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

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.) ]

[pacificator]

[ Holy shit, Little's a wolf.

There's no doubt in her mind anymore, not when the black wolf lifts his head to look at her with a startled expression so familiar that for a second it's very nearly like looking at his human face. The wolf lacks Little's soft brown eyes, but the mournful look in them stays the same regardless of color. She'd know him anywhere. It's you. She's amazed, pleased, slightly befuddled. It's you.

There's a moment, and then he returns her gesture, soft nose nudging uncertainly against hers, and if she were a human right now, she'd laugh. It's so like him, even now, when manners are a thing of the human world and they're both out here in the wild, and they found each other. Again, again, they found each other, and the wolf she is cares even less for boundaries than her human self. He presses his nose against hers, and she responds with a quick warm swipe of her tongue almost before she even recognizes the urge.

Best not to think about it too hard. She lifts her head, her wide wolfish mouth open and laughing, pink tongue lolling against her sharp, neat teeth. Every part of her radiates... delight, simple and so much easier to feel without all her human walls and barriers up. There was some reason — or maybe many reasons — why everything about him when they're human is so complicated, but it feels distant and unncessary now. Little's here, and he's safety, he's friend, he's pack.

And now she sees it clearly, the way the wolf's thick black coat reflects his thick dark hair, the volume and stature of his greatcoat. He looks intimidating as hell, aside from the way he'd been cringing in fear before, and that reminds her, sends her nuzzling up against his cheek, his side, shouldering her way between him and whatever he's so worried about. Nothing is threatening them here, and even if it did, she's a wolf, and she could rip out its throat before it could do so much as growl at him. You're safe, she does her best to tell him, with gentle nudges of her nose before she circles around to firmly press his shoulder with her own. I'm here. I got you.

Only Little could take something this freeing and act like he's still in chains. The glance she cocks at him isn't unlike the coy looks she sometimes flicks his way when she's trying to tease him out of some new round of melancholy or uncertainty— head tipped, steps light and sashaying, playful, inviting. Relax. ]

[fidior]

[ His own cautious gesture is met with a quick lick of the other wolf's tongue to his muzzle — it startles him again, but his wolf self functions in such a simplified version compared to his normal self, and it reads behaviours; there's only so many. She licked him, which is affectionate and playful and inviting, and her mouth opens wide — like she's laughing, happy, excitable.

The part of him that's still Edward is still shocked and nervous by all of this, reeling from the realisation this is Wynonna, but the wolf part takes hold of the knowledge that she's familiar and the knowledge that she's one of his, and feels a surge of its own excitement. Granted, it's still nervous.... but as she nudges against his side like that with her mouth and shoulder, something shifts in him, loosens, opens up. His tail gives a movement — slight and timid, less of a true wag than a pathetic little sweep to one side and then dropping right back down.... but it's something. For a moment he perked up! It's something!

He turns his head to face her, whining just softly under his breath, unsure how to convey and communicate, and finding something in the form of returning that lick of hers — albeit more gently, tongue peeking out to brush the side of her head. ...Maybe that's weird. To his wolf brain, it feels less weird. To his wolf brain, he wants to speak back, to be affectionate back, happy to see her, happy to be close. It's a shy greeting but not reluctant, something she helps coax out of him but he willingly lets come out. A hello. A I'm happy to see you. A you're part of mine. ]

[pacificator]

[ There's a warm puff of breath and a warmer brush of his tongue, and it's barely there, but she feels it. It reminds her of the times he's carefully but willingly reciprocated her teasing, her smiles, and she remembers the shock of realization that his remoteness, the way he holds himself apart: it's not because he's aloof and unfeeling, he's just shy, doesn't know how to make the first move. Under that greatcoat and all those layers of wool — or under this thick fur — he isn't cold and walled off, he's warm and willing. Every time she's reached for him, he's reached back for her. He just needs someone to show him the way, to bully him into it, to make him realize it's okay.

All of this feels even more obvious now that they're both wolves, now that human thoughts and worries keep getting shunted aside by instinct and feeling, which is a long way of saying she knows she'll be weirded out by this later — she licked him, he licked her, what the hell does that even equate to in human interactions? — but right now she's just pleased with his greeting, shy and sweet as it is. She's happy to see him, too, and the wolf in her head doesn't bother trying to examine what that might mean or why; the wolf is simply happy to have this familiar presence around.

She pushes against his shoulder again, then trots a short distance away to bound back and forth before breaking into a quick sprint in a half-circle around him. She saw that abortive lift of his tail; just like when she's a human, she takes that small chink in his armor and runs with it.

This whole forest is theirs for the taking. She stretches onto her front legs, rear up, bowing in playful invitation before she comes trotting back over to him, mouthing lightly at his neck and shoulder since she can't grab his arm the way she would as a human, trying to coax him into coming along with her. Play with me. Run, hunt. ]

[fidior]

[ His mouth finally splits into a grin when the other wolf — someone he knows, part of his pack — nudges against him again and then darts around him like that, the displays of playful affection revved up into something almost puppy-like, young and carefree. She reaches for him, mouth against fur, calling for him, coaxing him, welcoming him. Him. She wants to be with him. It's an unbelievably appealing sentiment to the wolf part of him, encouraging, exciting.

He feels a vibrating thrum in his throat, a low growling sound — which couldn't sound any less threatening or aggressive at all, but rather something playful, silly. At the same moment, he leans down a little, bowing his front legs so that his back half can stick up in the air, like he's readying to spring. He does — lamely, mouth barely clasping at her, but it's still a playful little gesture, and almost respectful (he seems to recognise that between them, she's the boss wolf...)

There's a current that moves through him like electricity, something more alive, coiled with adrenaline that wants to come out. He can feel the pull to run, and his body keeps close with hers as he plays back a little, as he gets ready; if she moves, he'll move with her, he'll match her speed. (...Well. He might lag just a little... not quite as quick-footed as Wynonna in any form. ) ]