You step onto a cracked but clean tile floor that was probably once red, but is now a faded salmon pink. A large, rectangular communal table seating about 10 takes up the middle of the floor, with mismatched smaller tables arranged near the large front windows. The long counter in front of the kitchen door sports plates of fragrant bread, cookies, and muffins and bowls of fresh wild fruits. A small, rattling fridge in the corner holds a selection of juices and cold spring water in reused bottles and jars. Atop the refrigerator is a can for cash donations; next to it is a box for barter payments. Scrawled on the box in black marker are the words "Pay what you can, when you can."
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.
Danny stands just under six feet tall and moves with an odd grace that's difficult to categorize. It's not quite the artful manner of a dancer nor the economic movements of a trained warrior, still there's certainly something different in how he carries himself. Fit musculature on a lean frame gives him the look of a runner, and his clean and smooth features suggest a northern European heritage. He has well-defined cheekbones that lend a youthful cast which may belie his true age, while a losing battle with a five-o'clock shadow makes his otherwise friendly smile a little disreputable. His eyes are expressive and match colors with his wavy, full, chin-length hair: a deep dark brown that's only just this side of black. His arms and face have been tanned by long days in the sun, but an exposed portion of his collar line indicates he'd be far more pale if he spent some time indoors.
His clothing is casual and work-oriented: the shirt is a long-sleeved, heavy flannel button-up in dark grey, and is accompanied by a loose pair of dark brown, suede leather pants that have been tucked into his boots. The boots look quite new, calf-high and made of black leather, with simple, elegant tooling along the sides. A stamped silver coin bearing the triune horse symbol of Epona hangs around his neck on a silver snake chain.
It's quiet in the diner, today. Too quiet, some would fear, but it looks safe enough. Sure, Serendipity's sitting at the table, but all he's got is a book and pen and a plate of sandwiches, and he's not even eating those. Whatever he's doing with the book seems to have his full attention.
The back door of the Diner eases open, and there's a bit of shuffling and a voice murmuring a regimental hiking song in German. Eventually Danny emerges from the kitchen with a large load of wood slung over his back in a hemp-rope construct, lightly dusted with snow. He glances at Ren and offers a simple, "Afternoon," in greeting as he makes his way to the woodstove and starts piling up the new firewood.
Serendipity jumps at the noise, but lucky for his dignity (such as it is) there's plenty of time to be cool, calm, and collected before Danny can actually see him. "Heya," he replies, friendly enough, and continues what he's doing with the book. Looks like sketching, maybe. "...need a hand with anything?"
Danny pauses at the stove and gives Ren a look of consideration before saying, "No, it's fine." He eases the firewood bundle off his back and shakes out his hair, sending bits of snow sizzling on the hot surface of the stove. He slips one knot down and begins loading the wood into the container next to the stove, adding a few more pieces to the stove proper in the process.
"A'ight." Ren goes back to his book, brow slightly furrowed as he makes a line, then some quick notes about something or other. "Slow day... no one much around, 'cept us."
Danny shrugs absently as he puts the last few pieces of wood into the rack and folds up the hemp rope. "It's not as bad as it was a couple days ago. They're probably just out doing chores the weather was stopping." He goes back into the kitchen and starts putting other things away: jars of canned fruits and vegetables, some fresh items like onions and potatoes, and a few more wheels of cheese.
Serendipity nods, and for the benefit of perunka in the kitchen adds, "Seems likely. Gets boring 'round here when no one's about, though." And a bored coyote kin is good for no one.
Danny returns with a bottle of juice and a sandwich, and sets both on the counter. "There's plenty of work at the farm to keep you busy," he points out. "Gathering up the deadwood for stoves and fires, tending the raised beds, cleaning the barns and helping with the animals..." His tone suggests he doesn't actually expect any of this to appeal to Ren, however.
Serendipity nods. "Been helping with somea that, when I'm there," he replies, and peers at his notes, apparently adjusting something with a few flicks of the pen. "...currently stayin' mostly out of their way a week or so, though."
Danny makes a sound that can't really be equated with approval, and takes a healthy bite from his sandwich. He washes it down with juice and leans against the counter. "If you're helping, you're not in their way."
"Yyyyeah....." Serendipity sounds a little less than entirely certain, there. "Except there's a chick there at the moment who seems t' have developed some mistaken impressions about our relationship, vis a vis, I don't wanna be her One True Love." He shrugs, managing to somehow look equal parts sheepish, annoyed, and amused. "It's just better t' lie low a few days 'til she gets over it..."
"Instead of just telling her no thanks, and letting her parents know you didn't intend to break her heart?" Danny asks with a raised eyebrow.
Serendipity sighs. "I =told= her no thanks. Never implied anything otherwise. She thinks," he remarks long-sufferingly, "she can =change= me. Now, I like change as much as the next guy, prolly more, but no thanks all the same. Like me just fine how I am." He picks up one of the neglected sandwiches, and munches on it glumly. "She says I just haven't realised how perfect we are for each other yet. ...I wish it would stop snowing."
Danny snorts a quiet laugh and takes a few more bites of his own sandwich. "Mmmm. Avoiding that situation probably won't improve it. If you're perfect for each other, then she'll never forget you and pine for you and forsake all other men," he says blandly.
"Well, that's =her= problem, not mine," Ren decides firmly. "....'sides, she could still lead a full and productive life as a lesbian, even if I ruined her for other guys." Fleeting grin, there, and another shrug. "She's s'posta be leaving town by the end of the week. If this doesn't work -- I'll come up with something else."
"Well, if she's not a local, the problem should leave when she does," Danny agrees. "Assuming she doesn't stay because you're her perfect match and she can't possibly exist without you." He finishes off his sandwich and washes it down with more of the dark juice.
Serendipity nods in agreement, and polishes off his half-sandwich. "That's what I figure. Usually if this happens I just leave =myself=, but hey, I was here first. And if she doesn't go... I'll just hafta get creative." He almost sounds cheerful about that possibility, now. "Nothing to worry =too= much 'bout."
Danny shrugs absently. "Assuming she's not a hedgewitch or crazy or powerful enough to attack you, no." There's the faintest trace of a smile in his expression.
"I dunno about crazy," Ren replies dryly, "but I'm pretty sure I'm safe on the other counts. Worst comes to worst, I'm absolutely positive I can run faster'n she can." He grins again, just a mischievous little thing, and pokes at the other half of his sandwich before picking it up. "...y'know," he reflects, "it's only chicks that do this. I've =never= had a guy pull that. Weird."
"It's the way it was done in the old days. Guys were supposed to sow their oats and girls were supposed to marry some guy and have his kids. Some people still raise their kids like that," Danny says, toying with the nearly-empty bottle of juice.
Serendipity nods again, getting more comfortable in the chair, and closing the book, finally, freeing up that other hand. "...Yeah, I s'pose that's it. Though there've been a few guys who got the shotgun out over their sons just like daughters," he muses, thoughtfully. "...then again, they might've actually been aiming to hit." He doesn't sound too concerned over it. After all, they obviously missed. He studies Danny a second, munching a bite of sandwich. "D'you have any kids?"
Danny glances up for a second, surprised by the question, then away. His faint smile is clearly more visible now. "Yeah, a few. None I'm expected to raise, though. You?"
Serendipity grins again, and gestures vaguely with the sandwich. "Same here." A quick nod, as if that settled something, and he goes back to eating the sandwich for a moment, then stops. "...be nice if it turned out one of 'em was trueblood, someday. But I don't think that's gonna happen again 'til I find out what happened, and all."
Danny gives Ren an odd look. "Trueblood? You mean, Istaqa, and not just Kin?"
Serendipity tilts his head. "Istaqa?"
"Istaqa, um, Nuwisha. Ban's shifters." Danny gestures vaguely West. "The people who used to live around the volcano, they called Coyote Man 'Istaqa', and Coyote was 'Ban'. He helped the Elder Brother create the world. Something like that." He smiles ruefully and adds, "I slept through a lot of that."
Serendipity grins, broadly. "Yeah, then. Istaqa, not just kin like me 'n' the others. And Coyote's done a lotta that kinda thing. That's why they know him everywhere, even if he doesn't always wear the same face or name."
"Coyote, and every other spirit," Danny says, looking at the juice bottle closely. "There's all sorts of stories of how Epona made the Perunka, but, who knows if any of them are true."
Serendipity shakes his head slightly. "Not every other spirit; not like Coyote, anyway," he asserts in a quiet, firm tone that doesn't exactly intimidate one out of dissension, but does give the definite feeling that it wouldn't be particularly productive in any way, really. "...anyway, 'most all stories are true, at one level or another."
Danny arches an eyebrow at Ren. "I think plenty of Spirit-Callers would disagree about that. How do you know they know him everywhere--I mean have you been everywhere to ask?"
Serendipity arches one back, and quirks a crooked little smile. "In twenny winters? Good portion of it, yeah. Most of it I remember. And the rest, somea the others've been. We're everywhere, we've been everywhere and we'll be everywhere again." A little shrug. "That's how it is."
Danny shakes his head at Ren. "Right." He watches the Kin for a moment, then says, "I surprised, if you've been over a good portion of everywhere, that you didn't know that jumping on a wild horse without permission isn't appreciated," in a very even, steady voice.
Serendipity blinks, and gives Danny a sideways look. "Somea the horses I've ridden've taken it better than others. But I wasn't trying to ride you. You jumped at Tristan, I jumped at you. You didn't ask =him= 'fore you did... woulda kinda spoiled the point, wouldn't it? I just didn't =miss= you." He chews a bite of sandwich, and adds, "F'what it's worth, =am= sorry it bugged you quite so much."
"The point in jumping at a horse is to land on it or hit it, neither of which you had any right to be doing," Danny says in that same even, calm tone. "Anything between Tristan and I, and any understanding we have, isn't any of your business." There's no malice or anger in his voice, just flat certainty.
Serendipity shrugs. "My point was jumping. Landing was incidental. And if you don't want it to be my business, don't leap at my friends when I'm there," he retorts reasonably. If this is staying calm, hey, he's got no inclination to change that. "Y'know, I'd been =looking= for him, and then you ran him off again," he adds, still conversational. "That kinda feels like my business to me."
Danny watches Ren placidly, then tips his head to one side. "Just because it was incidental doesn't mean you're not responsible for the consequences. It was his choice to run or stay, and he chose to leave. If it your landing on me without my permission wasn't your fault, then his running off wasn't mine."
"And conversely if it was my fault," Ren agrees easily, "then it was yours as well." He seems perfectly comfortable with that, actually, polishing off the last of the sandwich.
Danny sighs and straightens up. "You've been saying the whole time it's *not* your fault. Just like your not-apology that night, so let's leave it as this, Ren. Never, ever, without asking first, or without permission. I don't care if you call it jumping, or jumping *at* me, or jumping *near* me, or riding me. You can pretend to be free of blame by claiming you didn't know what would happen, but that doesn't cut it with me." He sounds more tired than anything else, but like any tired horse, there's plenty of promise in his eyes for what will happen if this simple rule isn't followed.
Serendipity tilts his head. "Never said anything wasn't my fault, actually," he corrects, and lounges back in his chair a bit. "...sure, though. You don't leap at people I'm talkin' to, and I won't react to it in ways you don't like, including jumping on, at, near, over, around, or whatever you. Deal?" He couldn't possibly sound more reasonable and accommodating. "...by the way? I don't speak horse yet. Just so's you know."
"I wasn't leaping at him, and I don't know where you got that idea," Danny says, gathering up the hemp rope and his now-empty juice bottle. "Whether or not you understood what I was saying shouldn't matter either. Lots of folks who don't understand horsespeech manage not to jump on my back."
"I don't care if you call it leaping =at= him, leaping, or leaping =near= him, or riding him. You can pretend to be free of blame by claiming you didn't know what would happen -- which I didn't know, by the way, but then I never claimed it, either -- but that doesn't cut it with me." Ren favours Danny with a quick look that could be described as... perky. He drops it, then, and shrugs. "I already said I was sorry it got you so upset, =and= that I wasn't planning on doing it again. The horsespeech thing was just so you'd know for future, since everyone else 'round here seems to know it. I dunno what exactly you're lookin' for here, but unless it's sex or pie you're prolly not gonna get it. Far's I'm concerned, no harm, no foul, we're even. If you've still got a problem..." he hesitates, and then gives another little shrug, reclaiming his book from the table, "...you've still got a problem. Sorry 'bout =that=."
"Plenty of folks don't know horsespeech," Danny says, looking puzzled. "Including my own kumi. In fact only a couple of folks do." He deposits the glass in the kitchen for cleaning and recycling, and comes back with his cloak and scarf on. "I'm not looking for anything, really, except maybe knowing where we stand. So now I know." He makes for the front door, taking something from his pocket and dropping it in the cash donations on his way past the fridge.
"Well," Ren replies, apparently accepting that Danny would have a better grasp of it than he, "'spose that's just how it seems on the non-speaking side, then." He picks up his pen again, but doesn't open the book yet. "So hey, if you know where we stand, wanna let me in on it?"
Danny looks back at Ren as he's about to step out through the door. "You're not planning on doing it again. As long as you don't, things will be fine. That's about all there is to it." He heads out into the light snow, humming the same song from earlier under his breath.