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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"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.

Dejah sees him returning and nods, smiling. "Here." She takes off one of her scarves and ties it around the thin end.

She then proceeds to kneel down in the snow and from somewhere beneath her coat, she produces a dagger. She proceeds to dig a hole in the ground big enough to plant one end of their impromptu banner in.

The dagger doesn't surprise him. A faint twinge of uncertainty passes over his thoughts, like a wisp of cloud scuttling across the sun, but as soon as it arrives, it's gone.

Once the hole's dug, he props the banner against one shoulder and eases it into place. As if on cue, a faint breeze stirs the fringe of the scarf.

She wipes the dagger on her pants leg and resheathes it beneath her coat. Her hands guide the pole into place and she packs a few rocks around the base, just to make sure it's secure.

"There." She brushes off her mittens and tugs the ear flaps back down around her ears. Half a breath later, she rises, one hand holding the pompon at the top as she squints up at it.

"It's not a house pennant, but it'll have to do for now." She looks across at him, sending a questioning tendril of thought. Was that uncertainty about the knife or about this whole endeavor?

All that meets her is a calm, steady reassurance, like the gentle nudges she's given him every so often. Curtis smiles: even if they're still hammering out the details, this whole endeavor has never been in doubt.

"House pennant?" he asks. "Like -- not like a coat of arms or something, right?"

(Is that what they were called?)

"I suppose. I mean, it depends on where and when the pennant's being flown, but sometimes it has a symbol on it. In my casual situations like this, banners tend to simply be in house colors. Everyone knows the blue and silver of Helium. Well, at least on Barsoom they do."

She takes his arm again, rubs her nose with the back of her hand. It's turning a bit blue.

If there was some way he could push physical warmth to her as easily as his emotions, Curtis would do it in an instant. As it stands, he does the next best thing: unwinding his own scarf, he wraps it securely around Dejah's neck, tugging up the last few turns so it covers her nose as well.

Fondly amused, "Think it's time to go in?"

She looks on as he wraps her up, a little surprised. He pulls it up over her nose and she grins at him, her eyes sparkling above the scarf.

Her answer is only a little muffled. "Yes, I think so. Bar mentioned something to me about a drink called a Hot Toddy? It sounded delicious."

He chuckles. "If it's anything like hot chocolate -- " and here, he wraps his arm around her again, pulling her close as they start back down the path, "-- I'm in."

She leans against him, content and serene.

They walk arm in arm, in companionable silence until they get to the lake path again. Dejah takes a breath and almost says something.

He can hear the whisper of curiosity and concern in her unspoken thought.

It catches his attention like a tiny shard of ice flicked against his skin. Curtis glances her way.

"Hm?"

She sighs and shakes her head. "Nothing."

A moment later.

"It's just --"

The image of Edgar is clear in her mind. Edgar's hasty retreat from the bar when they showed up. It's a stone in her shoe. It hurts and she'd like to do something about it. But she's not quite sure what, or if it's even her place to do anything at all.

"Nevermind."