2goodarms | (no subject)

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"Okay." Curtis upends the bag of winter clothes on the floor of Dejah's room, spreading them out so she can get a better look. "This oughta be enough. It's not that bad out today."

Since Curtis's definition of not that bad out is a tad skewed, there's still quite a bit of clothing in the pile. A jacket, two sweaters (one thinner than the other), long pants, long johns, a scarf, mittens, boots, plush socks, a pair of bright purple earmuffs...

And, of course, a hat.

With pompoms and earflaps.

(Bar, you are the best.)

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Well, shit, says Curtis's expression.

"Good point." A bit weakly.

A brief jolt swirls up between his words: the old fear of going too far, the instinctual urge to rein himself in as tightly as possible. How the fuck is he going to manage that? One slip, one second where he forgets he's not on Earth, and he could kill someone.

She hums, carefully sending a tendril of warmth in after him.

"Hey," she whispers, her words measured and serene. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. But if you feel like you do, you look to me, all right?"

Gently, the warmth brushes his worry aside. His crooked smile eases back into place as he glances at Dejah.

"All right," he murmurs. "Thank you."

"Always, my love. Always. Now come on." She wrinkles her nose at him and picks up the pace. "We've a long way to go and only a few hours of daylight. And I don't know about you, but I don't fancy being caught out here after dark without a roaring fire and a banth skin to curl up in."

They walk in companionable silence for a time. The wind buffets them in quick bursts, only to subside into stillness a minute later. Curtis vaguely remembers the way to the meadow, but it's a little harder to navigate with snow dusted over all the landmarks.

(Jesus, to think things outside would look weird with snow on them.)

But eventually, he feels the ground start to slope upward. The tall plants have flattened and frozen, weighted against the ground; every so often he spots one that remains defiantly upright against the winter. It's...good to see.

She pauses at the apex of the ridge, glancing around.

"This looks like the place, but," she points up towards the treeline, "let's head up that way. See if there's something that still has the visibility but is out of the wind."

He glances to where she points, and nods. "Yeah, okay."

Together, they start in that direction.

Drier, "Won't do any good having a fireplace if we can't get a fire lit."

"Well, I'm hoping any fireplace we have will be inside. But I take your point."

She steps away from him and walks a loose circle in the snow. It takes her a moment but she stops and looks.

"We can see the lake from here, just fine."

He looks over his shoulder, down the long slope leading back toward the lake. There's a brief, dizzying second where the space seems too big, the whiteness stretching on to some infinite, unconfined point he'll never reach, and Curtis has to shut his eyes until he's sure it's passed.

When he opens them again, the view's much more manageable. Much more beautiful. He breathes in, taking a moment to settle the rest of his thoughts; then he turns back to Dejah with a smile.

"So you think this is the spot?"

"I don't know," she says, and he can feel her reaching for him in the space between. She joins him again, slipping her hand into his, looking out over the meadow.

"What do you think?"

He curls his fingers around hers. "It's...a lot of space," he admits. "But anywhere we pick's gonna have a lot of space."

Unless they go all the way into the forest, where they can't see the lake and the cabin might get lost.

"I think it'll work."

"I think so, too." She leans against his side and looks around. "What about perimeter security? Do you think fence or wall?"

Promptly: "Fence. Not too tall, maybe -- ?"

Curtis holds his free hand near his hip, palm down.

"I mean, anybody who's real determined to break in's gonna manage it no matter what."

(He's not wholly aware that he's taking such a possibility as read: people will take their things, no matter what they do to protect it.)

"I was more concerned about predators." Her voice takes on a bit of an edge and her eyes flash blue. "Any raiders out this far, they're going to have to be more determined than I am to keep them out."

"Oh." That's a little more rueful. He squeezes her hand, hoping to dull the edge to her words. "There aren't a lot of predators besides the demon bunnies around here though, right?"

"Have you seen the warnings posted every month around the full moon?" Her tone clearly conveys that one should always be prepared for every eventuality.

Um.

"...Actually, I haven't."

He eyes her.

She looks back at him. "It warns the patrons to stay indoors on nights when the were-creatures are out hunting. I'm not sure the rabbits are all we'll have to worry about."

"Jesus fucking Christ, I missed that there are werewolves around here?"

How the hell did he miss that? (Okay, he knows how -- if he can barely keep track of night and day, no way can he keep track of a full moon, either -- but still.)

"To be fair, you have been a little distracted." The corner of her mouth quirks up. "I understand there's more than a few of them around. Patrons, so technically they're supposed to abide by the rules of the Bar. I haven't had a chance to research the subject adequately." She hums under her breath, one shoulder quirking up a bit.

"So, how would you feel about adding a second storey?"

"...To the cabin?"

Too much, he thinks, in a quick blast, too big -- and then the thoughts subside into stillness, with practiced ease, an instant later.

Cautious, "I dunno, do we really need it?"

She feels it, familiar now, and puffs a warm breath of acceptance into the cold void its rapid subsidence left behind. It's all right. She has good reasons for such a proposal, but his opinion matters, in every step of this project.

"Well, we're just picking out a site today. I still want to do some research. You've seen the book of sketches I made before I even began working on your arm. Can you imagine how thick the book of my designs for a whole building will be?" She gestures to indicate a book that's twice as big in page area and still thicker than her other sketchbooks.

Curtis breathes out a fond laugh, turning to press a brief kiss to her brow.

"Someday I'm gonna wake up and every single wall's gonna be packed with sketches," he says. "I can see 'em already."

She leans into the kiss, glad to wrap her arms around his middle and give a light squeeze.

"Only the good ones," she singsongs, playfully defensive. "But single story with a fence, two storey with a wall, two storeys with a roof garden? And then we start talking about the actual style of the thing."

Curtis, she's a maker. You knew this early days.

And it's one of the many reasons he loves her, no matter how overwhelming everything can get sometimes. (Really, a roof garden? Dejah, you are a ridiculous, beautiful woman.)

"What I can contribute," he says, solemnly, "is a kindergarten drawing of a house with a couple stick figures in front."