⟪ 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'.
Never felt better. ⟪ she rolls her shoulders, eyes shutting with pleasure. ⟫ At this point, I'd just be looking for an excuse to be sitting this close to you.
⟪ instead she gets up, wraps the blanket a bit more tightly – and goes on over to her backpack, pulls out an oversized t-shirt she's been meaning to sleep in, but that makes for comfortable around-the-cabin wear all the same. and, of course, crackers and marshmallows. ⟫
( affection is easy-come between them. it always has been, in a way. he remembers holding her small fox body against his chest, scratching her ears. it's easy to pet an animal. easier still, perhaps, to kiss a woman.
he waits for her to return with the marshmallows and the crackers, in a shirt so big on her it slips off one shoulder. )
Flora. Come here.
( he says it soft. it's a request, not a command. one hand held out. )
⟪ it's happened so easily with him. they'd been watching something or other, she'd shifted –– they had been at her place, so it had been partly done for space reasons. then, she'd rested on his chest, her tail curled a little around him, and he'd petted her, until her eyes fell shut.
the shirt, she'd gotten on a sale somewhere.
he might delight in the fact that it has a racoon on it.
at any rate, she's quickly over, having found the wood barbecuing sticks they'll need to roast the marshmallows over the fire, and she sets them down on the end table to take his hand. she'd like nothing more than for him to pull her in his lap, but she leaves the choice to him. ⟫
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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.
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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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( it's a soft affirmation, and he drags his hands down the outside of her arms mostly to rub some of the lotion off there. )
I should put another log on the fire, one sec.
( up he gets to do just that, sidestepping around her to where the fire is a slow-burning wall of warmth. )
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You know, I'm pretty happy the jets didn't work.
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( he wanted working jets, flora, come on!! )
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⟪ what? she's been having a good time! ⟫
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Well, I'll take the compliment, then. But both would've been nice, you know?
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⟪ if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. ⟫
I brought marshmallows, you know. If you're into s'mores.
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( he's happy to keep going, but he wouldn't object to s'mores, either. )
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⟪ instead she gets up, wraps the blanket a bit more tightly – and goes on over to her backpack, pulls out an oversized t-shirt she's been meaning to sleep in, but that makes for comfortable around-the-cabin wear all the same. and, of course, crackers and marshmallows. ⟫
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You need an excuse? News to me.
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⟪ she laughs, though, because she knows she's got a bit of a Habit. ⟫
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he waits for her to return with the marshmallows and the crackers, in a shirt so big on her it slips off one shoulder. )
Flora. Come here.
( he says it soft. it's a request, not a command. one hand held out. )
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the shirt, she'd gotten on a sale somewhere.
he might delight in the fact that it has a racoon on it.
at any rate, she's quickly over, having found the wood barbecuing sticks they'll need to roast the marshmallows over the fire, and she sets them down on the end table to take his hand. she'd like nothing more than for him to pull her in his lap, but she leaves the choice to him. ⟫
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