It is only a few paces from the edge of the wilderness to the lake; trees crowd close to the water in every direction. The water at your feet is pristine, shining blue. Gentle ripples ruffle the glossy surface of the water and whisper at the shore. The hump of Katahdin Peak, blue-grey with distance, looms over the trees as they ring the lake. The air smells clean, rich with pine and fish. In the distance you can make out a dock, and other signs of human habitation; but here, only the calls of birds, frogs, and insects disturb the peaceful quiet.
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.
He's a scrap of a youth who looks like he's missed a few too many meals. To call him average height would be on the generous side of accurate. To call him rail thin would be giving him credit. His golden-toned skin hints at Latino heritage, a notion reinforced by his sleek, straight black hair, which falls just past his shoulders and is worn in a tail tied off at the base of his neck. Several strands have fallen free to frame a pretty face -- not handsome, pretty. The bone structure is delicate and soft, and his smooth cheeks look like they have never needed the touch of a razor. He must be fairly young or he's got androgyny working for him. Dark eyes glitter behind the errant locks of his hair, bright and intelligent.
The grey woolen sweater he wears practically swallows his body whole. The garment is several sizes too big, rolled up at the sleeves so as not to engulf his delicate, frail-looking hands. The loose black breeches he wears are torn and ragged, but the faded green leggings he wears beneath are fairly intact. Though his clothing is threadbare, it looks reasonably clean. On his small feet are leather boots that have seen better decades, held together mostly by duct tape and willpower. Whether slung over his shoulder or resting nearby, he is almost always in possession of a battered leather satchel that has seen its share of duct-tape repair and carefully sewn patches.
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 black wool cloak with no buttons, but trimmed with white and silver and red embroidery. 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.
It's a peaceful day at the lake, a brisk afternoon, with the lingering chill of winter still in the air, but the sun is out and the sky is blue. Down by the lakeside, near the treehouse, there is a Ren crouched by the water beside a pile of laundry. A shirtless Ren, wearing only his leather trousers -- not a bad view if you're Rensexual. Things are peaceful, until something flies out of the treehouse. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? As it sails in a lazy arc toward the unaware Ren, a voice calls out from the treehouse, "Death from above!" Maybe the distance has done something to the pitch, but it sounds like Sandro if Sandro were quite a bit younger -- higher pitched, lighter tone.
"...I gotta sing and a-dance when I glance in my pants, and the feelin's like a sunshiney daaaaay," Ren is singing cheerfully to himself as he scrubs at a shirt at the water's edge, causing a small flurry of suds. He glances up instinctively at the sound of the call -- just in time to get a soaking wet grey wool sweater smack in the face. It drapes over him like a slothful octopus for a second, and then joins the other clothing on the ground as he runs for the rope to the treehouse and hurls himself up it at top speed. "Thassit, birdbrain, now you =die=!" he yells up along the way.
There is a clatter within the treehouse and a shrieking bout of laughter as footsteps thunder about. "No!" comes a tittered wail. "I couldn't help myself! I didn't mean to." This might sound more convincing if the speaker didn't have trouble refraining from cracking the hell up. As Ren hauls himself up the rope, there is another shriek, more desperate, and more frantic footsteps on the floorboards. "You wouldn't! No! Noooooo!"
Apparently, Serendipity would. He disappears inside, and the sounds of a definite scuffle result in a decidedly awkward descent to follow, as he attempts to get back down the rope with one arm, the other being busy holding on to the struggling Corax slung over his shoulder. Sandro's in what appears to be one of Ren's shirts, from the size, with the hint of a pair of shorts beneath it, and writhes dangerously, still shrieking protest. Ren drops the last several feet to the ground and strides determinedly toward the barely-thawed edge of the lake, unmoved by Sandro's entreaties, and steps on in up to his knees, the better to flip his captive off his shoulder and into the near-freezing water, shoving the wet head back under when it comes up, sputtering, for air. "Get thee behind me, devilwoman!" he cries with exaggerated melodrama.
Walking in towards the Lake from the woods, Miki appears, seemingly drawn by the sounds of combat. He doesn't seem particularly worried-- at least, he's not hurrying, nor is he carrying his bow-- it's in its case in his backpack. When he sees Ren and Sandro at the Lake's edge, he alters his path, cutting across a marshy bit where reeds and ice crunch under his feet. At Ren's words, he stops right in a patch of mud and stares, sinking slowly into the marsh.
The sound of approaching steps drifts from between the trees, and it only resolves into oddly muffled hoofbeats once it's easy to see that a horse is approaching at a leisurely canter. He stops short at the lakeshore itself and watches Ren and Sandro's antics with his ears tipped forward and his nostrils flaring.
Sandro's arms flail out of the water, bubbles rising around the swaying mass of black hair adrift in the water. Golden-toned hands grab at Ren's legs, seeking purchase on whatever handhold they can get -- lucky for Ren the questing fingers find the waistband of the trousers first. The Corax kicks up an awful splash though. When Sandro's face finally breaks the water with a heavy gasp, he looks determined rather than traumatized. Not to mention shivering. "Yer goin' down!" Then the small fellow looks like he's attempting to climb the Nuwisha kin, or maybe just maul him a little around the edges.
"Hey, all y'ever had t'do was ask," Ren manages to reply -- barely -- before Sandro succeeds in over-balancing the both of them, and they both disappear beneath the surface with a considerable splash. It's not until he comes back up, sputtering and shivering and rubbing the water from his eyes, that Serendipity notices they're under observation. He takes in Miki's expression and remarks eloquently, "...uh oh."
Miki looks down and notices that he's nearly up to his ankles and still sinking. Ah, the thaw of bud! He moves quickly, nearly overbalancing himself, to pull free of the sticky mud. A few awkward steps and a near-trip later, he is free of the mud and the reeds, and then he has to deal with another sort of sticky situation. He gives Ren and Sandro a look which says rather eloquently, 'Would it not be better if we just pretended I was not here?' and says, "Ah, um, hello."
Thundersnow takes several steps in Miki's direction, whickering a low greeting. Cold cold water and they play in it. I think that there is craziness in their heads, he confides in the young man.
Sandro rises up from the lake, a cloud of stirred up mud coloring the water brown around the struggling pair. "That's what I'm talkin about!" comes the boasting as the Corax stands over the now soaked Ren. The icy water has rendered the poor thing shivering, lips tinged blue. That's not the most noticeable thing, though. The fact that the t-shirt is now clinging like a second skin? That's attention-worthy. Especially given that around the region of the Corax boy's chest, there are two distinct swells tipped with rather poignant peaks. Boys... don't look like that. They don't tend to have tapering waists either, or the noticeable swell of hips. It takes Sandro a moment to notice that Ren's looking elsewhere, and he(?) follows the kin's gaze to see Miki and, well, a horse. Sandro blinks a few times, then quickly folds her arms over her chest as she says, with a tone that tries for casual and comes out anything but, "Oh, hey."
Serendipity shoves back up to his feet, dripping and trying not to shiver. "...heya, gorgeous. Up for an afternoon swim? Welcome t' join us," he greets Miklos cheerfully, if a tiny bit nervously. Maybe if he pretends nothing's unusual no one will notice anything is. Well. It's worth a try, anyway.
Miki swallows nervously. "Ah, um, no, no, thank you. I, um, would rather not." His gaze flicks involuntarily to Sandro, back to Ren, and you can see Unfortunate Conclusions being reached. He takes a couple of steps towards the road, although it's clear from his previous path that his original destination was the lake. "I was going to town," he says brightly and insincerely.
Thundersnow paws at the slowly thawing ground in confusion. I do not remember that Sandr-o had a twin girl-sib. He sniffs at the air several times, casting about with his Gift. Maybe it is Sandr-a instead.
Sandro eyes Miki critically, and while she might be putting two and two together, she's likely coming up with the square root of pi. "What?" she asks defensively. "You ain't never seen a girl before?" She sloshes her way toward the shore, taking care to kick up some water to give Ren a good splash while she's at it. "You don't gotta go run off, now. I ain't got cooties."
Serendipity slogs out of the lake after the Corax, making sure to splash her just as well in return, but looking somewhat sheepish nonetheless. "Well," he remarks, "Guess that's one less secret I gotta keep track of..." He attempts to brush the water off his skin; it doesn't work terribly well.
Miki stops, giving Sandro a deeply confused look. "I have seen plenty of girls," he says helplessly. "But you look... busy right now." 'Flustered' would be a good word for him right now. So would 'embarrassed,' as a faint reddish tinge is starting to creep up from his collarbones.
Girls do not have coo-ties, Thundersnow agrees. He trots towards Sandro-the-girl, and detours to pass Miki and nose him in the shoulder along the way.
Sandro's paranoid gaze darts from Miki to the horse as she comes ashore, then a sidelong glance toward Ren, from whom she sidles away. Skimpy shorts. Long legs for a short girl. The shivering is downright pathetic, but she otherwise looks no worse for wear, for the scuffle. "I'm freezin' right now," she complains. Belatedly, something seems to occur to her, because she snorts and adds, "And that's all I'm busy doin'." Toward Ren, she reminds cheerily, "Snowball's chance on Helios, 'wisha boy."
Serendipity meets the sidelong glance and, against all possible expectation, actually sidles away in the opposite direction, just a step or two. "I was just doing the laundry," he explains, "...'til she, y'know, =attacked= me." He sticks his tongue out at her, and crosses his arms, rubbing his biceps for warmth.
Miki now looks more confused than embarrassed. "Oh," is all he says, but it's an eloquent syllable. He sneaks a look at Sandro. Oh, definitely a girl. His ears turn redder.
Thundersnow nudges Miki, swishing his tail as he passes, and stops in front of Sandro, eyeing her critically. The weather is too warm to have a water fight in the cold lake.
Sandro darts a withering glower at Ren. "I was passin' you down more laundry!" she insists, all innocence. "It ain't my fault yer slow." She drifts closer to the horse, holding out one hand to the creature (the opposite arm securely covering her chest). "You ain't scared of me, are ya?" she croons to Thundersnow in the way of women cooing at adorable animals everywhere. She shivers again, teeth chattering as she adds, "I reckon I should put on something dry, huh." It's easier talking to a horse, for some reason, though her glance darts between the human-type men.
"You emptied the waterskin on it and threw it at my head," Serendipity contradicts dryly, arching a brow, but he can't help grinning again. "And I dunno, I kinda like you in the wet look," he remarks oh so innocently, looking her up and down, gaze eventually settling on her poorly concealed chest with a friendly -- downright chirpy -- "Hello, ladies." A slight shift in his weight, ready to move out of the way fast if need be.
A look of pain crosses Miki's face at Ren's last remark, and with resignation he takes a few steps forward, unclasps his cloak, and offers it to Sandro. "You may use this, if you are cold," he says. "At least my clothes are dry." His tone is not resigned, but rather hopeful.
Thundersnow cranes his head forward and noses at Sandro's hand, and then her arm, apparently on the lookout for the treats all people keep handy on the off chance a horse will happen by. Dry clothes dry fur is better than cold lake water. He takes another step, and bumps his forehead against her shoulder.
Sandro growls a wordless threat at Ren, taking a lunge in his direction. Grrr! But it's just a feint. She doesn't move away from the adorable (warm!) horsie. No treats, alas, but she does give his ears a good scratch, with the skill of one who has handled horses before. "There's a good boy," she coos and dotes, in stark contrast to the absolute murder in her eyes when she glances Ren's way again. Nigh daintily, she reaches for the offered cloak, turning a much friendlier, if somewhat embarrassed, expression toward Miki as she huddles, shivering into the garment, wrapping it around her shoulders for what cover it might bring. "Thank you," she says awkwardly. Then, "It's a long story, but I was plannin' on tellin' folks. Honest."
Serendipity squeaks at the feint and dodges around behind Miki, ducking and wrapping his arms around the youth's waist, lightly. "Protect me!" he pleads, peeking around the side of him in mock terror, "Don't let her fool you, she's =vicious!=" Of course, this procedure moistens Miki somewhat, as well, but Ren does attempt to minimize that result.
At the unexpected Attack of the Wet Ren, Miki lunges forward, more out of a desire to not get soaked than from anything else, and bumps into Thundersnow. "Ah! I am sorry, Danny!" he says, and then tugs at Ren's arms. "You are wet! Let go, let go, you are getting me wet! Ren, you are a trouble!"
Thundersnow lowers his head and sighs happily, shifting his weight to one foot and resting the other while he enjoys Sandro's attentions. Miki's collision brings a sudden end to the quiet moment, however, and he starts, neighing loudly in surprise and flattening his ears against his head. He takes a step to the side, narrowly missing Sandro's feet with his hooves, and snorts in annoyance.
Sandro startles at the sudden burst of movement, and then again as Miki calls the horse Danny. Her eyes widen, and she gives the horse an accusing look... that quickly melts as she sees the annoyance, and it's right back to the ear scratching as she sidles away from his hooves cautiously. "Yeah, Ren's trouble," she coos at Thundersnow. "Aren't you a gorgeous boy." She pauses, then adds, "But that don't mean I'm ever gonna admit that to you when you're on two legs."
Serendipity releases Miki reluctantly, looking rather like a kicked puppy. "But I'm the exciting 'n' fun kinda trouble," he replies, not quite the confident assertion it'd usually be. There's the faintest hint of a question in it. He looks cold, too -- he should, considering. The pants are beginning to dry, and that can't be all that comfortable, either.
Miki puts his chin on his shoulder and peers at Ren. At Ren's expression, he cannot help but soften a little, and he says, "Well, you have a point." He reaches out and places a hand on Danny's shoulder and strokes it soothingly. "I am sorry, Danny, I am clumsy and rude."
Coyote is all about trouble, Thundersnow agrees, flicking his tail nervously. It takes a few minutes for the excitement to wear off and for Sandro's attentions to set in, but soon he's looking just as calm and placid as he was before. Trouble is necessary, if cold and wet. He noses Miki's shoulder and gladly accepts the apology (and more importantly the attention coming with it).
Sandro's regard even softens a bit as she spies Ren's expression. She doesn't let up on the scritching, though. The wicked she-vixen knows the spot right between the ears, at the base of them! "I'll make ya some tea in a bit," she tells Ren. Then, with a glance to Miki, she shifts a little, self-consciously, and broaches hesitantly, a topic she must just be dying to bring up, "Look. You gotta understand. We ain't... you know. Doin' that. Say whatever ya wan't, but not that, cos it ain't happenin'." With another glance toward Ren in all his pathos, she adds in a mumble, "And it ain't cos there's somethin' wrong with him. I just ain't like that."
Serendipity watches Sandro for a moment, and then nods once, firmly. "Tea'd be good. ...you want me t' go up and get a coupla the blankets?" he offers. The pile of wet laundry does present difficulty as far as dry clothing.
Miki eyes Ren and then the embarrassed Sandro. He blushes even more. "I am sorry--" he starts to say, and then just shakes his head and starts to laugh. "Well, if you are not," he says, finally, "it is not for Ren's lack of trying, I am very sure. I am very sorry to have been stupid and to have embarrassed you," he adds to Sandro, giving her an abashed look.
Thundersnow flicks his ears and blows out a breath. He ignores the topic of Sandro and Ren being 'like that', since it doesn't have much bearing on whether or not he gets his ears scratched. I have many dry clothes. But they will not fit you, he adds after giving Sandro and then Ren a single-eyed look. Too short.
Sandro leans over to give Thundersnow a smooch on his forelock, and the scritching is plentiful. "I got a dress up in the treehouse," she says awkwardly, then to Ren, "I reckon blankets'll do for now though." She regards him a moment, and a small smile plays upon her lips as she says to Miki, "I'm gonna tell you somethin' about our Ren, here." Her tone is matter-of-fact. "I met him on the road awhile back, and we traveled some time together, and then I saw him the first night I came here, and I had nowhere to go. Well, he's let me share his home, his food, everythin', and he ain't asked me a single thing in return. Yeah, he's a rascal, and he's the only fella I ever known who talks to my chest, but there ain't a kinder heart you'll ever meet. And he ain't ever crossed the boundaries I've laid out. Ain't even tried to." She spares Ren a brief glance, then back to Miki, and her smile broadens a little. "You got nothin' to apologize for. I guess it ain't every day you see somethin' like this. I'm Aurelia, by the way. I mean, for what it's worth."
Serendipity's complexion demonstrates that yes, he can in fact blush, if only subtly, and he ducks his head a bit, smiling faintly. "...thanks," he murmurs to Sandro, and clears his throat, "...So, yeah. Blankets." He strides purposefully toward the treehouse, and hauls himself up the rope and inside.
Miki blinks at Sandro--Aurelia, rather, and then smiles. Not one of his usual half-smiles, but a full, complete, almost tender smile. "That is a fine thing to say, and more than that. I shall remember what you have said about Ren." His gaze flicks towards the treehouse, and he then adds, with a touch of mischief, "Also that you can embarrass him, no one else can." One corner of his smile tucks back. "I am pleased to meet you properly, if this is proper."
It's difficult for a horse to return the favor of a kiss on the forehead, and so Thundersnow settles for nibbling at Sandro's--Aurelia's--hair companionably, and sidles close to her so she can get some benefit from his warm winter coat. You should embarrass him more often, it will teach him humility, the stallion suggests.
Sandro leans against Thundersnow, seeming much more at ease around massive beasts than the two-legged kind that walk and talk. She scratches at his mane, where it lays over along his neck, casting a glance toward the tree house as well, quirking a crooked smile. "That's cos he don't want anyone to know he's a big softie," she replies knowingly. With a half-snort, half-laugh, she adds, "And I don't think there's anyway to salvage the 'proper' of this, but I dunno." The smile fades. "I'm so tired of hidin'. Tired of runnin'. Figured I gotta come clean sometime." Seemingly on a whim, she curls her arms around Thundersnow's neck to give him a hug, then draws back. "I better get his tea or we'll both catch our deaths," she says awkwardly. "Can I, um. I can throw the cloak down to you once I get up where it's warm, maybe?" This last to Miki.
There's a slightly odd sound in the air, and then Ren's voice: "Hey, 'relia -- death from above!" Just in time to herald the blanket as it falls through the air poised to land atop the Corax and, due to group arrangement, probably the others, as well. It is, at least, not wet, but rather distinctly fluffy and dry.
Miki remarks, from underneath a sudden blanket, "Of course you can keep the cloak," in a courtly tone of voice. "Unless you prefer blankets that fall like apple turnovers from the sky," he adds in a much louder tone of voice. One which might carry up to the treehouse, in fact.
Thundersnow sighs wistfully and nips at Aurelia's hair one last time before she's out of range, and then he bolts in wide-eyed alarm, squealing his distress at the wild flying blanket of doom. He doesn't go far, maybe a length or two, before skidding to a halt and turning to strike defiantly at the ground. Furrows of snow and sandy soil fly about, and he neighs sharply.
Sandro startles as the blanket descends and there is suddenly a bolting large animal in her vicinity, but then as the dust (and fluff) settles, she lets out a long suffering sigh. "Jackass," she calls toward the treehouse, fondly. Then she unearths herself from the blanket, unclasping the cloak carefully as she tells Miki, "I'd rather give it back before I forget." With a warm blanket to curl up in, she seems no worse for wear, though the spooked Thundersnow gets an apologetic look. "Don't you worry, sugar. I'll make sure he gets beaten," she tells him as the cloak is offered back to its owner.
There's the sound of laughter being stifled, from above. "Promise?" he calls back down, presumably to Sandro, and he leans down through the trapdoor, half-wrapped in a blanket, to give Miki a brilliant smile -- not a grin, for once -- which goes a bit sheepish as his gaze falls on Danny. "...and sorry, Danny, Miki. ...I guess that'd be a blanket apology." Then it =is= a grin, and he pulls himself quickly back inside.
Miki accepts the cloak and puts it back on, since he's still a little damp and it's a chilly day. Then he looks up at Ren, winces at the pun, and says, "I am off to the Diner, but I will see you both soon, I hope. Danny, would you like to come with me?"
Thundersnow turns in a few annoyed circles, then snorts and tosses his mane sharply in agreement. Yes yes. There food in the Diner, and I am hungry. Head and tail held high, he trots over to Miki and joins him on his trip to the Diner.