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.
This scrap of a youth looks like he could use a meal, a bath, and a bed, not necessarily in that order. His golden-toned skin, courtesy his Latino heritage, masks layers of dirt well amidst a perpetual tan. His straight dark hair would probably be sleek and black if it met with the passing acquaintance of a comb and a wash, rather than bundled up in a tangled knot tied off with a thin strap of leather at the base of his neck. Several strands have fallen free to frame a narrow face with prominent cheekbones and a smooth jaw. It would be a pretty face if he got himself cleaned up -- not handsome, pretty. He must be young, either that or he's got androgyny working for him. Dark eyes glitter behind the errant locks of his hair, bright and intelligent despite the aching weariness he seems to exude.
Too many missed meals, and perhaps the misfortune of heredity, have left him with a thin build and a short stature. To call him average height is on the generous side of accurate. To call him rail thin is giving him credit. The grey woolen sweater he wears practically swallows him whole. It is several sizes too big, rolled up at the sleeves so as not to engulf his hands. His loose black cotton breeches are torn and ragged, but the faded white long-johns beneath are fairly intact. On his small feet are leather boots that have seen better decades, held together by duct tape and will power. Over one shoulder, he carries a battered leather satchel, and strapped to his back is a guitar case -- beat-up as it is, it's still the best-tended thing he has on him, including himself.
This slender young man draws the eye, first with his waterfall of perfectly white hair-- not blond, but white and fine as Queen Anne's lace-- carelessly confined with a simple tie at the nape of his neck. His features are delicate and symmetrical to a startling, almost inhuman degree. His skin is pale, nearly translucently so, which reinforces the fragility suggested by the fine lines of his jaw and collarbones; in contrast to this, his eyes are the deep, thoughtful blue of an evening sky.
He is currently wearing a calf-length dark blue cloak or full coat of wool with carved bone buttons and a shoulder cape instead of proper sleeves. Under this, he is wearing black woolen trousers, a fine white linen shirt with the ties hanging loose around his throat, and a black wool-felt vest with silver buttons.
He wears a simple silver band ring with a dark blue stone-- his only jewelry-- on the middle finger of his right hand.
Miki watches Justin leave, with an expression which suggests that he *wanted* to go with him, but remains firmly seated in his chair.
Sandro watches the various departures through the tangle of hair in his eyes. The muffin doesn't last long, and when he's down to brushing crumbs off his sweater, his attention turns toward Miki as he says mildly, "You all seem like a close-knit bunch of people."
Miki turns to look at Sandro, his head tilting a little as he looks at the youth consideringly. "Justin is my friend," he says, and then grins a little at the understatement. "Not *everyone* here gets along," he assures Sandro. "But there are many very kind people."
The door opens, and Serendipity appears there for just a moment as he strides through, humming something half under his breath. "Hiya, cutie, gorgeous," he greets Sandro and Miki brightly, scanning the place for population. "How's it goin' this lovely Luna-night?"
Sandro tilts his head toward Ren, then looks to Miki and says with a hint of a smile in his tone, "And then there are those who make up for it by getting along rather forcibly with everyone." He sweeps his hair out of his face, blinking a bit. "It's good to have friends," he adds. "I haven't stayed anywhere long enough to make any in a long time." Toward Ren, he replies, "Fairly, so far."
Miki offers Sando a faint smile. "This is the longest I have stayed any place for a... very long time. Katahdin, it collects wanderers, I think." He glances in the direction of the Mountain, eerily accurate, for of course it is not visible. "But I have liked staying here."
Serendipity pouts playfully at Sandro. "Hey. I don't do =anything= forcibly," he protests, "I'm a veritable pussycat." He pulls a chair between the other two, and drops into it. "Longest I've spent in one place in a while, too. But it's... more =interestin'= than most places tend t' be."
Sandro reaches over to pat Ren indulgently on the forearm, then withdraws, folding his arms over his chest as he eases into a comfortable slouch. "I wonder how long I'll stay this time," he muses aloud. He sighs quietly, adding, "I'm not sure where I'd go from here, anyway."
Miki gives Sandro a more measuring, curious look. "Some times travelling is very hard," he says, his own bid for the States the Obvious contest. "Why did you come here, if it is not rude to ask?"
Serendipity grins at Sandro, and stretches a bit, sliding into a comfortable slouch of his own. The amount of comfortable he looks is almost obscene. "Always somewhere else t' go," he opines, "just not always time to go there."
Sandro darts a glance at Miki, and he quickly looks away, ducking his head. Reflex. "I, um. Had a..." For someone chatting so amiably a moment ago, he has become the Crown Prince of stammering. "A notion. That maybe there'd be work up this way." Uh huh. To Ren, he says ruefully, "All I got is time. Just nowhere around these parts I ain't been."
Miki tilts his head to one side, watching Sandro carefully. Then he says, "People come here for all sorts of reasons. They say it is the Mountain calling, you know." He shrugs, a complex gesture common to teenagers, and adds, "It called my brother, so we are here."
"I think he just followed me here 'cause he missed me," Serendipity claims airily to Miki, with all solemnity, and then grins again, glancing over to Sandro, "...I didn't mean time t' go like, having enough -- I meant, it isn't time yet. Y'know?"
Sandro gives Ren a Look. Why paint a picture that says a thousand words when an expression that says two will do? Stuff it. His regard grows more serious as his attention turns to Miki. "Did it?" he asks, with a faint edge to his voice. "Do you know what for?"
Miki shrugs again, this time indicating that whatever is known, it is not known here. "No one knows why the Mountain calls. Robin just mutters Doom when you mention it to her, but she does not know either. No one does. But it is a good place, the Mountain."
Serendipity grins at the Corax insufferably. "You love me," he informs him cheerfully, and sprawls a bit more. "...anyway, if the mountain called you, it'll get to the point eventually, I figure."
Sandro slouches more, frowning faintly in vague disappointment. He drops his gaze, plucking at a loose thread on his sleeve. Small hands, bony. One might even bring up the term birdlike, but that's just getting redundant. "I had a dream about this place," he admits in a low tone. "I wasn't sure at first, because I saw it from above, but walked into it on foot."
Miki peers at Sandro interestedly. "It looks different from above," he says. "Although I only got to see it once, on the, the air-ship. My brother dreams of it too. I..." He scuffs a foot under the table and looks away. "I have dreamed of it, but mostly, I dream of the town, you know."
"...I haven't seen it from above at all," Ren muses. "You go flyin' around and confirm the match last night, Sandro?" No word on what he dreams about. Probably for the best.
Sandro nods, first to Miki, then again to Ren. He sits up straighter, one hand nervously straying toward the remnants of his muffin wrapper, crinkling it absently. "It was the same place," he confirms uneasily. "I think maybe it was just... you know, it happens sometimes. Deja vu. It wasn't a bad dream. I don't know." He musters up a weak smile. "I guess we'll find out."
Miki nods, then says comfortingly, "Many of us are called, and we all seem fine." Then he blinks. "Flying, again. You must... be a shifter?" He says it tentatively, worried about being rude.
Serendipity reaches over and ruffles Sandro's hair, lightly. "Wouldn't worry about it too much, if it wasn't a bad dream. It'll sort itself out, most likely. Meanwhile, hey, there's us!"
Sandro tilts his head away, shooting Ren an irritable look. Heavens forfend his tangled, unwashed mass of untidy hair get ruffled. "Yes, there is," he agrees ruefully. His attempt to smooth the locks of hair are a wash, but he's thorough about it, anyway, patting at the tangles almost primly as he tells Miki, "I'm one of Raven's children."
Miki grins a little at Ren's reception. "I am pleased to meet another one." Then his expression saddens a little and he says, "I knew one, once. We did not get along, but she was very brave."
Serendipity wipes his hand off on the bottom of his shirt, making a bit of a face. "No offense, cutie, but when's the last time you got a good bath? I've got some nice soap you c'n use if you want. Somewhere. Smells like fruit," he offers. "... doesn't taste like it, though." Miki's expression subdues him a little. "...lost her?" he asks.
Sandro informs Ren, mildly affronted, "I haven't had a place where I can have a bath in ages. If you've got a bath in your treehouse, then I'll gladly kick you out of it while I wash up." For all that he's sniping at Ren, his expression when he looks to Miki is all softness and compassion. The quick-switches are like night and day. "We're opinionated people," he says consolingly. "And brave. For what it's worth, I like you, so far."
Miki looks a bit surprised, and then gratifyingly pleased at Sandro's words. "Thank you. I like you, as well." He smiles down at the table, then the smile dims a little. "Yes, she was very brave," he looks at Ren, "she sacrificed herself at the Hive Assault to cleanse the area with a thing that Lucas the Smith made." He frowns, then dismisses the subject with a shake of his head. "You can use the shower here at the Diner, Rex does," he tells Sandro. "Rex does not have a bath in his shed."
Serendipity nods, "...I use it too, sometimes. Also, there's th' lake, some places on the farm, et cet'ra." He shrugs a little, and sighs. After a moment, he adds, "...an' I like botha you, but I don't 'spect that means too much."
Sandro perks up a bit at the mention of a shower in the diner. "Is it private?" he asks. Then, to Ren, "Of course I value your friendship. Will you wash my laundry while I bathe?"
Miki suppresses a smile, not entirely successfully. "It is private. People staying here--" he gestures toward the cot room-- "use it, and it is not good for one's health to disturb Saza."
"It's =mostly= private," Ren agrees innocently. "I mean, as long's you =want= it to be." He eyes Sandro's wardrobe with less than complete enthusiasm and adds, "...and I might be persuaded to help with the laundry, I s'pose."
Sandro glances toward the indicated cot room, nodding attentively. "The only way you'll see me in the shower," he tells Ren pleasantly, "is if I've died and you draw the short straw regarding who has to fetch out the corpse." He turns to Ren to offer up a dazzling smile. He may be unwashed and unkempt, but he's got a good dental plan -- neat, straight white teeth. "However, I'll gladly offer up some trade in exchange for doing my laundry. Maybe I'll cook for you, or give you another song."
Miki laughs a little at this exchange, then tries to suppress it and become Quite Solemn. "I should go, I think," he says. "I wanted to see how Rex was before going to see if Danny was home yet." He gives Ren a sideways look, a warning, as he stands up.
"...what?" Ren asks, looking genuinely confused by the warning look. "...anyway, Rex was doin' pretty good when we parted ways yesterday, 'case you don't find him. If y'do..." he trails off, and then grins suddenly, "ask him if he's got any pudding left. And anyway," he continues, turning to Sandro, "'s not what I was implyin'. You're pretty fulla yourself, aren'tcha?" He does, however, smile when he says that. Teasing. Again.
Sandro asks dryly, "What else would I be full of?" Looking to Miki, he says amiably, "It was nice to get to talk to you a little. Maybe I'll see you around. I'm glad you found your friend."
Miki raises an eyebrow at Ren, and says to Sandro, "It was nice to talk to you, too. And I am glad that Danny is coming home!" He goes to the door and slings his cloak-coat over his shoulders, then waves amiably at the two of them before pulling open the main door and exiting into the night.
"'It'?" Serendipity suggests lightly to Sandro, and blows a kiss to Miki with a, "...see ya later, beautiful..." He stretches, then, and stands, having been seated long enough.
Sandro rises as well, leaning over to scoop up a pile of dirty laundry conveniently tucked under his chair. "Here," he says lightly. "This is for you. Do you have anything I can wear while I'm waiting for my clothes to dry?"
Serendipity looks at the pile morosely. "I oughta at least be gettin' a kiss outta this," he complains, poking at the pile with the tip of his boot. "...yeah, I'll find you somethin' while you're in the shower." He reaches into a pocket of his coat, and comes up with a small fabric parcel, which he hands over to the raven. "...water stays hot a good while if y'don't overdo it on =how= hot," he advises.
Sandro reaches for the parcel, unwrapping it curiously as he says, "Do you really want to kiss a carrion eater?" Then, consolingly, he adds, "You'll get a song or two. If you ask me to play Freebird though, I can't be held responsible for the violence that would ensue."
Serendipity grins, open mouthed, the tip of his tongue flicking against the edge of his upper teeth, and advises in answer, "...brush your teeth." The parcel holds a bar of soap, somewhat used, but very... well, fruity smelling, as promised. Orangey.
Sandro wrinkles his nose at the soap dubiously, but it must pass muster, because he sticks it somewhere in his sweater, freeing up his somewhat burdened hands to press the laundry toward Ren. "If you could get me something to wear while these dry, just leave it outside the shower," he says helpfully.
Serendipity gestures at Sandro's current outfit. "'bout those? Strip down, I'll take care of them too," he instructs, in an efficient enough tone that he really might not mean it as a ploy. Maybe.
Sandro regards Ren dubiously. "Fine," he says lightly. The laundry is deposited on the table, and he heads toward the cot room, and the supposed shower therein. "If you leave me naked, I'll fly after you and crap on your head," he warns pleasantly.
Serendipity airsmooches toward Sandro. "Would I prank one of Raven's?" he inquires, all sweetness and light. "We're practic'ly cousins'n all."
Sandro glances over his shoulder pointedly as he says, "Exactly. So no incest." With that stern lecture given, he disappears within the cot room. It isn't too long before there is the sound of the shower door closing and water running.
The shower is interrupted only by the sound of Ren gathering clothes, and one rather wolfish comment: "Not =first= cousins." On that reassuring note, he's gone again.
Sandro mutters something that's muffled by the water, but by the tone of it, it isn't complimentary. His clothing is in a neat pile outside the shower door. There are layers. Long-johns, dust-caked black breeches, socks that will never be white again for all the bleach in the world, A tight, sleeveless band of some sort, a greenish tunic, with a larger grey one over it, and the bulky sweater over that. The kid likes his layers.
When Sandro finishes his shower, there's still the sound of water running and splashing -- and cheerful humming, though one has to listen hard, from there. Outside the shower waits a small but fluffy towel, and a... really quite small and snug looking pair of shorts. Well. It's not naked, at least...
The water in the shower room turns off, and the door eases open. There is a poignant pause, then Sandro's voice calls out indignantly, "What the hell is this?"
"Clothes!" Serendipity calls back brightly from the kitchen. "...I c'n onnly get so many things outta the coat at a time. Sorry. But hey, this stuff'll be done pretty soon. Or I s'pose we could go hunt you more at the farm." The humming resumes, and the little splashes that probably mean washing.
Sandro emerges, or at least part of him does. His head pokes around the doorway, and a flutter of towel can be seen around the region of his chest. "I hate you," he proclaims solemnly. "I'm going to turn into a bird until my clothes are dry."
Serendipity's got the coat's sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of rubbery looking yellow gloves covering his hands, dripping with suds and water. He glances over, and rolls his eyes at Sandro. "Whatever... ingrate. Just keep in mind, you do that, you'll be =completely= naked when you wanna change back to getcher dry clothes, or the replacements we come up with," he points out, and wrings out something from the sink. The water coming from it is... decidedly grey.
Sandro frowns, ducking into the cover of the doorway further, so that only one glittering baleful dark eye and a tangle of damp black hair can be seen. "I don't want you to see me like this," he complains, with a petulant edge to his voice bordering on desperation.
Serendipity arches a brow sardonically. "Why, 'fraid I'm gonna lose all control and attack you or somethin'?" he asks, dryly.
That one visible eye narrows irritably. When he gets upset, Sandro's twang becomes ever so much more pronounced. "I already told you I h'ain't afraid of you doin' that," he snaps. "I just want some decent clothes."
"Yeah, well, y'get what you get 'til there's somethin' else handy," Ren replies tartly, setting aside an almost unrecognizable shirt. He glances over his shoulder, rolls his eyes, and sighs exasperatedly. "Fine," he relents, peels off the gloves, and starts undoing his pants.
Sandro's eye widens, and then disappears entirely as he draws back into the cot room. "No!" he squeaks, and it is a squeak, high pitched and startled. There is a thump as he finds somewhere to lean, heavily by the sound of it. "Look," he says, his voice drifting in from the other room, "I can just stay here til my stuff is dry. It ain't a problem."
"You sure? Gonna be stuck in that doorway kinda a while, then. And I mean, I don't really mind much lending 'em. Got nothin' t' be ashamed of," Serendipity replies, absolutely not insinuating anything with that last comment, honest. Really.
Sandro replies with a voice wavering with forced calm, "I'll be fine. If anyone comes in, I'll just turn into a bird." After a moment of sullen silence, he adds quietly, "I need a comb."
Serendipity casts a critical eye over Sandro's hair as he fastens his pants again. "Damn straight," he agrees. "...luckily, I just happen t' have one." He reaches into his pocket, strolling toward Sandro and his protective doorway.
Sandro scrambles back, and there is a flutter of towel, a yelp, and the crash of a cot being tumbled over. Then, in the settling wreckage, a pained and quiet, "Ow." At least he's found cover in the form of a blanket from the cot he's tumbled over, and as Ren approaches, Sandro busily bundles into it.
Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, Ren gotta look... but at least he's subtle about it for once. Yes, folks, it =can= occur. "Comb," he informs Sandro casually, handing it over. "Lemme finish the laundering, then I'll go scare you up somethin' at the farm while it dries. 'less you wanna finish the wash while I go."
Sandro is swift, but also clumsy, wet, and panicking. There isn't -much- to see, but what Ren gets a gander at is... well, nothing to hide in abject shame about, surely. Small, smooth, and golden-toned: the curve of a calf, the rounded swell of a shoulder and a tapering waist as Sandro grabs at the blanket and whips it around him where he sits sprawled on the floor. Once the view of him is reduced to a billowing bundle of musty wool with a head, he shoots Ren a murderous look. With what dignity he can muster, he slips an arm cautiously from the blanket to take the comb. "I'm fine," he says quietly.
"Fine meaning you'll wait or fine meaning don't bother at all, you'll just do your impression of a burrito until the stuff dries out?" Serendipity asks, entirely ignoring the murderous quality of that Look.
Sandro shifts a little where he sits, giving Ren the literal and proverbial cold shoulder as he turns his back on him. It's a grim necessity to let the blanket fall open while he frees up his arms to comb his hair. Out of its knot, it's long enough to brush past his shoulders, almost to the middle of his back. "You got a pair of scissors?" he asks mildly as he sets to work on the tangles, wincing as the comb catches a few snarls roughly.
Serendipity reaches over and reclaims the comb, grabbing the edges of the blanket on Sandro's shoulders and bringing them in and together so it's not falling open anymore -- see, he's being nice. "Sit still, a'ight?" he instructs, and slips down onto the floor behind Sandro, one leg to either side of the smaller youth.
Sandro twitches and snags the blanket's edges, curling into his little woolen anti-Ren shield. He relaxes though, as the comb is taken, and he sits up straighter, looking straight ahead as he resigns himself to being groomed. "I was gonna cut it off," he says awkwardly. "It's gettin' too long."
Serendipity starts combing, starting with the very ends of the strands, carefully teasing out the evil mass of tangles. His hands are deft and gentle, which is a hell of a blessing, considering. "No such thing 'less you're tripping on it," he opines, "...or you gotta shitload of split ends in which case okay, maybe a trim's in order."
Sandro does, in fact, have a shitload of split ends, as it turns out. There aren't many hot oil treatments out on the road. "Makes me look like a sissy," he opines glumly. Most of the steam is starting to come out of his ire, though. Takes too much energy to keep a good rage going. "You know, Ren," he says thoughtfully, "You got a really good thing here. With these people. They's nice folks."
"Mm," Ren replies noncommittally about the hair, still busy teasing it out, but the rest of the claims he addresses, grinning again. "Yeah, gotta say it's not bad. A guy could get stuck here, if he wasn't careful and didn't have anything better t' do... Most of 'em, I like a lot, Some more'n others, obviously."
Sandro says wryly, "The white-haired beauty?" He sighs softly, nodding a little. "Yeah, he's nice. He spoke real kindly of one of mine. I reckon what I'm sayin' is that you're lucky. These are good people, and they're willin' to have you among 'em." He glances over his shoulder meaningfully as he adds, "Don't fuck it up."
"...for one," Serendipity grants, giving the vague impression that Miki might not have been the absolute top of who he had in mind, but still, decidedly on the list. "...and yeah, 'spose I'm lucky, but I always am. And hey, you're here too, y'know?" He shrugs, having gotten about half of Sandro's hair to behave by now. "Anyway. I don't go around tryin' to fuck things up. I just, y'know, be me. If people can't deal with that... 's really not my fault."
Sandro glances away, looking forward so that Ren can untangle his hair unhindered. It's not bad hair now that it's not caked with dirt. Sleek, straight, and jet black. "For awhile at least," he grants grudgingly. "Probably not gonna stay."
"Yeah?" Ren asks, "...why not? I mean, I prolly won't be here too much longer myself, what with my whole quest thing an' bein', y'know, a wanderer by nature anyway, but you were =lookin'= for some place t' settle down, weren'tcha?"
Sandro points out, "I -wanted- a place to settle down. What I'm lookin' for... well, it ain't the same thing. I don't know. I just don't stay. I mean, damn. It's like, quite li'trally, the place I been dreamin' of." There's an unspoken 'but' there, and a worried tapering off of his voice. "Anyway," he says more decisively, "I ain't goin' nowhere til I earn enough to cover my expenses."
Serendipity pauses a fraction of a second in finishing up the untangling of Sandro's hair, and there's a just perceptible tension, as if a near-reflex had been consciously thwarted. "Yeah, well," he says, going back to his work, "...we'll just wait 'n' see how it goes, yeah? Best way t' handle anythin', pretty much." The comb slides back into his pocket, and he produces scissors from somewhere, the better to deal with all those split ends. Tch.
Sandro doesn't seem to notice the tension, but the sounds of scissors in the vicinity of his head gets his attention. "You had those?" he accuses. "You been holdin' out on me, boy." He gives his head a slight toss, letting his hair settle where it will, and goes back to staring ahead of himself. "I just don't know if I -can- settle down," he complains. "It ain't like I don't wanna. It's just... you don't know me, Ren."
"Not yet," Ren agrees fairly cheerfully, "...'least, not =real= well, yet." He shrugs, snipping with exaggerated artistic care. "...how much's it matter, anyway? I mean, you c'n always decide a place is home but still go gallivanting around, or say you're still travellin' but end up pausin' somewhere for twenny, thirty years."
Sandro tenses a little as the urge to shake his head is refrained from just in time to avoid a scissoring incident. "It ain't that," he says, sounding restless and troubled. He keeps his fidgeting to a minimum while there are blades near his head, though. "Are you almost done? I wanna fly some."
Serendipity snips a couple more bits, eyeing them critically. "...yeah, I'm almost done. I gotta go try and track down Tristan, anyway," he replies absently, putting the scissors back wherever they came from and giving Sandro's hair a fluff before he stands up.
Sandro leans away indignantly at the fluffing, giving Ren a dour glance that has become so automatic as to qualify as habit. "Whoever that is," he says wryly. "Bring the clothes to the tree house when they're dry, and no tricks. I'm gonna roost tonight and worry about 'em in the mornin."
Serendipity grins toothily ay Sandro, a grin that might make a wise man question the wisdom of ordering a Coyote-kin 'no tricks'. "...I'll see ya when you get in," he replies casually, straightening the line of his coat as he turns for the door.
Sandro eyes Ren sternly. "I'm serious," he warns. "You may think yer funny, but I -know- I'm mean. An' I got nothin' to do all day -- nothin', Ren -- but think a' ways to make you regret the day you was ever born. So you better behave yourself just this once."
Serendipity doesn't grin this time, not exactly. There's only the hint of an upward quirk at one corner of his lips, and a rather more obvious one of the opposite eyebrow. He shifts his weight slightly, and the difference in height between Sandro and himself suddenly seems a couple inches greater. "...let's get one thing straight," he replies in an uncharacteristically calm, quiet, and above all =reasonable= tone, "...see, I like you. I'm all about bein' friends. Here's the thing, though. You may be Raven's, but I'm Coyote's. And I can't shift, and I'm not the best sourcea news around, and I can't fly, and I sure as hell can't read things from eating people's eyes, but when it comes to pranks and that kinda shit? Don't challenge me, and sure as fuck don't threaten me. I'm a nice guy because I like t' be. Not because I =hafta= be. And if it comes down to it... I'm gonna win." There isn't anger there -- or if there is, it's already been processed into steel and Facts. "So how about, you drop that particular tactic, and I just tell you it never hurts t' say please, instead of passin' the message on the fun way? See... compromise."
Sandro stares at Ren for a moment, his expression the slack kind of calm of one who is still processing what he's heard while his brain cells spark and short-circuit. Ren does seem quite a bit taller suddenly, though Sandro sitting on the floor might have something to do with that. Slowly, carefully, he rises to his feet, still watching Ren steadily. "You don't know me," he says, and any outward calm is undone by the shaky quality of his voice, high-pitched, soft, and wavering. Then there is a flurry of motion as he grasps the blanket, whipping it up between himself and Ren like a curtain before letting it go. As the faded woolen thing falls to the floor, the youth is gone and in his place a smallish raven flaps its sleek black wings as it tries to put some distance between itself and the Coyote-kin.
"Yeah, well," Serendipity says quietly, though not so softly that Sandro can't hear it, "...I'd still like to." His hand comes up absently and frees his hair from its ponytail, combing through the strands. "...like I said," he adds, pulling it back into place, "...see ya when you get in."
The bird flutters to the top of the opened door and perches there, ruffled feathers settling down as he preens them furiously. He croaks unpleasantly, not that ravens ever sound particularly pleasing, and then sets off to make his grand, dramatic exit. Oh, he'll fly away and disappear forever so Ren can have that hanging over his head for the rest of his life -- see if he won't! Except that the graceful sweep toward the window is halted by the fact that the window is closed, leaving the raven hopping awkwardly along the edge of the sill, wings swaying as he tries to keep his balance. Once he finds a decent foothold, he looks toward Ren and croaks again, this time sounding just a touch pathetic.
Serendipity tries very, very, very hard not to grin. And, for the most part, succeeds. There's just a tiny twitch to the corners of his solemnity as he steps over to the window and opens it with all the gravity that could be desired by even the most dramatic bird.
The raven tilts his head curiously as he watches Ren, looking equally solemn, though with birds there isn't a whole lot of emotional range. While the window is being opened, he shifts from foot to foot, making muffled cricking noises fretfully. Then there is sweet freedom, and he takes wing, rising up over the rooftops at a carefully calculated casual speed. It wouldn't do much for what's left of his dignity if he looked like he was fleeing.
Serendipity watches this for a couple moments, then closes the window to keep the heat in the place. Certain ravens can make hands if they really want back in, after all. He even takes several steps away from the window before dropping into a handy chair and howling to the moon with laughter.
============================================================================== Message: 1/1 in folder main Received: Fri Jan 9 05:46:08 2004 From: Sandro To: Serendipity Subject: When Ren gets back... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ When Ren makes it back to the tree house (with or without laundry) there is a red checkered cloth containing four relatively fresh cranberry-walnut scones. Though there is a black feather atop the parcel, it is clearly placed in an area that is specifically Ren's. Like on his bed or something. They're good scones, too. ==============================================================================
==============================================================================
Message: 2/2 in folder main Received: Fri Jan 9 06:50:18 2004
From: Serendipity
To: Sandro
Subject: When Sandro gets back...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Sandro returns to the treehouse, Ren isn't there. The scones are -- though the packet has obviously been opened, they haven't been eaten. They've been moved to a spot in the treehouse that isn't clearly claimed by either of them, and joined by two small glass jars, one packed in a bowl of snow and apparently filled with clotted cream, the other with what looks like either peach or apricot jam. There's also a bottle of some unidentified golden liquid, and a note: Lunch?
There's also a parcel, tied with a string. It's soft, and opening it reveals... a frilly dress. A frilly white dress with light blue, lacy trim, about knee-length on Sandro and actually only a =bit= too big for him otherwise. It's a little worn, not brand new, and a pair of knitted white booties and two light blue hair ribbons have been provided as well. There's a note:
=Everything= goes better when you say please.
P.S.: Turn the note over.
On the back, it says, "...making your bed is good too."
There is, in fact, rather a mess in Sandro's portion of the pillow-and-blanket nest. If he tidies it up, he'll find a second parcel, with his own clothes in it, and another note:
...See?
>;)
==============================================================================