fairywren | snow on snow on snow [closed to hana]

She's still at the point where just receiving a text from Wren makes Hana a bit giddy, though she takes a minute to answer. The zoo's closed for today and tomorrow, possibly the day after they'd said. It depends on the snowplows. Though she's worried about all her animal charges, they've done everything to get their habitats warm and cozy and with plenty to eat and entertain them.

No, just feeding myself. I'm making cookies. she replies, followed by a picture of palmiers cooling on the rack. Belatedly, when she remembers that she can ask, Hana adds: Do you want company?

I knew there was a reason i liked you, he teases. Wren is decent, if minimalist, at cooking, but baking is a little beyond him. Inari finally bounds back toward him, shaking snow everywhere as if to shake her dignity back on.

He smiles at the second text. Seems a waste of a fireplace otherwise he texts back. I'll pick you up? Technically there's a travel ban or serious suggestion or something but pfft.

If I walk, the cookies would get cold. Hana is nothing if not practical and the cookies are best enjoyed while flaky and warm, the magic she's infused still fresh and curling around with steam.

Her apartment is nice and snug, but the prospect of a fireplace and Wren to keep her warm is more than enough to tempt her into braving the elements.

Well that decides it he texts back. "Stay," he tells Inari, who gives him a look and wanders off.

It'd be nice to start a fire now, to come back to, but he feels like it might be irresponsible (him?) to leave the house with a fire crackling and no one home but a curious dog. Practically, people probably did all the time when it was what actually heated their house but it still seems like Inari would find it really amusing to set the whole loft on fire.

The roads are kind of shit, but they're also empty, and he doesn't live that far from Hana drive time, so he makes it over to her apartment relatively quickly, texting her and leaning on the car.

Hana's waiting in the foyer when Wren pulls up, gently keeping her box of cookies warm with her powers. Weather and temperature control have never been her forte, but projecting warmth falls through the same channels as projecting emotion. Buoyed by a good mood, the translation is easy.

Waving, she slips out the door and hurries down the walkway to him. Curb service, she signs, smiling. Very thoughtful. Shifting her box, she leans up on tiptoes to kiss him, just because she can.

He waves a hello and takes a few steps forward to meet her. I said I'd be a good chauffeur he smirks and leans down to kiss her hello in the middle of the snow.

He still isn't used to the idea that he's allowed himself to just feel good and not secondguess something like this and so it's a little extra luxurious when he does.

Eventually he pulls back to open the door for her - it'd be a little more gentlemanly if it wasn't mostly because her hands are full - and cross around to slide into the driver's seat. When she's settled he pulls out, a little more careful for having a passenger. Those smell amazing, he nods at the cookies. You didn't tell me you're a baker too.

You never asked, is the cheeky reply. Truthfully, it's one of the things she loves to do most, especially when doing it as a gift to others. They taste of butter and turbinado sugar but also warmth and luck. Safety. Reassurance.

Some of the feelings she's begun to associate with the comfortable relationship they've begun to form.

No more signing. Eyes on the road, she teases.

Fair. So should we play 20 questions? he teases back.

He takes both hands off the steering wheel for a fraction of a second, shooting her a mischievous look, but it's too icy to be too much of an asshole and while he might have never developed self-preservation instincts for himself he usually makes up for it with the people he cares about. Or tries.

He drives them back to his place with only minimal glancing away to look at her, and pulls into the driveway. He's distinctly aware that she hasn't been here and he wonders, a little, what kind of expectations she has. From the outside it looks very much like what it is, or what it used to be anyway: an old brick warehouse with nothing behind it but coast.

She just shoots him an enigmatic smile at that before closing her hands in fists. No talking until they're parked.

Given the perspective of an outsider, she sees the building as grand, industrial, and artistic where she might judge her own building as boring and shabby. The churning ocean in the background is both thrilling and frightening mixed with the snowstorm an she's glad they'll be watching it pass from inside.

Let's get inside, she says, equally curious and ready to be free of the snow gusting around them.

He nods, reaching to put an arm around her for the moment as he unlocks the door, finding himself fighting the wind just a little to get the door open. They've got good timing: it's picking up. He can hear the waves crashing on the rocks, though that part never bothers him personally. The sea always speaks his language.

There's a short half-flight of stairs, and he heads up, pausing to glance back at Hana, and opens the inside door tentatively, looking around at the studio like he's never been here before. It's not huge but it's definitely spacious, high ceilings and big windows, all the spaces defined roughly by furniture and not by walls except for the bathroom. Kitchen on the right, the little nook of instruments, straight back the bed and nightstand, they all flow into each other. He feels a little self conscious of the minimalism, even though he loves it, raw brick and pipes. It's home, but it's not necessarily homey.

Home sweet home he says, gesturing around at it. The Wunderkammer, on the left, is probably the litmus test for if someone can put up with him. It's stuffed full with oddities, cool stuff and things that look normal but have good stories: his skull lyre, some interesting mourning jewelry, a fake mermaid skeleton, some treasured first edition books, a stuffed passenger pigeon he found at an estate sale that makes him sad to look at: Wren's easy to buy birthday presents for and equally easily scares people off.

He glances at her.

Hana's no stranger to a fondness for oddities. Her bedroom in her parents' house (unless they've converted it to a sewing room by now) had been decorated with fossils and dinosaur models. The mourning jewelry and books hold her attention first, but the skull lyre repels her. Not so much because of its materials, though it doesn't help, but there are so many emotions tied to it. Strong emotions. Some feel old but some read new and as fresh as wounds. Quickly, she diverts her attention to the passenger pigeon.

A siren with a false mermaid's skeleton? Hana looks at him, an eyebrow raised and mirth sparkling on her aura. Aside from the lyre, she quite likes the wunderkammer.

Looking past him, Hana jumps at a flash of white in the corner of her eye and spins around.

You have a friend!

He presses his lips together as she looks over the wunderkammer. He loves and would defend his interests, but most of the outwardly unsettling is toward the front -- no one, least of all Wren, can claim he's free of defense mechanisms.

He smiles, then, when she turns amused at the mermaid. I didn't know then! I like stories, he starts to explain, but his musing on people's need to believe in things is interrupted.

He smiles wider at Inari trotting over. The other lady in my life, he signs, amused and fond. She has a me, really. He's surprised she didn't come barking to the door, but Inari's hard to read. Right now she's curious and relaxed, and as she's often protective of, what he's realized is him and not the territory, he takes it as a good thing. This is Inari. He spells it out, leaning down to scritch her ears.

She had always been fascinated by animals, not just the cute ones. Their health, their form, has always been the source of interest for her. The ways that animals are the same and yet different from humans had sent her into Zoology programs and gotten her a degree in animal nutrition.

Hana raises another amused brow before bending to pet Inari's ears. It's quite fitting that the little foxlike dog has such a name. Do you know about Inari in myth? she asks.

Then she holds out opened hands, projecting calmness and friendliness for Inari to peruse along with her scent.

He smiles at her over Inari's head, nodding. Not enough, he demures a little, though when Wren starts reading it can go on forever. I love trickster myth. Ravens, coyotes. He doesn't know the sign for coyote so he signs it like a very little wolf and spells it out afterwards. Foxes.

That got me to kitsune. That one he definitely has to spell. But there's always more to know, he adds. Inari, for her part, is wagging her tail contentedly, circling Hana with interest and letting herself be petted.

Looks like you have a friend too, he says with a raised eyebrow and a smile. Come sit? I'm going to try not to set the house on fire. He nods at the fireplace.

The speed that Wren had picked up ASL still amazes Hana and makes her that much more smitten with him. There's very little texting or lip reading, just communication in a way that feels as natural to her as breathing and with which Wren's gaining a lot of skill. For a second, she almost forgets what he says, too caught up in the happy feeling and in petting Inari's little ears.

I do make friends every now and then, she replies, smiling. She beckons Inari into a crooked arm and balances the palmiers with the other, her small carry bag set aside.

Wren dives into learning anything, but sign language has been moreso because he has motivation. He's stubbornly determined not to need to be accommodated for or worked around by Hana because he doesn't speak the right language, and that's what it is, after all.

Sometimes he does feel a little out of his depth with grammar and word order, or at a loss, but he's getting there. He doesn't think she should have to be pleased to speak to someone the way she wants to.

He crouches down by the fireplace, arranging tinder and logs from a cord of wood he's glad he got on a whim. He bites his lip, hoping a little that he's done this right as he strikes a match -- at least the draft's going up - and watches the kindling, as if he can light it by pure willpower.

It takes, after a second and he stands up with satisfaction, coming over next to her to watch the logs catch. Apparently so. He steals the cookies from her to free her hands, set aside on the little coffee table that's currently also got his laptop still running Logic Pro shoved off to the side, and leans in to give her a kiss.

That doesn't make it the norm. There are certain people, like Levi and Adrian, who had gotten fluent. Other people could get by. Most had expected her to do all the work. It makes Hana truly, truly happy for Wren and the rapport they have. Especially when he's kissing her like this.

From now on, the snowstorm doesn't matter to her even remotely. They're together and cozy and she just feels...happy.

Smiling, she leans back and cups his face, gently tracing the bones of his face. I like this, she says. Not just the immediate and the physical. They feel right.

Thanks for having me over./i> She kisses him once, briefly,and then grabs acokie, stuffing it into his mouth.

He presses into the kiss, the fire picking up in the fireplace, smiling into it. It's been a long time since something' -- besides music, anyway -- felt easy. No, not easy. Natural. Like he's not fighting against something. He can feel Hana's content glowing off her and it's just -- good and he wants to keep it.

There's something in him that wants to question that, but it's chased away pretty well.

He blinks slowly at her touch, tilting his head a little against her hand with a curious smile and spreading his hand out against her back where he has his arm wrapped around her. Me too.

Wren laughs as she assaults him with a cookie, then actually chews. "Mmm!" He blinks at the flaky buttery pastry, and the warm familiar safe feeling that comes with it and completely dispels any concern about snow or what it is that they're doing. These are amazing he signs at her, mouth full and eyes wide.

He tugs her to him and grabs the cookies to split between them, pulling them both onto the couch. Tell me something I don't know about you.

Hana smiles and tucks herself into his side, chewing on her cookie thoughtfully. There are a lot of things she keeps close to the chest, more out of habit by now than any secrecy. Most of what isn't known about her is neither happy nor fondly remembered. So she chews slowly, not bothering to disguise the thought she has to put into it.

I have two little sisters. Both hearing, she says finally. I haven't talked to them in five years. Not since she moved here.

She smiles and breaks another cookie in half and hands a piece to him and balances a tiny fragment on Inari's nose.

It takes Hana a moment, and when she does decide, Wren can't read it fully. He reserves judgement in favor of settling his arm around her as she talks but the need to point out that they're hearing just begs more questions.

Your choice? It's casually asked as he takes the cookie piece.

Inari licks at her nose and finally tosses her head, gulping at the crumb gleefully: her curious look at Hana is more about if she gets any more.

Our parents, she explains. They haven't forgiven me. Aiko will be graduating high school soon, Hana estimates. They haven't sent an e-mail, a text. Nothing in five years.

I can be honest, but it's not a very happy story.

Grinning, Hana lifts up another crumb and holds it above Inari's head.

He frowns. Okay, so he's currently in the process of not forgiving his mother, or trying not to. But - even if they have some reason, and even as an only child - he can't imagine estrangement extending to siblings.

For what? He can't help but smile though, as Inari sits up... and then bumps Hana's hand with her nose. Puppy love.

He makes a face. I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want. But, he adds, I'm here for not-happy . That's part of this, isn't it?

She nods and drops the crumb for Inari and then scoots closer to him, like his warmth can ward off the bad memories.

When I graduated from Gallaudet, they figured I'd had my fun in deafie school and now it was time for some magic or a cochlear to "fix" my deafness. Either I did it, or I left and gave up on...all their support. Much of it financial.

I left. And here I am.

Wren wraps his arms around her, tucking one leg under him to open his body toward her as she scoots closer. He watches seriously and careful to catch everything as she tells the story.

He can feel his stomach twist angrily at the idea of her being 'fixed'. Wren's had plenty of moments of feeling other-than, of being made to feel that way, and he's learned to outdo his own critics - but he doubts it's anything like what Hana's experienced. To have her own parents give her that kind of ultimatum...

He just looks at her for a minute, struck by how much they aren't seeing.

There are angry words he could use, but he takes a breath and signs, "I'm glad you're here."

It's almost a relief to tell, chipping off a little bit of the bitterness of keeping the story to herself. It's needled at her for a long time now and when Wren just holds her closer, it helps her breathe. She's made it, mostly. Maybe she doesn't fly first class and she has to take the bus everywhere, but she lives independent of their money and their ultimatums.

I've done all right, she says. I went from living in a penthouse to a studio with creative folding screens.

But she's also found good people. She's found Wren.

And found out what she's made of.

I'm glad too. You're here.

Edited 2015-01-31 05:19 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject