hours of dawn, head full of everything that happened or didn't, swans and nettles and fae, curses and love, devotion. Lies awake breathing it.

are you awake? he texts her on her new phone and then, are you all right?

He pulls down a guitar to get it out of his head, the echo of a song he sang or didn't sing, but it doesn't: he can't stop thinking about her, hurt hands and afraid to laugh, and he puts it down. When he goes outside the sun does nothing but reflects gold on his skin.

He walks to Hana's apartment, lingers outside the outside door casually until someone comes out rubbing their eyes. If having your crazy musician boyfriend show up worried at 5 in the morning is a dealbreaker, they should probably both know that, but he's got a hundred things he's thinking and he can't make them stop because it's early.

Wren is kind of a teenager when it comes to processing emotions sometimes, complete with flopping on the couch. Where it comes to exes (The Ex, there's only really the one and he's an ex-everything, as Wren tried to explain in spelled out sign language once to Hana), there's no exception there, just more dancing around the subject. He fights it, hides himself in music, makes faces at Hana who gives him a look like he's being a little stupid that doesn't make him feel like it. (Apologizes to Hana for talking about his ex. Gets looked at like he's being a little stupid.)

But after the - whole mummy thing - the gut reaction to Rian in danger, in maybe danger, it's running in his veins. They've got to talk. There's got to be some middle ground. They're not the naive children they were once upon a time, they know better than to expect fantasies about each other, and that means acting like it.

So he leaves a terse message on Rian's machine, and a weird text conversation later he's sitting at Quill watching the colors of coffee and milk swirl into each other and waiting, and thinking.

Snow may be falling, but that doesn't mean the dog doesn't need to be walked. Wren's a silhouette against it, big flakes that fall thickly and in swirls that quickly camouflage Inari's curious figure except for a black nose and eyes and threaten to cover up the dark of Wren's coat. There's almost - but not quite - enough cloud cover that the glitter of the crystals is smothered.

There's a quietness to it, a silent expectant feeling that only comes with falling snow.

It's getting cold quickly, though, too, and he cups his hands around his phone, pulling it out to text Hana as he waits for the dog to come back. Tell me you're not stuck feeding tigers in this, he texts with a small smile.

It's only about an hour and a half from Portland to Siren Cove, just a little longer even in the rain, but after Wren takes exit 28 off the highway, as Route 1 climbs north into one of the only major roads through the wilds of uneven coastline and forest at all, it's just dark and stars peeking between clouds and coastline.

It's enough time for him to think about the past several days he's spent at his mother's. It's been some of the least restful time he's spent with his mother, maybe ever. ( 'You promised me once you would tell me the truth.' )

Wren's not sure how exactly he makes it back to shore, but he stumbles out of the freezing water, soaking wet and crystals already forming in his hair with the cold, sitting down on his knees. He should maybe feel triumphant, but he just feels very stupid and incredibly, incredibly lost.

It's with this utter lack of control that he finds himself walking, leaving the car there, heading toward anything that feels like purchase. That turns out to be Alex's -- well, Will's, which is also Alex's right now -- and it's with a very quiet prayer to whoever might be listening that it's actually Alex who answers that Wren rings the doorbell.

[future dated to just prior to 7pm, Oct 31st]

Wren's just gotten done walking Inari when the little dog turns to the door, ears back and starts to bark. Inari's not as barky as little dogs are cracked up to be, but what she is is protective, so Wren frowns. "Hey, beautiful," he says lazily, "what do you see?" She growls very softly and twitches her tail, sniffing under the door. He doesn't see anything with a quick glance out the window, so he scoops her up

-- and then the lights go out.

Halloween has, for the last few years, been something of an adventure, not always a good one. Two years ago yesterday he was in the city while Hurricane Sandy came in, forging drunk in the dark with unprepared friends through rising water: past overwhelmed cars, masks shoved onto their heads, cell phones dying, subways flooded. The rest of that week, especially for others -- he wouldn't wish it on anyone. But he doesn't hear thunder. And between growing up in Portland and the storms that have hit New York, he's lost his fear of darkness, if he ever had such a thing.

First he finds a couple of storm candles under the sink, and some matches, lights them and sets them up on high shelves. Then, shooing Inari and her concern, he slips out the door to see if everyone else has had this happen.

Not only has the entire area plunged into darkness, even the lighthouse, but it's noticably darker than it was with dusk falling a few minutes ago. Something moves in the corner of his eye, reaches for him and he turns, abrupt, raises a hand. The tall shadow spooks as well, disappears, and Wren tilts his head, a smile curving curious.

That's when he sees it. North, into the woods. A glowing, floating castle, rising, lighting the bottom of clouds. Somehow he's a small child again with eyes wide. Whatever has caused this darkness, the manor is part of it. And if it was supposed to be imposing, breed terror -- well, that's just more incentive. Wren has never liked being told how to feel.

He goes back in, lights the last of the bright storm candles and slips the matches into his pocket, heading into the darkness with his little bit of fire to see who and what he might find.

It's been a solid couple of weeks since the beach party, so when Wren runs into Alex as the charity gala winds down, it doesn't feel too over the top to remind him he's still invited over for trading music and stories.

"This weekend, maybe," he says, and gave him an innocent look over his glass, "--unless you also have a quarter million you're planning on dropping on a date with someone, in which case I'd completely understand being occupied."

Now, he's just hanging out, lazily layering loops of guitar and synth into a background wash of music, watching Inari growl at shadows in the corner. Maybe he'll open up some wine later. Depends on what happens; he's not too worried about it.

"I know it's easy to fix," Wren says to the phone, checking his signal before shouldering it again. His tone is calm, but it's the sort of calm that has a full force gale waiting behind it. "You're not replacing it because I can't do it myself. You're replacing it because you broke my theramin. That's a vintage Moog."

He goes quiet, then interrupts. "Rian. Ri --" He rolls his eyes with a wry purse of his lips as the man on the other end tangents. "Rian," he says quietly, his voice dropping just slightly, firmer and more compelling. "We don't have to be enemies. That's up to you. We can talk, or not. You can throw every demo we ever made out a window. I'd be sad if you chose that, but it's your decision. But -- you are replacing the Moog."

He goes quiet again, and it's at that moment that a small, fox-faced white dog finally succeeds in pawing the slightly-ajar door open and bounds out. Wren half drops the phone to make a grab at her, but she just lowers her head to her paws teasingly and dashes on past him.

"Ri, you're breaking up, call me back," he says, ending the call abruptly and chasing her. "Inari! Come on, really?" To be fair to her, arguing with his ex hadn't been his idea of fun either.

[OOC: Wren is newish and so am I, totally open for all kinds of tags. Overhear his theramin problem, run into him having his dignity destroyed by a floofy puppy, or you can catch them both later wandering more sedately.]