2goodarms | (no subject)

(no subject)

"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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"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."

"No, my love. You have far more than that to offer." She can't talk with her hands very well while wearing mittens, but it doesn't keep her from trying. "First off, you have an idea in your head, and I do not wish to stray too far from that. I'll need you to reign me in."

"It's gonna be your space too," Curtis points out. He catches both her hands with a laugh. "You don't have to cross out everything."

Maybe they'll balance each other, he thinks. He can rein her in, but she can pull him along, like she's been slowly nudging him along from the moment they met. Testing each little boundary -- a window, a quiet room, an open sky -- and showing Curtis he can move forward in a wholly different way.

Something catches, flutters behind her breastbone, a shimmer of delight blossoming in response to his laughter, his smile.

"I haven't forgotten," she murmurs, grinning. "We're building it together. For us."

"Yeah." He brings her mittened hands to his lips. "So if I start shooting things down just 'cause I'm...you know. Being me."

(That's a little more wry.)

"You can say so."

She leans in close to rest her brow against his, feel his breath warm on her cheeks.

"You? Being a stubborn ass about something? No, this would never happen."

She may be pulling his tail. Just a little.

"Exactly. I am the most easygoing damn person you ever met," he says, the picture of serenity.

Which lasts for about three seconds before he starts snickering anew.

She joins him, coughing a little as she gets a lungful of cold air. She huddles against him, nuzzles along his cheek. It may be an excuse to steal a kiss.

"All right, I'm beginning to see the appeal of having a beard."

Does Curtis's smile turn a little bit smug at that? Never.

"Told you." He sneaks another kiss. "I'll freeze if I shave it off."

She steals another and another, as many as he'll let her. "Convenient And practical. And here I thought it was your way of hiding away that incredibly handsome smile."

He wrinkles his nose, bumping it lightly against hers. "You can see my smile just fine."

"Mostly, but not in its full glory," she answers, her grin in full blossom now. She returns the touch, staying close. "Sweet Issus, you're beautiful when you smile."

He shakes his head, but the smile doesn't go anywhere.

(Like any gift, he's still not sure what to make of her compliments, so freely given.)

"So do you wanna put anything down to mark the spot here?"

"Good idea," she murmurs, pulling back reluctantly. She shakes her bracelet down and touches her thumb to the gem.

"I'll take readings of the terrain, and mark it in relation to the lake. You want to find us a piece of wood or something large we can leave?"

Curtis nods; before her hands slip free, he gives them one more quick squeeze. "Be back in a minute," he says, and goes to search the ground for something useable.

In one of the denser patches of grass, the snow dips and rises into an oddly smooth curve. Squatting down, Curtis brushes the snow aside to reveal a fallen branch as big as his arm, the bark peeling off in a few spots, the rest of it solid and intact. He gives it a thump just to be sure, but nothing crumbles with rot.

Perfect.

He hefts it up, dusts off more snow, and trudges back toward Dejah.