⟪ when he returns, her towel is already hung up by the fire to dry, and she's rearranging the recliner so it's comfortably close to the warmth of the fireplace. she must have had about the same idea of how best to arrange the two of them to make up for the, ah, height struggle.
while flora is still in her bikini, she's wrapped a blanket around her lower half for a little bit of extra warmth.
she's already getting comfortable, chirping happily when she sees him. can't be helped sometimes. the fact that he'd not put on a shirt, she notes – it's good to know he's more comfortable now. good to know he's fine with her seeing him. ⟫
I moved us a bit closer to the fireplace. I think this might work. ⟪ a smile. ⟫ In my next life, I'll come back as a giraffe. That's gonna make it easier.
( the little chirrup makes him smile. she has a lot more fox mannerisms than he does crow ones, and sometimes he wonders if he's been going about shifting wrong his whole life. she has such a warm, genuine love for her fox form — and while it's not like he dislikes flying, or any of the other wonders being a crow has given him, he's always seen it as more of separate entity, almost, from himself. a kindred spirit that inhabits the same body, wants the same things. something he calls on. he has nothing of a corvid's habits, and the few commonalities between them could be passed off as quirks of personality.
he settles into the recliner, knees spread to either side of her shoulders, and he sets that bottle down beside him, doling out a generous handful of it in the meantime, so he can warm it up before putting it on her skin. )
⟪ the laugh is more an amused huff as she nudges against his leg with affection. it's got all the markings of a bad decision. she's sitting with her legs tucked underneath herself, touching the spot above her left knee where her little mistake lives. ⟫
Picture this – you're seventeen, and your friend Tonya boyfriend Steve has a cousin called Bubba. Yes, Bubba.
⟪ she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, still grinning. ⟫
Well, it's four in the morning and Bubba's got a tattoo needle, ink, he doesn't care about an ID, and he swears he can tattoo a fox on you.
⟪ she exhales. ⟫
And maybe you're just drunk enough to look at this guy and think – yeah, that sounds reasonable.
⟪ doesn't yet explain why it doesn't look at all like a fox. ⟫
( he's grinning as she tells it. there's something so utterly infectious about her cheer, just being near her is like the warmth radiating off a sun. )
You know what? I kinda like it. It has... personality.
⟪ there is something so utterly good about talking to him. she's got people in her life now who listen, but it's something else, too. he's so warm about it, and so easy to be around. ⟫
Halfway through, this man looked at me and said: I don't know how to tell you this, but it's gonna be a racoon.
⟪ she laughs at the memory, much more distant now. ⟫
Personality. I like that. Part of me wants to cover him up, but y'know. It's not Herbert's fault he's an experimental racoon.
( the lotion is warm in his palm, and then puts his right arm over her shoulder so his hand is in her field of vision. he's got a hairband on his wrist and he sort of waggles his fingers to draw attention to it )
Pull your hair out of the way for me?
( and tie it up so he can work. he's not done talking about the tattoo, but there are other matters right now. )
⟪ gently, she fishes the hairband from his wrist with thanks.
it's a bit of a hopeless case – after all, she'd had them tied up in the hot tub, but the brief carrying interlude had undone that pretty much immediately. she ties it up in a loose bun, and at least the steam had gotten them wet enough to be termporarily tameable. she suspects they'll dry in an even curlier shape. ⟫
All out of the way?
⟪ she feels around her neck to make sure no stray curl escape. ⟫
( he starts the process of smearing lotion across her shoulders, warmed to body temperature now by his hands. once he's managed a liberal application he rests his hands across her shoulders, thumbs moving in concert circles. he's got a light touch. )
I mean, honestly. Tattoos are about the journey, you know? Herbert's part of that past that lead you here.
⟪ she gives a content little hum at his touch. it's light, but good, pleasant, the kind she knows she'll sink into within moments. ⟫
That's a good way to look at it.
⟪ her eyes fall shut in perfect bliss. ⟫
I guess that's why I'm hesitating about covering him up. I don't want to hide the past. I'm not proud of all of it, but I don't think pretending it's not there is a good grounds for a future.
( he didn't start getting tattoos in earnest until he was in his late twenties, when he could afford the high prices tatiana demanded. but even the shitty ranger motto on his arm, for all that it was done by a guy with an illegal tattoo gun in a fucking truck bed in afghanistan, he wouldn't touch. it meant something in the moment. )
But if you want me to hook you up with my artist... she's a real master. Maybe you can get something different down the line.
I think I'd like to. The colours on yours are just... there is a lot of soul to them. I like that. It suits you.
⟪ and it is a down-the-line project, after all, those aren't exactly worth pocket change. but that means she can give it thought, which, in on itself, would be representative of the way she's changed. ⟫
The motto was first, right? Then... the desert. ⟪ this, they've spoken of before. ⟫ Which of the watercolours did you start with?
( he'd gotten it after he came back from europe and they made peace. accepting that they were better friends than lovers. he doesn't regret their divorce, has tried not to dwell on the what-ifs that could have plagued them. he sat down with her and discussed the tattoo, what it meant to him. they were almost strangers then, he knows she could have taken it as a trap. something manipulative, to clip her wings. but she'd understood. it's why they're still so close. )
Then my grandmother's, grandfather's. Nieces and nephews all happened around the same time. The tattoo for my nation was last.
( it's why the red is still so vivid and bright. it was done to celebrate becoming passably fluent — not perfectly, but. it felt like coming full circle, somehow. the lakota way has always been that you can count yourself among their people if you speak the language. it has less to do with birthright and race and more about respect of culture and history. but he wasn't really ready to claim it before. now, he's proud. )
⟪ she leans into his touch almost without thinking – alright, this has been a pattern developing since they became closer. doesn't make it any less nice.
a hum of affirmation, to show she's listened, appreciates his answer. the tension in her shoulders seems to dissipate by the minute, and... and there's just no place else in the world she'd want to be right now. ⟫
I adore them all. They're so... I like how they tell stories. About you, and the people you care about.
( he's silent a time, just working on what knots he finds in her muscles with a firm, gentle pressure. he's thinking, not quite certain yet if he wants to commit to the telling. finally: )
The Lakota used to keep something called 'winter counts'. It's a record from snowfall to snowfall of any major event that happened in the year. Pictographs on buffalo hide. It's kinda where I got the idea, except it's not events so much as people.
( it's something he's never actually... admitted to anyone. in a way, he's still enough of an outlier to the culture that it feels like an elder could at any moment tell him he's comporting himself against their morals and values and culture even if he knows he isn't. impostor syndrome at its finest. at least he knows it. )
⟪ here's something else she appreciates: when he's quiet for a moment, her heart's still at ease. she's learned it's no bad sign, just him taking his time.
he probably can't see her smile, but it's there in her voice, too, with a soft kind of warmth to it that she always feels when he shows her a part of himself she's not yet seen. ⟫
I like it. ⟪ she's a bit worried about saying something dumb, seeing how she's not culturally fluent in the least. she knows columbus was a bastard, she knows the first nations got fucked over and still get fucked over. proper details, she's learning. ⟫ It... makes your culture really yours, in a way.
( he huffs a laugh, his breath warm against the back of her neck as he leans in to get a different angle on a knot. )
Well, that's the hope, anyways. It's harder with my grandparents passed on. Mom never had much to do with the culture. Rez school bullshit, you know. Most of what I've learned has been from Tashina in the last decade or so. My older sister.
( his mom is a lawyer for the tribe, but she hasn't ever really embraced the culture the way tashina did. she keeps herself separate. fear, trauma, penance, he's given up on trying to understand why she does the things she does. all he can do is respect and support the choices she's made for herself. )
⟪ her accents loudly announces chicago, even though she tries quite hard to match his pronunciation as best she can when she repeats the words. there are whole phrases she wants to learn – she wants to be able to tell him how much he means to her, not just in the language they share, but in the one he has spent so many years making truly his own. ⟫
⟪ she... isn't used to putting the things she feels into words, though she's practiced more and more, both around him and the rest of her friends and in the journal she has begun to keep. easier to tell what it is, how to express it, what it all means.⟫
But the better news is that I'll be a little closer with each day.
( her love of the world is always a welcome warmth to him. she can be excited about anything, appreciate anything. she works hard to broaden her horizons, more than anyone else he knows.
he shifts his hands further down her back, between the wings of her shoulder-blades. )
Wa cheen txan e tch ya yo. 'Have patience'. Though men and women have a different way of speaking, you'd end the sentence with 'yea'.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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while flora is still in her bikini, she's wrapped a blanket around her lower half for a little bit of extra warmth.
she's already getting comfortable, chirping happily when she sees him. can't be helped sometimes. the fact that he'd not put on a shirt, she notes – it's good to know he's more comfortable now. good to know he's fine with her seeing him. ⟫
I moved us a bit closer to the fireplace. I think this might work. ⟪ a smile. ⟫ In my next life, I'll come back as a giraffe. That's gonna make it easier.
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he settles into the recliner, knees spread to either side of her shoulders, and he sets that bottle down beside him, doling out a generous handful of it in the meantime, so he can warm it up before putting it on her skin. )
So what's your tattoo about?
( yes, he saw that. )
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Picture this – you're seventeen, and your friend Tonya boyfriend Steve has a cousin called Bubba. Yes, Bubba.
⟪ she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, still grinning. ⟫
Well, it's four in the morning and Bubba's got a tattoo needle, ink, he doesn't care about an ID, and he swears he can tattoo a fox on you.
⟪ she exhales. ⟫
And maybe you're just drunk enough to look at this guy and think – yeah, that sounds reasonable.
⟪ doesn't yet explain why it doesn't look at all like a fox. ⟫
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You know what? I kinda like it. It has... personality.
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Halfway through, this man looked at me and said: I don't know how to tell you this, but it's gonna be a racoon.
⟪ she laughs at the memory, much more distant now. ⟫
Personality. I like that. Part of me wants to cover him up, but y'know. It's not Herbert's fault he's an experimental racoon.
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Pull your hair out of the way for me?
( and tie it up so he can work. he's not done talking about the tattoo, but there are other matters right now. )
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it's a bit of a hopeless case – after all, she'd had them tied up in the hot tub, but the brief carrying interlude had undone that pretty much immediately. she ties it up in a loose bun, and at least the steam had gotten them wet enough to be termporarily tameable. she suspects they'll dry in an even curlier shape. ⟫
All out of the way?
⟪ she feels around her neck to make sure no stray curl escape. ⟫
no subject
( he starts the process of smearing lotion across her shoulders, warmed to body temperature now by his hands. once he's managed a liberal application he rests his hands across her shoulders, thumbs moving in concert circles. he's got a light touch. )
I mean, honestly. Tattoos are about the journey, you know? Herbert's part of that past that lead you here.
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That's a good way to look at it.
⟪ her eyes fall shut in perfect bliss. ⟫
I guess that's why I'm hesitating about covering him up. I don't want to hide the past. I'm not proud of all of it, but I don't think pretending it's not there is a good grounds for a future.
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( he didn't start getting tattoos in earnest until he was in his late twenties, when he could afford the high prices tatiana demanded. but even the shitty ranger motto on his arm, for all that it was done by a guy with an illegal tattoo gun in a fucking truck bed in afghanistan, he wouldn't touch. it meant something in the moment. )
But if you want me to hook you up with my artist... she's a real master. Maybe you can get something different down the line.
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⟪ and it is a down-the-line project, after all, those aren't exactly worth pocket change. but that means she can give it thought, which, in on itself, would be representative of the way she's changed. ⟫
The motto was first, right? Then... the desert. ⟪ this, they've spoken of before. ⟫ Which of the watercolours did you start with?
no subject
( he'd gotten it after he came back from europe and they made peace. accepting that they were better friends than lovers. he doesn't regret their divorce, has tried not to dwell on the what-ifs that could have plagued them. he sat down with her and discussed the tattoo, what it meant to him. they were almost strangers then, he knows she could have taken it as a trap. something manipulative, to clip her wings. but she'd understood. it's why they're still so close. )
Then my grandmother's, grandfather's. Nieces and nephews all happened around the same time. The tattoo for my nation was last.
( it's why the red is still so vivid and bright. it was done to celebrate becoming passably fluent — not perfectly, but. it felt like coming full circle, somehow. the lakota way has always been that you can count yourself among their people if you speak the language. it has less to do with birthright and race and more about respect of culture and history. but he wasn't really ready to claim it before. now, he's proud. )
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a hum of affirmation, to show she's listened, appreciates his answer. the tension in her shoulders seems to dissipate by the minute, and... and there's just no place else in the world she'd want to be right now. ⟫
I adore them all. They're so... I like how they tell stories. About you, and the people you care about.
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The Lakota used to keep something called 'winter counts'. It's a record from snowfall to snowfall of any major event that happened in the year. Pictographs on buffalo hide. It's kinda where I got the idea, except it's not events so much as people.
( it's something he's never actually... admitted to anyone. in a way, he's still enough of an outlier to the culture that it feels like an elder could at any moment tell him he's comporting himself against their morals and values and culture even if he knows he isn't. impostor syndrome at its finest. at least he knows it. )
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he probably can't see her smile, but it's there in her voice, too, with a soft kind of warmth to it that she always feels when he shows her a part of himself she's not yet seen. ⟫
I like it. ⟪ she's a bit worried about saying something dumb, seeing how she's not culturally fluent in the least. she knows columbus was a bastard, she knows the first nations got fucked over and still get fucked over. proper details, she's learning. ⟫ It... makes your culture really yours, in a way.
no subject
Well, that's the hope, anyways. It's harder with my grandparents passed on. Mom never had much to do with the culture. Rez school bullshit, you know. Most of what I've learned has been from Tashina in the last decade or so. My older sister.
( his mom is a lawyer for the tribe, but she hasn't ever really embraced the culture the way tashina did. she keeps herself separate. fear, trauma, penance, he's given up on trying to understand why she does the things she does. all he can do is respect and support the choices she's made for herself. )
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I'm... I'm learning a little Russian, for Vasya. Just because language is such a part of life and trying to understand where someone comes from.
⟪ she's going somewhere, promise. ⟫
Would you teach me a few words, too? If that's okay?
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Sure. Sungila you already know. Crow is kȟaŋǧí. ( glancing around for inspiration: ) Fire is pȟéta.
( his fingers trace a pattern on her skin. gently, )
Woman is 'wíŋyaŋ'.
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the gentle pattern almost makes her shiver. ⟫
What is 'man'?
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( his accent still isn't perfect. but it's better than it was. he's lucky tashina had the patience for him. )
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How can I say 'thank you'?
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( he's almost glad she can't see his expression right now, if only because of how cracked open it must be. )
Careful. Tradition is, you're one of us if you speak the language.
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⟪ she... isn't used to putting the things she feels into words, though she's practiced more and more, both around him and the rest of her friends and in the journal she has begun to keep. easier to tell what it is, how to express it, what it all means.⟫
But the better news is that I'll be a little closer with each day.
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he shifts his hands further down her back, between the wings of her shoulder-blades. )
Wa cheen txan e tch ya yo. 'Have patience'. Though men and women have a different way of speaking, you'd end the sentence with 'yea'.
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Wa cheen txan e tch ya yea? ⟪ just to make sure she's got it right. ⟫ I'll have a lot of time to learn.
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