The wood-panel floor of the treehouse is carefully nestled between the twin trunks of a tree, about ten feet off the ground. A panel in the center of the floor opens to allow a rope to drop down and give access to those welcome.
The house itself is fair-sized and sturdily built, mainly of pine panels. One wall is largely open, covered in metal wire mosquito-screen with two large, thick blankets nailed and tacked as drapes and insulation for the cooler times. This makeshift window faces west, toward the lake, and a section has been carefully cut and taped up to allow access to a wooden windowbox attached outside.
Nearly half the floor -- right up to the trapdoor -- is taken up by the bed, a mattress filled with straw, topped with a thin but soft featherbed, all capped by a large nest of blankets, quilts, and pillows. The other side of the room appears to be mainly the kitchen, such as it is -- a small 'pantry' box of food, a few pans and dishes, and a clay pot redolent of woodsmoke and coal. In the corner away from the window on that side is a very simple wooden box with a lid, and atop that is a cobalt blue wine bottle acting as a vase for random wild blooms. Three rows of shelves line the wall above the cooking area, the vast majority of the space on them covered with carefully arranged shiny baubles of various kinds.
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt hangs untucked above them, long sleeved and fastened with a row of small, black stone buttons. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops. His right ear also bears a rather delicate silver earcuff.
He's a big guy -- that's the first impression this man gives. Standing at an even six feet, his build is certainly sturdy, with broad shoulders and beefy arms. There isn't a scrap of fat on him either, and the calloused hands look like they've seen their share of hard work. The second impression he gives is one of youth. His clean-shaven face has a boyish cast, slightly round but with a strong jaw and squarish chin. It's a strange mix of lingering adolescence and budding maturity. His eyes are pale blue, clear and bright, expressive in a way that hints at soulfulness, though he often looks somewhat preoccupied. His tousled blond hair his drawn back in a short tail at the base of his neck, sun-bleached in shades that could only come from nature: the color of honey and wheat sheaves streaked with veins of gold.
His clothing isn't fancy, but he keeps it in good repair. The black breeches he wears are tight enough to show off the musculature of his legs though loose enough to remain modest, tucked in to well-worn boots of black leather. The linen shirt he wears is clean but dingy with age, laced up neatly to his throat. Over this he wears a long surcoat of aged, crushed velvet so dense it may have well been intended for upholstery rather than clothing. The deep hunter's green hue is shot through with threads of dark brown in a pattern reminiscent of falling leaves. Resting neatly upon his chest, where the surcoat and linen overlap, is a simple carven cross of polished myrtle wood, depending from Martin's neck by a braided leather thong.
It's late, long past the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon, and the air is cool and still, moonlight filtering across the lake. The treehouse as well has been still for a good fifteen or twenty minutes, in the wake of a considerable period of not-at-all-stillness. Ren is curled up close beside Martin beneath a single sheet, sweaty and murmuring soft and drowsy to him. "...La poussiere des mensonges de desert sur vos cheveux et vos pieds sont rayes avec des epines et votre corps est roussi par le soleil. Venez avec moi, et moi vous vetira d'un tunic de la soie. J'enduirai votre corps de la myrrhe et verserai le spikenard sur vos cheveux. Je vous vetirai de la jacinthe et mettrai le miel dans votre bouche. Amour--"
Martin smiles slowly, his eyes lidded and his sprawl one of supreme comfort. One and idly strokes Ren's shoulder, and the blond leans down to plant a kiss on the top of his head as he murmurs, "I have no idea what you're saying, but I love the way you say it."
Serendipity grins. "It's parta a play I saw once. 'The dust of the desert lies on your hair and your feet are scratched with thorns and your body is scorched by the sun. Come with me, and I will clothe you in a tunic of silk. I will smear your body with myrrh and pour spikenard on your hair. I will clothe you in hyacinth and put honey in your mouth...'" He pauses, cuddling in a little closer. "Got no idea what spikenard is. But it was... romantic." His arm tightens around Martin's waist, and he sighs, contentedly. "Weird t' still remember it. Saw it ages ago. Not even sure what the play was anymore..."
Martin admits quietly, "I have no idea, but it all sounds wonderful." He kisses Ren's hair again, then carefully finger-combs it to splay the strands over his chest to admire their darkness against his tan. "We should go see a show," he muses. "Maybe when a troupe comes to Millinockett next."
"Yeah," Ren agrees, and rests his head on the blond's chest, closing his eyes. He's quiet a while, then, "...pireno?"
Martin cuddles Ren close, shamelessly using his strength to arrange the kin to his liking, a Nuwishia blanket pillowed against his chest. It's one of those lazy moments, where he seems utterly blissful in his lethargy. "Yes, my darling?"
Serendipity doesn't answer immediately, just cuddling warm and silent. Eventually, he tilts his head a little, half-opening his eyes to gaze up along Martin's chest toward his face. "...tell me who you've been?"
Martin shifts a little to look down at Ren, one brow arching quizzically. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice low-toned, drowsy with comfort.
"I know who you are," Ren replies quietly, by way of explanation, "but I don't know who you've been. I know... some things. A few things." He shrugs slightly, and half-smiles. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Martin isn't the swiftest turtle in the race. He's quiet for a moment, then ventures, "Do you want to know about my past?"
Serendipity laughs, eyes closing again with the laughter. "Yes," he replies then, smiling a little. "...wanna know everything about you. Present I mostly got. Future I plan t' find out. Past... I'm asking."
Martin lays back, continuing to stroke Ren's skin idly as he gazes up at the ceiling, unhurried as he lets the memories comes, sorting them out into thoughts. Not swift, but he gets where he's going in due time. "Well, huh. I was born not too far from where old Denver would've been, back before the Dark. I know it because I took a fancy to reading when I was a boy, and also they called the clans living out on that plain the Denverites."
Serendipity twists a little to get comfortable for storytime, but remains mostly where Martin's placed him. It's warm and snug, and he listens closely, filing things away. "Been through there," he remarks quietly, "That area, I mean."
Martin nods slowly and murmurs, "Then you'll know what I'm talking about, how those high plains can get real stormy, and there are caravans that move between the clans of the plains. Most of them come from the cities originally, where people fled to during the Dark. Resistance, mostly, so my grandfather used to say. I was pretty small when he died, but I remember his stories. Both my mom and dad's family came from the cities, actually. There was..." His voice falters, and he hesitates. "There were stories that they vampire lords living there during the Dark were breeding people like cattle."
Serendipity nods to the first portion, murmuring something about having run into some of the caravans there, and falls extra silent at the new information about the rumours. He nods, a prompt to continue.
Martin takes a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. "There were rumors. Something about how the most viable experiment they'd had was taken by the Resistance and spirited out of the city. Apparently, when the Sun returned, the 'cattle' still living in the breeding complexes were slaughtered in the chaos. I've never been to the cities, or to the ruins. I don't know. Anyway, that's where my people came from. The cities. The ones who had fled from the vampires during the dark to take their chances in the wilderness."
Serendipity nods, taking all this in, and adjusts his position enough to stretch up and comment on the story with a soft kiss to Martin's lips. He settles back into place, then, still listening.
Martin returns the kiss, maybe not with the usual level of sexually charged energy, but no less the sincere for it. The words don't come easily, even though he does his best not to sound too troubled. "My family are a hearty people," he explains. "We do well with the traveling life. We're strong, long-lived. It wasn't a bad upbringing. I just didn't feel right staying there when there was a whole big world beyond the plains I'd never seen."
Serendipity nods again, a gentle movement against Martin's chest. "My people didn't stay in the plains or any other place, but still, hafta go see things on your own at some point, yeah?" he agrees, just a little muffled.
Martin nods a little in reply, and he strokes Ren's hair shoulder, waist... The topic turning away from his origins seems to coincide with him relaxing again. "I went to Newer York, thinking there was a bundle to be made in salvage. Of course I was a sixteen year old kid who thought he'd had an original idea only to come to the Land of Plenty and find out every other no-nothing idiot had had the same notion. But there was work to be had, and I took a job on one of the ships."
"Rae useta work on salvage ships," Ren remarks, "...wonder if you guys were ever on th' same one. Be funny if y'were. I was thinkin', 'fore I stopped here, I might try it myself next time I hit a shore."
Martin gives Ren a kiss on the head. This seems to be a thing he doesn't tire of easily. "It's not a very fun life," he admits. "The hours are long, the pay is decent but never enough to make something of yourself. You make a living pawing through the things people left behind, trying to get there before someone else does. Sometimes, fights would break out between ships over claims. People got hurt, sometimes killed. Just to be the ones who got to someone else's cast-off's quickest."
Serendipity nods a little, and considers. "Still, I bet I could make it fun for a voyage or two," he muses, though it's offhand enough that it doesn't sound like a real plan. "...You stayed, though," he adds after a moment, thoughtfully.
Martin nods dolefully. "Yeah, I didn't have anywhere else to go. It wasn't a good gig, but it was the only gig in town." He stretches and resettles with a soft sigh. "I was a stupid kid," he admits quietly. "I didn't know anything. I knew the ways of the plains, but this was something different, and I took my cues from those around me. Well. that kind of life attracts people who don't have anywhere else to be. A lot of them have had hard times, and it leaves a scar on a man's soul to suffer so much. So there's the drinking, the whoring. Sure it all sounds fun. It was fun, at first."
"Well, drinking's fun," Ren agrees, "...dunno about the whoring. B'lieve it or not. But I c'n imagine, yeah..." He tilts his head to look upward at Martin agian. "Didn't do a lotta drinkin' or anythin' before y'left home?"
Martin shrugs and says wryly, "Little bit. I mean there was ale where we went, and my father always had a stash of the 'good stuff' as he liked to call it. We never drank to such excess though, not like they do on shore leave off the boats." He sighs, sounding less than proud. "We'd go on benders where to this day I still don't remember what I did or who with."
"Yeah..." Ren trails off. "...got a coupla those myself, back a ways." He pauses again, then admits, "...a'ight, several. Know whatcha mean."
Martin gives Ren a squeeze, gentle-like. "Like I said, I didn't know any better. I thought that's what life was all about. You made your money, then you pissed it all away on drugs, booze, and someone to get you off before you passed out in your bunk. Then, I don't know. I found a book, and I remembered a time when I used to love to read."
Serendipity cuddles in, and smiles just a little at the last part. "The one you're annotatin'? Or another one?"
Martin grins a bit and says, "The one I'm annotating, yes. The Holy Bible. I didn't think much about it at the time. I just wanted something to read. Books aren't very popular with the salvage sort. They're not terribly popular with caravans either, but I always managed to have at least one on me. So I took it with me, and I started to read it. I'd been working the salvage for about two years at that point. I guess I would've been about your age now."
"'s not a bad age," Ren opines, and gives the bit of chest closest to his mouth a soft kiss. "...guess most ships wouldn't spend space on a library."
Martin snorts a laugh, about as close to derisive as Martin gets these days. "Not so much," he agrees. "Libraries don't make money. That's... pretty much the name of the game, love. You're there to make money. To the owner of the ship, that's all you are. But no one would begrudge a man a small book that wouldn't bring in any money. So I started reading it in my free time, between benders. Then I found myself staying in to read instead of going out, and somewhere in the midst of everything, I had... there was a change that came over me."
Serendipity half-smiles. "Bet that went over well with everyone," he comments lightly. He doesn't seem to mind the laugh.
Martin gazes down at Ren fondly, stroking the pad of his thumb along the kin's jawline. "Mostly they didn't mind," he muses. "I thought at first they would notice, you know. Say something. That's when I learned that my friends didn't really care what I did, as long as they always had enough booze and sex to pour all their money into. Of course I didn't take kindly to that, but the book I was reading, it was about this guy who had a notion to bring a gift to the world, and while there were some who didn't want it, there were others who needed it more than anything."
Serendipity leans into the stroking, just a little. "Mmm," he replies, apparently in agreement.
Martin pauses in his talking to claim another kiss. Then he continues quietly, "I had to think about what the story was trying to say. About forgiveness, about the salvation of mankind. There's a lot of stuff in the book that doesn't make any sense to me, but one thing kept resonating with me. It's like it reached in and woke up a part of me I didn't know I had, that had been asleep all this time, just waiting for a spark to light up the darkness. I can't describe it right, Ren. It was just... I never felt anything like it, and once I felt it, I never wanted to be without it again."
Serendipity returns the kiss, gentle but lingering, and smiles a quiet, closed little smile at the description, watching in the darkness with something rather like adoration.
There is a brightness to Martin's eyes when he speaks of this alleged spark, a warmth that defines him, who he is now anyway. "Everything just seemed different," he muses. "I was seeing things so clearly. Not with my head. I've never been very good at... at being quick and clever. Not like my brothers and sisters. But I could feel, and I felt so alive. I was seeing the world with my heart for the first time and it was... to tell you the truth, Ren, I barely remember what I was like before then. It all feels like I was sleeping, just waiting for the right moment to wake up."
Serendipity watches Martin, and the brightness in the blond's eyes makes the kin's smile spread wider, softer than the usual grin despite the display of teeth. "I like that description, pireno. Seein' th' world with your heart, I mean."
Martin grins a bit sheepishly, ducking his head, and he gathers Ren close in a blatantly sappy hug as he murmurs against the kin's hair, "I like the man I've become. Much more than the stupid kid I was."
Serendipity snakes his arms around Martin and squeezes in return, quite tight. "I like 'im too," he replies, the grin making an appearance. "...I like him a lot." The kiss he manages to steal doesn't contradict the claim in the least.
Martin renders his opinion with the return kiss, drawing it out nice and slowly. Sometimes not being quick can be a good thing.