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[mid-morning]
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.]
"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.]
no subject
Inari has gotten herself entirely wrapped around both of them in her haste to play with Matilda, and Wren, watching Dylan as he talks, glances away long enough to roll his eyes at her and crouch down to unclip her leash and scoop her into his arms, freeing the two of them from the leash.
He nods, seriously as Dylan explains. "I'm sorry," he says genuinely. "I -- don't know how I would have reacted to something like that. My father -- well, I never knew him long enough to be frightened, or not, of him. But seeing a vision of him, if I knew it was him, wouldn't have gone over well. So I can't imagine that." He doesn't have any judgment for an adult being terrified of their parents. He's known enough terrible people, and people who've survived terrible people, not to be fazed at all.
It does concern him, though; he likes Dylan. Maybe it's not his business, but Wren's never been good at backing off politely. "Is he still in your life?"
no subject
"I mean. Not really. I haven't seen him since I was little." He shrugs dismissively, feeling stupid, saying that, that he's still afraid of him.