built my house out of sails and wood.

[fidior]

Who: Edward Little & Konstantin Veshnyakov + you!
What: plotted threads with Jhey's boatman & spaceman
When: the months of August, September, & October
Where: various places in Milton / possibly Lakeside

burned it down and it's gone for good

Comments

— ⚓

[fidior]

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■ — threads for EDWARD LITTLE

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— Wynonna Earp.

[fidior]

[ Edward gives into it — but it's with no amount of grace or enjoyment; no, this is a punishment, and one he wholeheartedly dreads. The decision to head to Wynonna's cabin comes almost naturally, at first — seeking something familiar, comforting, maybe driven there by the knowledge that he's supposed to, that when something terrifying happens, he's meant to go to her for help.

But the closer he gets, the more he flounders with the idea. It's a longer trek to the outskirts now, ever since he's recently moved closer to town. He has to cross a much greater distance to find her, and he's terrified to come across anyone, so he heads around the town itself, sticking to the woods. Reminded by each breath of crisp air and subtle distant sound that floods him with stimuli (he can smell, hear, see so much more), that he's become something horrible. Something with sharp claws and teeth, breathing hot and throaty. He shouldn't go to her. Not like this. What if he— hurts her? He's kept his own mind during the few times he's given into this thing inside of him, let it overtake his human body, but what if he fully loses his capacity to think, and reason? Would there be any warning of such a thing?

By the time he's reached the wood of the outskirts of town, near where cabins are sparsely dotted along, nearest to where hers is, he's practically talked himself out of it. He hesitates, angsting, turning around — then back around, circling for a moment, directionless. Even from here, he thinks he might be able to smell her home — or some faint scent of her, maybe, familiar and comforting. Smell is the strangest scent of all to him now, so sharp and clear — where people have been, something lingers like memory etched into tangible form.

Edward whines low in his throat, ears pressing back, tail lowered, fretful. There he is in the nearby woods: a large, fluffy black wolf looking positively miserable as he debates what he should do. ]

cw: hunting, animal death, blood

[pacificator]

[ As a human, it’s easier to ignore certain urges, certain needs. Wolves don’t understand the complicated mathematics of interpersonal relationships and the ghosts of rejections long since past. The thing she feels and ignores and does her best not to realize as a human is a gnawing, gaping hole in her wolf belly: she’s alone, and she doesn’t want to be. A wolf needs her pack.

Her human mind still controls her, so she can rise above the instinct to simply sniff out and find companions, but it’s a constant pressure on her thoughts, along with the desire to hunt. It feels… wrong, being alone, and there’s a long moment where she turns her nose toward Lakeside, feeling the tug of Tommy there in the cabin. She could lope there in half the time it usually takes her, maybe less, could find him and spend a few days there and remind herself that she has a pack, small though it might be. She has people here she’s loyal to, people she’d do anything for.

All of this is a continual low buzz in the back of her thoughts as she tracks down and pounces on a ptarmigan. It flutters wildly before it dies, batting her sensitive nose with its wings until she crunches down and her mouth fills with hot blood and feathers. She’s still not sated after the lean weeks back in June; she eats delicately, but finishes the whole bird and licks her chops afterward.

The scent of blood is still in her nose as she moves through the forest and back toward her cabin, but it isn’t cloying enough to fully cover a new smell — new, but somehow familiar, salt and warmth and the scent of wet dog lifting on a crisp breeze through the woods long before she finds the source.

The enormous black wolf looks about twice her size, although on second glance she thinks a good third of that impression is simply due to his thick black coat. Despite its size, it looks like it’s cringing away from shadows on the ground, ears flat and tail down. She takes a few steps forward, her own ears perked up, curious, lifting her nose to scent the breeze while her eyes — the same clear pale gray-blue as always — stay locked on the other animal. ]

[fidior]

[ He's unfocused, a victim to his own heightened senses demanding his attention. Through all of that, too, is a hunger; Edward hasn't been eating enough these past weeks, nearly a month. It's part of the punishment he's inflicted on himself, to let his stomach ache the way it had once before. He's no stranger to that kind of hunger; it's familiar, and he almost knows how to handle it. Numbly, even stubbornly.

But as a wolf... his body knows what it needs, animal instinct kicking in, and the hunger is a pressing thing that floods him as much as his new sight, scent, and hearing do. All of it means that he doesn't register the approaching creature as quickly as he should, that he's distracted by too much.

(Except some part of him might realise that somehow, that faint scent of Wynonna that he'd thought was only lingering around her cabin, is getting closer — just not in the same way, in a different way, something he can't quite make sense of just yet.) But then—

Something appears. Swift and lean and sudden, and carrying the scent of blood with her. The black wolf's nostrils flare and quiver, and he doesn't know if his initial reaction is yearning or aversion; he gives in to the latter, ducking his head again so low that his nose brushes into the snow, giving another low whine. It's an almost comical sight — he's afraid of her. A wolf...! Right there before him! What if she attacks? He doesn't know how to handle this, what to do, backs away from her for a moment, but then something catches hold of him, and he pauses.

Those eyes on him. Isn't there something.... something to those eyes? ]

we gettin off the struggle bus, kids!

[pacificator]

[ Instead of rocking up to challenge her, the enormous black wolf — seriously, it's almost as big as Bigby's wolf form — cringes away, head and tail both low as it moves awkwardly backwards, paws leaving deep divots in the snow. She sniffs, catching that same slightly familiar scent, and moves forward with an easy lupine grace that mimics her hip-swinging swagger as a human.

Step by step she comes closer, ears up and clear eyes bright and interested, sniffing at the air, at the eddies the other wolf leaves in it. It isn't only the scent that's familiar; it's the anxious way the other wolf tries to curl in on itself, shuffling its feet and lowering its head. Even the thick black fur taps at something back in her human mind; she can almost imagine how it would feel, soft and rough at the same time, under her fingers.

Wynonna ignores his cowering and comes close enough to dip her own head and nudge at his muzzle with hers, more curious than friendly. What's your deal, dude? ]

me limping my way off the struggle bus but i'm COMING

[fidior]

[ Their demenours couldn't be more different — he, head bowed and tail between his legs, looking clunky and strange and awkward in himself, and she, confident and smooth, head lifted, eyes shining as she nears him. For a moment, both of his minds are highly disturbed — the human part of him in its fear of a wolf approaching him, and the animal part of him distressed by her coming into his personal space without a second thought.

His eyes don't catch hers, don't dare risk being seen as aggressive or challenging, but... there's none of that coming from her as she nuzzles against his mouth in what seems to be an attempt to greet him. He can smell, or maybe it's more that he can feel how she means it — curious, checking him out, unsure about him but not frightened off by it the way he is about her. The black wolf tenses like a statue, hardly even breathing for a long moment. Nervous, shocked, confused, overwhelmed — and through all of those things, something slides into place.

When it clicks, it's strangely. With that same mix of how she smells and feels to his animal self and— what his human self knows. Wynonna sauntering up to him, elbow leaning comfortably against his shoulder, seemingly oblivious (but maybe not quite so much) to his shy flare of nerves. Wynonna cracking a wide grin, all teeth, and maybe it could register as intimidating and maybe he had been stricken with anxiety by her smile once, but these days what he really notices are the softness of her eyes. Sharp and icy when they need to be, no doubt, but mostly for him these days: soft. The wolf nudging his muzzle is chestnut-brown with lighter places that might remind one of the natural highlights to her hair. In fact, all at once, both halves of him realise that this is Wynonna, on a level that is physical and something much deeper than that, and he—

—finally lifts his head to stare at her, dead-on. If a wolf could look startled, he manages to, torn between complete disbelief and knowing.

He's always struggled with giving into his spirit, but this form makes that easier, too. It wants to, yearns to, and before he can stop it, he's feeling himself press his nose against hers. Cautious, almost experimental, unsure, but... still he does, as though to search her even closer. Almost as though to say 'it's you?' — or is it less of a question and more of a known thing? 'it's you.'

(Of course it is. Such a large part of him already knows that.) ]

— Cornelius Hickey.

[fidior]

It's what he's been fearing for a very long time now. To be touched by the... by the Supernatural. To be altered by it.

And now he has been. Though it's fully what he deserves, this punishment, and so Edward finally gives into it, after so many long weeks trying to ignore the persistent something inside of him, and the draw to the full moon.

Now he moves through the woods in a completely new form — a large and particularly fluffy black wolf. Every sense is insane, enhanced in ways that threaten to overwhelm him, and the closer he gets to the pure wilderness, the worse it becomes. But he doesn't want to risk being in town, needs to get further out while he allows this form to take hold of him, so he heads deeper into the woods, until the trees are thick.

And there he stays, walking slowly through, making hardly any sound despite the largeness of his body. He thinks he's alone.

[friendsfordinner]

He's not alone in the slightest. The first thing Little sees is a rabbit running for it's life. The second thing he sees is a small gray wolf tears through the forest, chasing the rabbit. But as the smaller wolf spots the larger one, he skids to a stop, looking at the other wolf, growling in a 'back the fuck off' sort of way.

Based on the blood on Hickey's muzzle, this isn't the first animal he's killed this evening. But he wants to make sure this other animal knows what's what. This is his prey, this is his area, this new whoever this is , he's not going to fuck with Hickey.

This new...whoever that smells weirdly familiar. Huh. He's met this wolf before, hasn't he?

[fidior]

The rabbit tears past, startling the wolf in an almost comical manner, causing him to jump. He should have sensed the animal, probably, but he's overwhelmed by everything around him — unable to focus on any one thing. Every sound, scent, sight bombards him. When the rabbit springs forth, it's wholly unexpected.

Even more unexpected is the creature that follows it. Another wolf — and as soon as it comes to that quick halt and turns to growl at him, the larger wolf is immediately backing down, lowering his head further, submissive. He's even trembling... Fuck fuck fuck don't kill him

The scent of that blood on the grey wolf's mouth is also terrifying — ....but something in Little is at once drawn to it, too. He's hungry, and his wolf body isn't able to ignore those pangs of hunger the way his human one is. It's this fact that has him finally lifting his head again to look at the other wolf, making eye contact, and... he freezes.

For a long moment, they're just staring at each other, because Little's stricken with the same thought. Doesn't. Doesn't he know this... creature? (Person? But how, that'd be impossible....)

Overwhelmed, he abruptly sits down on the ground, tail curling around a leg. And he whines.

[friendsfordinner]

Oh good Lord, he now knows who that wolf is. Hickey would recognize that strain of pathetic overwhelmed inaction anywhere! The wolf sits down and whines and everything just clicks in Hickey's head. It's Little. It's got to be Little. The Darkwalker or that woman or whoever has seen fit to give Little the same gift as it gave Hickey.

Honestly, that's not really fair? It's not like Little knows what to do with this. He certainly doesn't deserve this the way that Hickey does. But Hickey keeps that to himself for the moment.

Instead, he walks towards the other wolf, not even bothering to lower his head. That's right, he's the boss, he's in charge, better represent. He keeps staring down Little, as if trying to cow him, to make him retreat even further. Because if Hickey gets close enough to Little, he will absolutely try to bully the other wolf. And his form of bullying takes the form of a tackle as he attempts to just knock Little to the ground.

— Bigby Wolf.

[fidior]

[ It's a nightmare, but it's one that he fully deserves and so he accepts it. Edward knows this punishment is suiting. And so he finally lets himself give in to the beast locked within him, the one so drawn to the glow of the full moon.

In fact, it's nighttime now. He's snuck away to wander the woods surrounding the town, but it's no peaceful stroll. He's miserable, as he always is when he lets himself turn to this form (though he's only done it a couple of times) — overwhelmed by his own fear and trepidation, and by the senses that threaten to completely swallow him up. He can see, smell, taste, hear so much. And every stimuli sends him into a fresh bout of nerves. It's maybe almost a comical sight — a large, particularly fluffy black wolf, creeping through the woods, hunched down low and tense, ears flattened, tail practically between his legs, eyes wide, mouth drawn back into a nervous grimace, panting heavily...

It was truly a mistake to come out here at night, he thinks. There are more animals active now, nocturnal things, and he's one of them. Something in his blood rushes, comes alive, wants to run and hunt and it scares him. Edward whines, and starts to creep back out of the woods, pulled by the impulse to return home, but... no. No, he can't. He needs to stay out here, let the beast take him over for a while longer. It's punishment...

So he lingers near the treeline, still mostly concealed by trees but close enough to the edge of town. And there he just sort of.... anxiously lingers, restlessly moving in circles, and mournfully whining again from time to time. This is so unpleasant... and he's so miserable.... ]

[bigbaddy]

[ It's not that uncommon for Bigby to be out at night. It helps when he's really never capable of sleeping through the night anyway - an old habit from back home that has stuck around here, it seems - and if he can't sleep, then there's no use sitting around in a chair waiting to fall asleep. Instead he goes out, contemplating turning into a wolf and running around for a while that way until he might feel tired enough to go back home and let sleep claim him.

Before he can make a decision on that though, something else grabs the man's attention. It's not all that strange to hear animal sounds in town, but it's not often that he hears whines like these. It almost sounds like a wounded animal, or like something that's trying to lure him in on purpose by making those wounds.

If the latter was going on, then it sure was working. Because Bigby frowns when he hears the sounds and starts moving in the direction where he can hear them coming from. It's hard to spot the dark form against the treeline at first, but when he gets a little closer, he is capable of spotting a faint outline of something that looks like.. a wolf?

A wolf making those sounds?

There's a few quick connections being made inside of Bigby's head, and he lets out a sigh before he speaks up, raising his voice enough for the creature to hear. ]

Listen, I don't know who from town is hiding out here. [ He can't recognize the wolf, after all. It's hard enough to match a wolf form with someone's human form unless you've seen them transform before, and in this darkness it's certainly not an easier feat.

But he can tell it's got to be one of the people who gained this new ability from the Aurora. No ordinary wolf would make those sounds in these circumstances. It doesn't even seem like there's something going on worth whining about.

Bigby figures it's likely someone who has either forgotten how to turn back, or can't quite figure it out by themselves. ]

But just get your ass over here.

"it doesn't even seem like there's something going on worth whining about" Bigby READING him

[fidior]

[ With how easy it is for him to lose focus with so many senses demanding his attention, it makes it hard for Edward to truly take notice of anyone approaching until they're really, really close. He hears, smells, feels too much — things in the woods, distant sounds and smells, the way the crisp night wind stirs his fur but doesn't chill him, body suited to this environment.

Then, suddenly, a man speaks — and the wolf startles, that whining abruptly cut off into silence. It takes him too long to realise he recognises this man; with all of his senses going haywire, all Edward can see at first is stranger and frightening, and some part of him immediately shouts to run, dart away into the dark safety of the trees.

....But another part stops it. The part that realises it can still understand people speaking, can comprehend the words and make sense of them, even if he's incapable of speaking back. And.... he knows that voice, doesn't he? Cautiously, so tense it hurts, the wolf peers widely out of the trees, and chances a slow step forwards, enough so that the man will be able to see the shine of his eyes in the darkness.

With that, he stares, stunned. Bigby....? He's here? Edward's afraid and ashamed for anyone to see him like this, but....

Slowly and obediently, he starts revealing himself, but it's as though someone's holding a gun to his head... as he wills his legs forwards, one heavy paw hitting the snow at a time. Standing there, he lowers his head and tail again, as though embarrassed... and then he starts whining again. It's all he can do to convey how upset he is to be seen like this... ]

KJHGKJHDF i'm so sorry, little.. bigby like "wow, look at that, most pathetic wolf i've ever seen"

[bigbaddy]

[ Even with the animal now closer to him, Bigby still can't quite tell who it is. It's not any of the people he's seen as wolves, which does narrow it down, but.. then again, the people he knows are wolves aren't exactly the type to display this sort of behavior, not even towards him.

Still, he is sure it's a transformed human. No ordinary wolf would act this way. Though it does make him wonder who from town would even react like this in the first place.. Are they just distressed because of the wolf situation in general?

As Bigby thinks about it, he exhales a breath deep enough to be a sigh - he knows he's not good at this, not good at the whole gentle thing - and kneels down in the snow to be on a more even level with the wolf. ]

You're not stuck. [ That's got to be it, right. This person doesn't know how to transform back. Why else would a wolf just.. look this pathetic.. ] All you have to do is think about being a human, and you'll turn back into one. It's not that hard.

— Chloe Frazer.

[fidior]

He truly, truly, hates this. It might be obvious from his behaviour — there Edward is, now a large and particularly fluffy black wolf, ears pressed down, tail between his legs, body tense and hunched down as he moves through the woods. Occasionally, he whines low in his throat, a mournful, pathetic sound.

But he knows he deserves this punishment, this... beasthood, and so he lets it have control of him, taking little excursions like this several times a week now, so as to allow the beast inside of him to breathe fresh air.

And oh, it wants to — every sense is enhanced, smell and sight and hearing, but he's afraid to give in too much to such things. He tries to keep himself away from anything particularly tantalising, like the faint scent of some small animal not too far away (his stomach aches, he's hungry, he ignores it....)

No. No, he'll just... linger there in the woods, restless and nervous. He doesn't expect to come across anyone else.

[desperate_times_right]

The wolf that barrels past him is his opposite in many ways: light grey in colour, lean and fast and comfortable in this body. She's got a little bit of blood in the fur around her muzzle, and is wearing a little red nylon backpack, altered to clip around her chest.

Fully fuelled from her snack earlier, Chloe had just been running to enjoy the moonlight, but stops abruptly at the sight of another wolf, especially one who looks so troubled.

She sits and tilts her head, staring at him with grey eyes. Who are you?

[fidior]

There's a startle as another animal comes rushing past — quick and unexpected, and he's still adjusting to the sensitivity of his new nose and ears and eyes. Maybe some part of him sensed her coming, but it was overwhelmed by the way he senses everything else.

But he's immediately stunned in the face of her — smelling that little bit of blood before he sees it, which scares him, but... she's also wearing a pack?? Is she a domesticated animal...

Edward's submissive, shrinking back and putting his head down to her, ears lowering again. He doesn't understand that this is a fellow person, even if, on some level, he grasps that something's... different to all of this. He thinks she's just a wolf, and he's intimidated by the fact he can understand what she says to him, in some way. Like dreaming the same dream.

I'm a human. The sentiment comes, not true language, but something deeper. Not supposed to be here.

[desperate_times_right]

It's Chloe’s turn to startle a little. This one is like her, but so tense and afraid.

She walks slowly toward him, head lowered - mean no harm - then presses her nose against his side, searching. Scared. Hurt?

— Kate Marsh.

[fidior]

[ The month passes slow and steady. October seems to, thankfully, maintain a reprieve from the worse events that have been befalling this place as of late.

His own recovery after September's attack has been... strange, not so much a true "recovery", in the sense that there's little left for him to recover from. Kate took his injury, healed it from the inside out, all the layers of torn skin and everything ripped beneath. Whatever organs, muscles, tissue were maimed in the fatal wound, have been restored. A fatigue persists, but that's likely just attributed to his general weariness, and the stress of it all. Physically speaking, however.... Edward's better.

The same can't be said for her, though. He wasn't the only one she touched and made better, and the toll is clear on Kate. She's exhausted, staying to her bed most days, and he knows John worries just as much as he does. They both stay vigilant towards her, helping however they can, and helping each other take care of the girl. But the days pass by, and she's still... so ill, so weak.

He's home alone with her this afternoon, while John attends to some business further in town. Everything's quiet, and still: just a few clinks of things being moved in the kitchen, and his own footsteps as he walks about. He warms soup for her, which is mostly broth and a few of the saltine crackers that were recently salvaged and brought by someone on their journey back from Lakeside.

He's also placed one of his few remaining Ibuprofen tablets down on the side of the tray he's carrying to her now, along with a small glass of cold water. He knocks first, an awkward one-handed thing as he clutches the tray in the other, waiting for a confirmation after a 'May I come inside?' before slipping into the girl's room, gently nudging past Merry — curled up on the floor near her bed — and setting the tray down at a nightstand table. ]

Miss Kate. Are you feeling up to something to eat? If you can stomach even a little, then you can take one of the capsules.

[ ...The pill... He'd read the warning label, and it said not to swallow them on an empty stomach.... Beat, as he looks her over, worriedly. ]

How are your pain levels?

my slow ass finally getting to this

[castitas]

[ He wasn't the only one. She'd gone out, afterwards. She'd saved one man, she could try to save another. People didn't have to die, that night. And the selflessness of her was willing to give until she could give no more. Now she has to pay the price. Kate's okay with that. It comforts her to know she's done good work, to know that even with her bloodied hands — it's been to heal. Everything else just seems to fall by the wayside.

She doesn't regret any of it, not for one second. Edward Little lives for another day, and all is right in the world.

The days seem to blur into one: long periods of sleep that shift into brief awakenings. The pain keeps her exhausted and confused, as does the low-grade fever. But it's quiet, peaceful even. Rest for good deeds done.

She's barely awake when she hears the knock at the door, mumbling a hoarse reply and fighting under blankets to pull herself up to sit. Even that's hard enough, who knew? And she sort of half-gives up, sinking back again into the pillows with a exhale. Still, she manages a tiny, tired smile. ]

Uhh— [ She squints a tiny bit at both questions. ] Well, I mean— I don't feel super nauseous. So that's pretty good?

[ Not really an answer, she knows. ]

Better than yesterday, still not super great. I'm getting there.

— John Irving.

[fidior]

[ It's a crisp October afternoon when they embark on their outing — a rare thing indeed; Edward can't remember the last time he did anything like this. In truth, it's not something he would usually allow himself to indulge in, but he's concerned about John. So much has happened, the attack from the Forest Talkers, the meeting held by their former captain, so many horrible truths exposed.

It wears on a man. For so long, so much has been wearing on them. And so it's actually Edward's idea to take a few hours off, to go out for a walk on a day when things are a little brighter, the air so cool and fresh. Again, this isn't... typical, and there's some overarching awkwardness; he's not used to doing anything that isn't... work. He's never even explored this land as anything but an officer — patrolling around the perimeter of the town or accompanying someone to and from Lakeside. But today, there is no agenda, other than to spend some time with his companion. They've brought food, too, in packs — a quiet picnic just a ways off from the town seems nice.

Edward's made an impossibly fast recovery from his wounds in September, thanks to Kate, but he hasn't left the house much these past weeks. Tilting his head up a bit to glance at the sun, he lets it fall upon his face for a moment, allowing himself a quiet second or two to enjoy the sensation, before he turns his head towards John. ]

It's a nice day, isn't it? At times I think that being in the cold and the dark for so long has made me truly able to appreciate the sun in a way I never once could.

[extramuralise]

[ If there's one thing Irving loves that isn't spelled G-O-D, it's a proper outdoor venture: long walks, hiking, climbing... just man and nature, as close to God as it gets.

(Sailing and swimming used to have rather high places on that list, as well, although for obvious reasons those experiences have been unfortunately compromised... not that he'd be doing either one here, regardless.)

In terms of getting out of one's own head, clearing it free of all but fresh air, adrenaline, and God, there's little better. Irving is more grateful to Little for suggesting it than he can even express in words, after everything that's happened— everything Irving needs his mind taken far, far away from, both since Milton and before it.

The Darkwalker and Forest Talkers are not much more unbelievable than the Tuunbaq itself had been for him, but the things Crozier told them... Hickey and Gibson... even simply just being here to begin with, in utter, unholy defiance of death.

Not that Irving isn't grateful for second chances; not that he resents being given back some semblance of a life again. It isn't right, though, and it chills him to even imagine what it's all at the expense of.

But for now, standing out in the cold October sunlight, he smiles, tipping his face up into the faint autumn warmth just as Little's done, as if they're simply a pair of flowers slavishly dependent on the light rather than two cold, damaged men. ]

A perfect day, [ he agrees, taking a deep breath. ] The like of which I truly never anticipated I'd be seeing again. I'd reckon we best make the most of it.

[fidior]

[ It's a relief, even if such a short-lived one, to see Irving take that moment to absorb it as well, a moment of stillness. For a very long time, it has felt as though things are moving so swiftly, as though they're trapped in the throes of their own lives, a spectator more than an active participant. At least, that's how it's felt for Little — though he's tried so hard to hang onto some semblance of control.

....Well. It's all gone now. It was all gone a long time ago, actually. Revisiting so many of those horrible truths during Crozier's meeting was a reminder of that much; Edward Little lost control a long time ago. And here in this place too, so much is... outside of what they can claim as autonomy. The Darkwalker, the attacks, the deaths, the... strange way this environment can affect and alter people. Even now he's aware of how he's been changed by it — at any moment, if he willed it, he could become a beast. (It's a thought he does keep tucked away, just in case... they should encounter any trouble. He can protect John, if he needs to. Not that he wants an ounce more of blood on his hands, but.. this is his punishment, and he does accept it. Beneath his breast now lingers a thing with sharp claws and teeth, and if he has to use those to keep his companion safe.....)

But for now, hopefully, there will be no need for any of that. For now, hopefully, he and John can simply take a few hours to themselves. He smiles again, feeling happy and hopeful that the other man might be able to find some peace, for these few hours. ]

I must agree — who knows when we might have opportunity like this again? [ Again, not that Edward Little is the best at knowing how to enjoy a moment, but... he can try...! He gestures forwards, where the path starts slanting upwards a bit. ]

Are you up for a bit of a climb? [ Not quite teasing, but there's something lighter in the dark browns of his eyes as he speaks, warming them to rich chocolate. ]

[extramuralise]

[ Little's warm and nearly playful tone makes Irving blink with surprise, looking at his friend(? Or is that inappropriate? Presumptuous? Forward, even...? Maybe it's still too soon to begin assigning such an intimate label such as friendship to their relationship yet) with big, round eyes the color of sea-glass as a faint smile twitches at the corners of his mouth.

It seems almost unnatural, the ease with which that pre-smile appears; Irving really isn't much of a smiler in general, and even just the mere, cheeky suggestion of one now makes him feel immediately self-conscious. He flattens his lips into a prim, pursed line, quickly resolving not to embarrass himself any further by allowing such a blatant, unchecked display of earnesty to happen again.

(Control-freak vs control-freak?) ]

First define 'a bit' of one for me here, please... although the answer is still yes, regardless, [ he replies, carelessly answering in a tone that would be easy to mistake for cheeky banter. ] Faith tells me that you're most likely a very gifted climber, but seeing is believing.

[ Wait. Ugh. He can't believe he just said that. ]

... Actually, that sounded blasphemous. I apologize.

[ A beat, before he's stepping forward onto the hiking path. ]

I'll follow you. How far are we going?

— 💫

[sputnik]

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■ — threads for KONSTANTIN VESHNYAKOV

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