2021-09-19 - 3 Months and a Trip to Toronto Later...

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Please tell me you're alive

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : You're under strict orders to be alive and also well or

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Or I honestly don't know what. It's been a weird season and I want to come home and I just want to know you're okay

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Also sorry for telling your mother you're pregnant. She seemed far too close to the wrong Georgia to be your mum.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : I'm currently screaming into a pillow and more than a little drunk but I'm pretty sure I'm alive and not pregnant.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : My actual mum would have killed de la Vega for you.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Thank god you're alive. You weren't being held captive by some dog wizard were you?

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : What? No. Same as everyone else, lost twelve weeks somewhere. Don't think I did anything exciting -- my social calendar is pretty much just 'grade papers', 'tutor students' and 'buy house'.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : ... Wonder if a certain somebody thinks I've ghosted her for twelve weeks, have panic attacks about it, decide to call her, chicken out. Repeat.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Maybe we should meet face to face sometime. Actually... Talk. Now there's not a hurricane beating down on us and such.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Why would you chicken out and think that she could ever think that about you? Maybe she couldn't get a hold of anyone from the city and maybe she went into the Other Side in Toronto trying to get back home because no flights wanted to connect.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Maybe she's just glad to hear you are okay and MAYBE she might bring you a pizza. Now where is your fancy drunk monochromatic ass passed out?

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : I'm pretty good at self-sabotaging, as it happens. At my house -- I have a house now. Well, we have a house. Turns out I bought a house for me and Aidan Kinney to be roommates in. It's on Oak Street. It's a very interesting kind of shabby chic interieur, by which I mean that apparently, Kinney scavenges very well and repairs even better, and neither of us remember how the hell this happened.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : We bought a house!?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : give me the addy. I'll come by.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Apparently we didn't feel like another winter in the trailer park. I'm not sure I understand our reasoning.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : You can't miss it -- Kinney's van is parked outside.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Alexa make lights 50%.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Siri you are not Alexa why are you sending texts? Stop sending texts. Alexa help!

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : ... I don't think that works on Android.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I don't I have an iThing. Ugh I'll be right over.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Thank you for being okay

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : And not being pregnant.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : For a value of okay where I'm prom queen but not pregnant.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I'll let you wear my tiara if it makes you happy.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : I'm good, honestly. I'll go splash some water on my face.

Make that a shower. More tooth brushing too. Ravn has no reason to complain about Javier de la Vega's oral hygiene -- it's more that now he knows that the other man has excellent oral hygiene and really, that was a few miles past the Dane's boundaries. He's not bothered by the fact that he was kissed by a bloke. He's bothered by the fact that he was kissed by Itzhak Rosencrantz' boyfriend, and frankly, neither of them wanted it to happen in the first place. Let there be plenty cold water, and plenty tooth paste, and ... No, maybe better to lay off the rest of the bottle.

Hya didn't cook because there's no time and also she likes him. And everything in her fridge short of condiments was suspect and therefore she's called someone to just put her fridge our on the curb and just get a new one. It is for the best.

She could in theory tell the door to open by making demands at it but she lowers brings herself to knock all the same and waits hugging an arm full of bagels. She has looked more rested but she did just prom battle taking a beating to her dignity as well as be gone for three months. Answers are to be had and questions asked.

It's clear from the house that moving in is a work in progress -- and so is acquiring furniture. Some people hire interior designers and personal shoppers -- quite a lot of people in the social strata to which Ravn technically belongs do this, in fact. What's curious is that apparently so has he -- only that in Aidan Kinney, he has not so much hired an interior designer as he's sharing mail box and fridge with a genial scavenger who can find anything he needs and make it not ever break again. Combined with a love of strong colours and curious designs, this means that in a couple of weeks, the quite ordinary little Oak Street suburbian house will no doubt look like a rather posh and bizarre art installation on the inside.

Ravn doesn't seem to mind in the slightest as he opens the door, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie -- black, who'd have guessed. "Sorry about not dressing up for the occasion," he says by means of greeting. "I was actually -- you know, gone to bed with a bottle and some mental trauma to process. Come on inside -- I promise you that as bizarre as anything might look, you won't find sturdier chairs anywhere. Nothing breaks again ever, if Kinney tells it not to."

The open kitchen and the dining room has the potential to be quite posh. The kitchen is newly renovated, and the dining table -- well, maybe the chairs should match according to any style guide, and maybe plastic is not the preferred material, but it's still got some strange kind of charm. A painting, colourful and quite Kailey Holt, takes a prominent place on the wall.

It's a sight. Possibly a culture shock. And maybe that's why Ravn is grinning slightly even as he guides his guest inside.

It might be telling that the state of the furniture is the third most important thing for Hya to address. Her hair is still back and neat, her face tired, and something her expression panicked. This is her on 'Hya-lert'. There is a long pause while Ravn speaks her eyes flicking over the details of his face scanning it with such scrutiny that most businessmen might cringe in their shorts about now. This though? This is different.

Slowly there's reaction, in slow motion, hands lifting as if to strangle him or shame him by the shoulders and yell rather loudly (pinky out, cuz lady). But there's a pause, so he knows, and with an great deadening static in her hands, slide them around his shoulders, and slowly but deliberately hugs him tightly. Eyes frozen open, cheeks damp. Fingers dig in, but a slight buzzing rides from skin to shirt, to his head to tell that noise to just... shoosh. She's speaking.

And slowly, as her own nerves are alleviated admits with that fear creeping into her voice, "I thought something happened to you too. I don't... care if you talk about your stupid furniture...or what... you had to do. I just need...you. To be here. to be okay. To have furniture I'm... probably going to be mad at." There's a sniffle and her fingers close, "I thought-" Breathing is good. "I thought I lost you." There's a pause and because She's Hya she clarifies, "That's a bad thing. In case... nemmind."

Ravn's eyes widen in surprise. Of all the simulations he's run in his mind, trying to predict the outcome of this situation and possibly navigate to the least terrifying outcome, this one wasn't on the table. Solidly Kobayashi Maru'ed, it takes him a moment to follow what's going on.

He sees Hyacinth's hands reach for him, and because he sees he does not move away instinctively. And then, those hands slide around his shoulders and pulls him close, and somehow, his autonomous nerve system just goes whatevs, all cool. There's all sort of wide-eyed emotion in the face that's looking up at him, and things that must be -- incredibly difficult to say, for a woman who takes such pride in her fierce independence and control.

The Dane rests his forehead against hers. He's not sure how she -- or for that matter, de la Vega, or Magpie Gyre -- does this. But it can be done, and it allows him to express concern on an entirely different level than having to settle for expression of support from a distance. His own gloved hands reach around to lock her into the embrace she initiated, and he has no desire at all to let her slide away or regain her dignity. "I'm here. I'm okay. I'm not lost, nothing is lost. Except your chance to be the first person in Gray Harbor to kiss me." Humour is the best choice to defuse a tense moment, right? Right? There should be a manual for this.

There's a lot of things Hya's not shouting all at once, which is good as she is telepathic. And then his weight sinks against hers and whatever she needed to complain about at the same time zeros out. Her fingers curl into the backs of his shoulders just slightly as to not undo deadening his neuropathy for him. It's such a small thig, incidental really, but considered important enough for her to keep this in mind even now; His forehead to hers giving that quiet permission.

Falling apart is not what she does. Falling like hail upon her enemies is but she can only throw ice and stone for so long, and there's no more demons to fight. Not here. Ravn reportedly has no game, per him, and that is fine because he speaks in truths not platitudes. Every so often he does catch the world, and Hya with, but surprise. She pauses and- no that's not what he said. Missed the-? Hazel green eyes blink open and she squiiiiints at him. 'Missed'. Right.

There is a huge Error 404 there but something, still Hya still rings in her pulse. The Corporate Conquistadora akes a deep breath pacing off his calm letting the dens stay back in the humidity of outside. "Yes, but did they punt a tiny goblin army to make sure you're alright/ Then it doesn't...count." Because that's her rule, she made it up, she'll write it down in her office at City hall and notarize it or...something. Totes official. There is the hint of a grin through . "Not lost. Delayed like one of those held action thingies dice nerds discuss."

And with that fingers slide to his jaw. Some people say what they mean and some use actions to speak intent. She leans in stealing that kiss back; not violent but with purpose and intent that so many feelings she's tried to keep reasonable, orderly and labeled bring. There's no manual, for this Ravn. The manual got lost in the Veil. She'll get to that later. Very busy having a feeling. Please hold.

It's not that Ravn hasn't hoped to get to this point, some day -- it's more that he didn't expect it to actually happen.

He's the kind of bloke people turn to when they need a friend. A good listener with an analytical mind, not unskilled at cutting through the fluff and the padding to get to the real issues. An academic with a lot of knowledge of the kind that comes in handy in a place that runs on stories, like Gray Harbor does. A bloke who's not the worst possible company if you want to murder a bottle of entirely too expensive whiskey in a dive bar and talk that shit out. A guy who's pathetic at video games and pop culture, has weird crowd and touch issues, and tends to talk either too much or too little. Life goal: Become eccentric cat lady with too many books.

He's okay with this. There are worse roles to occupy in a community.

Now there's a certain someone curled into his embrace, though, accompanied by that numbness that's growing ever more familiar and comforting -- the one where his central nerve system stops trying to convince him that his skin is on fire, and just sits back to watch the show, popcorn optional.

The Dane doesn't have a whole lot of experience with finding the right words or the right gestures for a situation like this. He doesn't care. Contrary to what a lot of people (himself included) thinks, he's not shy or easily embarrassed. He's kissing a woman he's right bloody fond of. As far as enthusiasm goes, Javier de la Vega probably walked away with the feeling of having snogged a limp dish rag. Ravn is a lot more invested now; one hand travels up to braid through Hyacinth's hair (sorry, perfect ponytail) and angle her head so that he can tell her all the things without words complicating matters. The other keeps her secure, held against him, putting in a very strongly not-worded request that she please not be in a hurry to wander off right now, thanks.

He has a lot to say. Or not say, or at least not say with words.

"No goblin army," he murmurs at length, when breathing does in fact stop being optional. "Shot some weasels, though. Tell me about the tiny goblin army and I'll tell you about the faeries and the weasels. Later."

And somewhere in the very deep recesses of his mind he hears Odile Addington Something French say something about seeing her cousin socially and there's a part of him that wants to laugh, and another that wants to high-five somebody with a whoop.

There are not often worse roles to occupy in a community than the person with Hyacinth Addington's undivided scrutiny and attention. Usually this results in someone relocating to Hoquiam or changing jobs. It usually does not wind up with the Dane's fingers knotted in her hair and her kicking a door shut blindly behind her like some late night sitcom.

Really the latent heat on the kiss might be enough to curl her bangs for her and rather than look sexy or hungry or driven she looks oddly relieved. She almost murmurs in interlude, but opts out to tell him telepathically instead, "I really did think something happened to you. I had to barter with tree people for passage and figure out how maple leaves are used as currency....you know what I'll tell you later. Right now I just need you safe and **here." And though there are claws in his sweater as her fingers curl there's an emotion leaked into the room of mounting relief.

An admission of fear is no small thing but there's no wall of hubris between them either. Just too much emotion all at once that slows down stealing another kiss because she can and it's hers by her say-so. "Tell me over dinner? Did you eat/ You didn't eat I know because you never have just eaten. You're doing dinner with me." Caring through brute force itinerary.

There are so many things about life in Gray Harbor that Ravn is still not quite accustomed to. People talking in his mind -- he knows it can be done, it's been done to him a few times before. He still startles a little because it's certainly not something he expects.

"I'm here," the Dane murmurs, because he can't speak in someone else's mind. "And I want to hear all about it -- later."

The door slams shut and Ravn realises that this is exactly as it should be, and so is Hyacinth in his arms, just right where he wants her to be, and for once nothing is hurting, and he is just not going to let go. If he can just stand there more or less indefinitely from now on? Good way to spend eternity, he's on board with this. A lot of people are terrified of getting Hyacinth's full attention; if anything, Ravn is afraid of losing it.

Hold your calls a moment; using mouth for another purpose.

Then, "I'm doing dinner with you. But not right now." Because being able to just relax and hold someone he cares for is a rare thing for Ravn, and he's sure as hell going to make the moment last at least a little while longer. But also because, "It's the first time in months we've had a chance to talk, without somebody calling either of us because something is on fire and we have to put it out -- and I'm not even counting those lost twelve weeks. It's not just about never getting around to go eat those crabs. It's about -- so, apparently, you have a French cousin and I am seeing you socially. We need to talk about -- what we are to each other. And be that, to each other. And goddamnit, woman, I don't want to let go of you at all."

Hyacinth is usually just the woman people run away from unless they want something. However, unfortunately for Ravn, historical preservation and architecture are her bag and the little details, no matter how old, add up and appreciate in value, much like time spent over the last year.

Fingers and manicure find his side still careful not to pull. This isn't a miracle, it's just a patchwork on his nervous system she's not wanting to undo just yet. Words are used for lies and personal gain so she is, rather, happy to forgo them and let action communicate instead sinking into that emotional place she's locked in a box that's still bruised from the Harbor being what it is. There is, a grin and a small laugh of relief though instead of tears and a foot up off the floor though her knee brushes the outside of his thigh taking a step in.

"Short story: I won. You're alive. Vyv's ok. The rest can wait." It's not often she admits fear, and technically she till hasn't but she also knows the historian is damn good at reading things.

"I want to do two things," Ravn murmurs into Hyacinth's hair, mouth, whatever's closest. "I want to talk these things through with you. Just you and me, lock the damn door, barricade the windows, flush our phones, whatever it takes. And I want to explore this whole my skin is not on fire when you touch me thing, because it offers some very interesting opportunities. I'm open to the idea that we might not do well at trying both at once."

Ravn is not really somebody who wears his emotions on his face a lot; a lifetime spent either at the top of society or at its bottom (but never in between), both of which require a certain poker face. Keep your cards close, choose what you let others see.

He wants her to see. To understand. He tries to kiss the tears away (hope the eyeliner's waterproof). And if they somehow end up against a wall because balance is actually a little complicated when two people are trying to sort of osmosis into one but with eight limbs, well, that's all right. There is an empty corner in his mind where the fear usually resides; where he should be thinking about how this will hurt in a minute, when his nerves register how close he is to someone else, when a sleeve brushes against his wrist or for that matter, a knee bumps against a leg where he didn't see.

The corner is empty.

Empty.

And all he wants to do is fill that empty space with the woman who emptied it.

The door locks itself behind Hya. That's her answer. "I think all the blood's out of my hair," though she quickly amends letting her cheek brush his that is never at a close shave because that is just inviting all manner of trouble she'd imagine, "not mine. This is a plan. " very important addition.

It's not a fear in her eyes scanning his but a relent of trust after having near everything she's come to trust be false, ruined, or literally kill the people closest to her. Being an Addington really doesn't mean don't get too attached to anything or anyone beyond being an asset, but the reality is she'd long crossed that Rubicon. Usually that's exactly how she gets someone killed; see a medium for details. But he's here and everything is weird...er... but fine.

Did she ask if the roommate is home? No. Does she care? Also no. Her hand brushed his cheek like she's wanted to do a number of times and could, and wouldn't. Sometimes protecting the people you care about means giving up one's own wants which has been very strange for her. "It's the only place I need to be. I have all the time we want so I think I can fit you in."

Poor Ravn, inviting her into that empty corner like that. That fear is going to get so redecorated until it doesn't know what hit it and it's covered in a cheerywood veneer. Is this a highrise hotel or some 5 star B&B? No, and contrary to popular thought it doesn't need to, and maybe that's the telling bit that her demands are new few ., but for him to keep kissing her in this reprieve now found.

His lips find her cheeks warm with a lot of mixed emotions but she does tell him, "They told me you died. It was... entirely unacceptable. I came back when I could to fix it." What is it with her and Vyv and the word 'unacceptable' as a genuine high mark of affection for someone? "Couldn't allow it." I can't...do that.

The room? Lived in -- there's a bed (neatly made) under an unfamiliar patchwork quilt. Book shelves, full of books. And that is -- that's all of it. One could get the impression that as far as Ravn is concerned, this room is just a place to sleep; he doesn't live here. And on some level that is correct because while the deed of the house may in fact say he's lived here for months, the place is almost as new to him as it is to Hyacinth. He's not very surprised with himself, either, for not getting around to make it his. He has a place, after all. It's called the Vagabond, and that at least he has managed to turn quite, well, home-like.

This room, on the other hand, is just kind of empty. Much like that space in his mind where fear of touch is supposed to be residing. And both are filling up with Hyacinth, and Ravn is entirely on board with this.

He'd relate to the don't get attached part if he knew about it. It's been his own philosophy for almost thirty years (he did have to learn to walk before adopting it). He buries his slender fingers in Hyacinth's hair and doesn't talk for a bit because his mouth is otherwise occupied; tender, warm kisses that he hopes say quite a lot more than he has words for, because expressing affection is not something he does very well -- in the world that raised Ravn, the absence of criticism is the praise.

"I'm not dead," the Dane promises between attempts to prove it. "A lot of strange things happened here -- but even more so, nothing strange happened. Life just went on. Mundanely. It's probably been the most quiet twelve weeks in this town's history ever. And not one of us shiny people remember or know why. I promise, Hyacinth, if I die -- if I have any say in the matter at all, I'll bloody well come haunt you and tell you what happened. People have been brought back to life around here before. Trust me, I'm a folklorist."

There's some bizarre promises made and kept over the years in the harbor. As for the room? Well Hya, unoccupied, will (eventually) have a lot to say. It's genuinely less important than all the things being said quietly right now in long overdue capacity. Fingers slide to find the buttons on his shirt and there's a sharp wry smile, "Well let's not waste the time we have while your nerves are out for coffee and you can tell me all... about what I missed." Which was to say him. She missed him under the threat of dealing with a tiny army of things in the woods, being told he was flattened like a pancake, and otherwise made to believe he would remain forever unavailable.

All the threats of becoming undone by the fabric that binds the storm to the harbor itself not threatening enough to keep her from fighting to be here even if she did lose that battle of wills, but not this battle of want or wills. The only terrifying price left to pay is to let herself care for someone else and as this very long kiss shows; that is a fight she lost a while back to a man that knows too much and in spite of it all has stayed. Remarkable. The rest can wait for later, very very much later. Right now there's three months and a year to catch up on.

"I have a lot to tell you," Ravn murmurs. "And I'll even be quiet most of the time."

He has a lifetime to talk about. Of not being able to touch anyone without the greatest of care, and them exercising the greatest caution to make certain he sees every movement, lest his nerve system throw a fit about it. Of intimacy that never happened because always, someone reaching out to him forced him to move away, to shut them down, to deflect, to disappear. Of intimacy that never happened because the world he comes from is all about appearances and stiff upper lips and children who should be seen and not heard. Of intimacy that never happened because somewhere, there's always somebody waiting to take advantage, or thinking that you take advantage of them, or hoping to get a picture of either of you taking advantage of each other, for the morning paper.

And here's the one woman who not only is willing to deal with all that baggage; she can shut the physical part of the problems down, and the rest? It's her world too. She knows the rules. She breaks the rules. And he loves her for it, because Hyacinth is in many ways a far stronger person than he is, and he is happy to consent to take her lead. A bossy woman is not at all a bad thing if you like knowing exactly what your woman wants -- and then you can decide to say yes or no to her demands. He likes that she doesn't pretend humility or drop hints. She takes what she wants, and he can get on the bus or not. It's so much easier.

And his mind is running in circles on this now because a fantasy is becoming a reality, and he's quite floored -- and delighted -- by it.

So this room is quite empty of anything but bookshelves and a bed presently. That's fine. They only need one of those at the moment, after all.