2019-04-15 - Just a carousel ride in the park.

Logan 'Watch Where You Put Those Hands on Your Sister-in-Law, Mister!' Miller (man that's a long name) was released from the hospital. It's been a couple of quiet days since on all fronts, and he's gone to bed under the covers with Emily for every single one of them. He didn't expect the dreams to end entirely in spite of their agreements to take at least one weapon away; but he finds some comfort in the lack of them for the time being while trying to ignore the creeping dread that it was only a matter of time before they begin again.

Still, it was quiet. And that was nice. It means there is time to do normal-people things. If only Logan and Emily were normal! But they are not, which explains why at around 9 o'clock in the evening, on a lull in the rain, Logan's voice can be heard at the front door: "Em! Come on, let's take a walk," in the middle of the night. When most of Gray Harbor was closed, asleep, and in their beds. He has the front door open. "It's not raining."

"What?" Because Emily was sitting somewhere, the couch or something, doing what Emily does: reading and keeping tabs on Logan in her peripheral. Not that he needs minding, but kind of it seems important to at least know where he is in the house in case he, like, wanders off to crash his car again. So, his decision to open the front door at nine o'clock at night means she gets to look at him like he's the cracked one, which is a nice change for her, and ask the question at the start of this pose.

But whatever, she's game. Book gets closed, shoes get found, Logan gets company. Expectant company, since she stands there like 'okay let's' and is ready now. Considering the number of times she's expected him to just go with her, it seems fair to just go with him. And Emily's all about rules and fairness.

"I said LET'S GO TAKE A WALK," Logan repeats slower, and louder, for her as though she's somehow aged 100 years in the time she's been sitting on that sofa babysitting him. He's so helpful. He fits a smile onto his face, and it's a good thing his mouth still looks pretty because the rest of him does not. The bruising around the gnarly gash in his forehead's made his eyes appear all the more sunken, and there's some more bruises underneath the thin cotton shirt he wears. But whatever. He doesn't need a pretty face and an unbruised body to go walking! "come on," he encourages, leaning a shoulder into the doorframe while she collects her shoes and closes her book.

He reaches to grasp her hand when she comes to join him, pulling her out the door and closing it behind them both. He's quiet company on the sidewalk, but their destination becomes clear once they head over the stone bridge and out towards the park: the carousel, silent and dark in the distance. "You wanna go for a ride?" It's not a come-on, he's literally leading her to the carousel. The one that's not turned on. "I don't think I've gone on this thing in like ten fucking years."

It's a good thing he's already got bruises, because Emily would probably punch him for being snarky for being slower-and-louder (god, that's such an easy joke). Instead, she just looks at him, unmoved by his performance (also an easy joke), and finishes her shoes. Then it's out the door and hand-holding and a nice walk down the wet sidewalk, with the streetlights all reflecting on the pavement. It's v romantic and stuff.

Now they're at the dark carousel, and Emily looks like her plan had been to just wander around it for a little bit and expect Logan to come with her. But, instead, he wants to get on the carousel and that sounds like something he's going to have difficulty making happen so, "Sure, where do I sign up." She's at the gate where the guy that runs the thing normally stations himself, pulling on the padlock for a second. Like the padlock is going to stop her.

Spoiler: it's not.

"Don't sound so excited, you might pull something," Logan quips as he walks around to the padlock himself. His fingers were twitchy there at his hip, so it was highly suggestive that he was about to pull a trick of his own to open this motherfucker on up? And then she just goes and unlocks the padlock herself. Talk about knocking the wind out of his sails. "I know how to turn it on," he nudges her in the shoulder to scoot her out of the way as he opens up the gate, "As I'm sure you can remember, I was the official carousel man in the summer of 2007," when he was seventeen.

It only takes a couple of minutes fiddling with the knobs and buttons before he finds the right one. The carousel's illumination happens suddenly and all at once, the bulbs making a crackle sound as they brighten to life. A turn of a key, and it begins to circle slowly around, the music filtering out through the speakers. "There," he smiles, moving to grasp her hand again and pull, his footsteps quick as he approaches the moving structure. He leaps aboard the platform and tugs her along with him,flourishing an arm at the empty horses. "Pick your poison."

"Sorry. Hold on." Emily, having pulled the lock without anything even approximating fanfare, hooks it onto the fence so it doesn't get lost, then brings her now empty hands up to either of her cheeks and gasps with abject delight. "Logan!" All full of wonder and delight with the huge eyes. "Can you use your official carousel powers so we can - " Wait for it. She practically squeals. " - ride the carousel?! Pretty please!" And then blows by him with a look up and back at him; better? Happy now?

Despite the overtures of being unimpressed... she is kind of impressed that he remembers how to do this thing, the brows raising authentically when stuff seems to whir to life. Plus, he looks not-completely-fucked-up from just off to one side and a little behind him. She even cracks a proper smile, only 'cause no one's around to see it except Logan, and lets his hand and one of the brass poles help her up. Then it's a weave through alllll the horsies, because Emily likes the black horse with the flaking-gold mane and the arrested leap, and she climbs right on up there, watching the lights in the mirrors with a very slow-blooming delight.

"This is fucking weird." By which she means: good job, Logan, she approves.

It's a good thing Logan really wants to ride this carousel, else her mock enthusiasm and feigned appreciation for his younger self's ability to hold down a job and not be a drunk might've made him turn heel and walk straight back to the house. Even still, he draws out the reveal of his ability to remember how to push buttons in the right order as though it would somehow make it all the more dramatic when the carousel finally starts to whirl.

But it was spinning now, and Logan lets her lead through alllll the horsies until they come upon the one she wants. He takes the one right beside, white with a black mane and a foot jauntily raised in the air. "You're fucking weird," he replies with affection, leaning his cheek on the spiraling pole that guts through the pony and makes it go up and down, his lips curving into a smile as he watches her watch the lights. "Do you even remember that summer?" The one in 2007, he must mean. "It was what.. July? Early August? I went up to your place and threw rocks at your window, it was real fucking late. You were so fucking irritated," he laughs, shaking his head. "You wouldn't sneak out with me. You know I stole the keys to this place? That's where I wanted to go, but you wouldn't. I don't even remember why now. I just remember the look on your face."

He can't do her justice, especially not with how ugly his mug is at the moment, but he tries - he crosses his eyes, puffs out his cheeks, and sticks out his tongue.

The little strap thingie that's supposed to keep small children from falling off carousel horses and dying but always winds up getting used as a whip winds up getting used as a whip, with Emily swatting her fake horse on its haunches. "I am fucking weird," she agrees wholeheartedly, and Logan's free to interpret that as he sees fit: is fuck an adjective or a verb, is she talking about herself or him? Either way, she stands up in the metal stirrups on the horse's uprise, looking down down down at Logan and his face-making while his horse is on the low-part, and she crosses her eyes back at him.

"Becaaaaause," for that particular evening. "My mom said if I kept sneaking out with Logan Goddamn Miller, I wasn't going to be allowed to get my license. And the only thought I liked more than your seventeen-year-old self? Was a car." So she makes an ugly face at him, and she bat-bats her hand at him, go away now, hissing like it's the middle of the night and someone will hear them, "If my mom catches you, I'm so busted, so go home and quit throwing rocks, stupid Logan, geeez." But she was quieter back then, without carousel music under her voice. "Sorry I ruined your super-cute romantic overtures, though, you poor kid."

"I'm pretty sure weird fucks you," looks like Logan chose to interpret it as an adjective, his smirk a little saucy. "And I'm pretty sure weird fucks you real good," he adds with a rumbly chuckle, wrapping his hands around the pole as he leans himself back and wags his eyebrows at her. There was something light-hearted in the sound of his laughter, like the weight of the world's problems (or at least their own) has been temporarily lifted so he can enjoy this singular moment. And as they make faces at each other and she reminds him of the things she said way back then? He whips her on the backside with his strap. Gently.

Up-up-up his horse goes, and it's Logan's turn to leer down at her. "You should be sorry. I'm pretty sure I was going to tell you that I like liked you that night," he scoffs, swinging a foot out of the metal stirrup and swaying it out so that he can nudge her in the foot. "And you ruined it. I hope the car was worth it," there's no malice in his voice, the memory was something fond to him, even if the moment he speaks of didn't go as expected. "But hey, it only took me thirteen years to finally get you on this damn carousel. Better than never."

"Weird better watch that," because Emily whirls her own strap around a couple of times, and it's either her bad luck or his good luck (or her intentional aim) that has her swatting nothing but the pole through the middle of his horse and not Logan's hand. Because the sound of that strap on that pole? Means it would not have been a gentle crack he was about to get. "Or at least save it till there can be some follow-through."

With a charmed little grin, she asks, "Are you gonna tell me you like me this night? 'Cause, shhhh, don't tell anyone? But I heard Emily likes Logan back, and she totally wants to make out with him." Emily kicks his foot away from hers, like his needs to just stay over there in its own lane. Which makes no sense 'cause, afterward, she crosses the lanes completely, leeeeaning way over, holding on to the horsepole and trying - to - give him - a kiss - but it turns out that's a harder feat to accomplish on a carousel than she was prepared for. There's a very limited window when the two horses are at the same altitude, and she completely misses it. So she just shrugs and rolls her eyes and plops back down on her own horse. "Damn carousel," she repeats with a totally different intonation.

"Who says there can't be some follow-through right here?" Logan says while leaning way back when her whip-strap comes a'cracking, grimacing at the sound it makes against the pole above his hands. Ouch. "Or maybe not. I dunno if I wanna give you the opportunity to get freaky with those straps," he quickly reconsiders.

Talk of sexual exploits set aside, his eyes alight at the talk of this 'rumor', kicking her foot back so there was a bit of a tussle until he gets into his lane. "I dunno. Maybe," he replies, rumbling out another laugh as she tries - and fails - to bridge the gap between them; he'll give it the good ol' college try, but all that leaning out of his saddle only means he nearly falls out of it, and only manages to nudge his lips into the side of her nose on the way up-up-up. "Damn carousel indeed," he mutters, but he doesn't straighten back onto his horse - he gets out of the saddle the whole way, hopping back down to the platform with a thunk of sneakers into wood.

"Scoot forward," these horses weren't meant for two - particularly two adults - but he's tapping her on the backside with every intention of climbing up onto her horse with her.

With the narrowed eyes, Emily accuses, "You coward." But she also lets the strap go from there, no more threats, it'll just trail along the ground like they all do all the time since no one actually uses the damn things. Except to hit stuff.

When Logan gets off his horse, she actually looks a little bummed for a second, misinterpreting the dismount as the end of the carousel ride. So there: despite her 'too cool for this' schtick at the outset, now there's no pretending she's not happy to be here. When his intentions are made clear with the butt-tap, a smile brightens her expression right back up, and she pulls herself up as close to the pole as she can get unless it plans on buying her a coupla drinks first, adding fussily, "There is no more forward." Craning her neck back, her suggestion is, "So just try not to fall off the back. Or, if you have to fall, try to land somewhere other than your face?"

Logan notices it, the sudden fall of her expression when he dismounts. That, coupled with the re-brightening of her features at the butt-tap, and he knows he's done good. But he's not gonna get smug about it - okay, he's gonna get a little smug about it, his grin broadening as she shifts to put the pole between her legs. No, it won't be the only one there tonight! But right now, right now, he has to climb up onto this horse while rolling his eyes at her. "Maybe I need to smash up the rest of my face. So the bruises are symmetrical," he points out, grunting as he hoists himself up onto the saddle.

The pony definitely is not made for two grown people, and the creaking it makes as Logan settles himself behind her is evident of that. He has to sit on the back hump of the saddle, an uncomfortable place to be .. and he probably squishes her into the pole .. but dammit, he gets up there, and winds his arm around her waist after. "There," he shifts, the horse groans, and he ignores it in favor of nuzzling his nose into the hair on the back of her head, exhaling as though he were perfectly comfortable and content while the plastic saddle is making a permanent dent in his ass.

"If this thing breaks," Emily says, looking worriedly up at the mechanism that disappears into the glittery ceiling, hard to see against the glare of all those colorful lights, "we're going to have to make a run for it." The under-equipped horse wobbles at the off-kilter shifting it takes to fit two grown-ups on it, and she adds a little, "Ow," to the theater of noises this whole thing is making, squinting at the pole - watch yourself, mister - and electing to scoot back into Logan instead. They know each other better.

"There," she agrees, and stops grousing about all the things that might possibly go wrong. Eeeeven when the horse is clearly struggling up the upward rise, she keeps her mouth shut, holds on to the brass pole (not Logan's, give it a little bit, though) with one hand, his knee with the other hand, and leans into him companionably. Not comfortably, 'cause that's just not possible. With a happy sigh, "Still fucking weird, but also romantic. You did good, kid. Would have gotten you to second base, for sure, maybe even could've stretched that double into a triple."

"It's not gonna break," Logan's got far too much certainty in his voice for all the noises the little horse is making, knees and thighs gripping the wobbly horse (or, really, more-so his companion on the wobbly horse) firmly in an effort to stay aboard. "But if it does, I'm totally blaming this all on you," he murmurs, following it up with an 'oof' to go along with the symphony of pained sounds when she scoots back into him. But it wasn't really that painful. He quite liked her being so close.

So yes, there. He lays his hand on her belly and uses his other to sweep her hair over one shoulder, so that he can have a bit of bare neck to brush his lips against when she settles in. Her words bring out a scoffed laugh, quietly tumbling over the skin that he nuzzles into. "Mm, seventeen year old me would've been very happy with a boob grab," he admits. "But thirty year old me is far more mature," which is why his hand stays put there at her stomach, while his lips nudge against her skin. And he's quiet, taking in another breath of her and sighing it back out, watching the whirl of the lights as they ride the carousel 'round another turn. There's nothing for a minute, at least not from him. But then..

"I love you, Emily," the words are spoken against her neck, each one warm against his skin. He's said it before, but this time the tone is different, the weight of the words are different, heavy with meaning.

He's blaming it on her? "And people say chivalry's dead," as if she's just so enamored of him for throwing her to the wolves. Emily is totally expecting the boob-grab then, having just called him unchivalrous, not to mention he's doing nice things to her neck with his lips and his breath, and being inappropriate is their schtick. So she's tense for a quarter-turn, ready to either play along with the inappropriate or clap back at him - seventeen year old Logan was prettier than this particular version of thirty year old Logan - shoulders tightening, the hand on his knee ready to swat.

When it becomes apparent that he's not going to grope her, she lets quiet be quiet, lets the moment be nice. And it's not what he says but the way he says it that makes her take a breath, audible even with all that tinkly music, easily felt considering how close they are right this second. She leans her head far to the side, enough that she can slice a look at him, bruises and all. "Thank you." Which would be just a terrible way to leave it. Not that she's gone to any lengths to pretend otherwise, but it's nice to say back: "I love you too, Logan." She'd kiss him but her head doesn't turn that far. What can you do.

Logan slides a look back at her, a brow subtly arched at the 'thank you', which would have been a terrible way to leave it and yet perhaps not wholly surprising considering their history. But the words that follow were wanted, yearned for, and there was a sense of relief when they are spoken, the release of all that tension in his shoulders that's been building for the past seventeen years. He smiles into her neck, kissing her there again, before he props his chin on her shoulder and enjoys the ride.

They make it two more revolutions before he channels his inner seventeen year old prettier Logan, crawls his hand up her shirt, and gropes her. A quick squeeze, with laughter to follow, that twists into an unexpected "Oh shit" when there's the reflection of a flashing red & blue light against the mirrors of the carousel. Because you can't expect to turn on all these lights in the park and not get a complaint from at least one nosy neighbor that should mind her own damn business! Good thing the cops in Gray Harbor are useless; there's a single car which rolls to a stop high up on the hill, and the officer's busy enjoying his donut. He'll get out eventually. It'll give them time to run.

Those two more rounds are about as perfect as life gets. For these two. Emily manages to kiss him on the cheek when his chin comes to perch, laces her fingers with his, and is - for all intents and purposes - happy. The grope makes the sort of fuzzy happy into a giggly happy - and then the cops make the giggly happy into a frantic happy. And there's a mad scramble to get off this ride, which involves her shoving him none too charitably off the horse's ass, then pulling on the back of his shirt so he can't outrun her, gdi.

Somewhere along the sidewalk on the way back to Logan's house, after legging it back toward Oak Avenue, when she's sure that stupid cop isn't actually going to catch them, she'll stop and catch the front of his shirt instead. And kiss him hurriedly under a streetlight, noting in the middle of that kiss, "You were so close to an inside-the-park homerun, too. Ohhhh well."

They can rack up a few RBIs in the basement, anyway.