Ian
It's two days
before Christmas in Chicago and the ambient temperature outdoors is
still hovering at about 50 degrees. There's no snow on the ground, but
the sky is overcast and a fine mist of rain has been drizzling the city
intermittently since dawn. When Ian arrives at the airport, he parks his
rental car (a 2010 VW Jetta - not quite a match for the Audi he left at
home) in the hourly lot and jogs across to the United terminal, passing
a row of cars idling at the curb. A few drops of rain land in his hair
and on his jacket, beading up on the leather. When he gets through the
second set of doors he pauses to look around. O'Hare is always packed
this time of year (most airports are.) There's scarcely room to breathe
amid the sea of travelers. Ian has to slip past the clogged over-spill
from the baggage check on his way to the gate exit where Kiara will be
arriving. On his way there, he glances at the arrival information on one
of the overhead screens - checks to make sure the flight hasn't been
delayed. He gave himself about twenty minutes to spare, which means he
has time to kill before she gets there.
The rest of his
company has already left Chicago. By now they'll be setting up the stage
at the Overture Center in Madison. So Ian's here alone, and when he
arrives at the waiting area he settles in at the back of the crowd,
leaning against the windows with his phone out. For the next twenty
minutes, he mostly ignores the people around him in favor of catching up
on a few news articles. He also responds to a text that Emma sends him.
E:
Don't be late, lover boy.
I:
I'm never late.
E:
Shannon thinks you're going to miss the show.
I:
Why the fuck does she think that?
E:
She's seen Kiara.
I:
I'm not going to miss the show. Tell her to stop worrying.
I:
I'll text you when I'm on my way.
Kiara
And here comes Spring, nourishing the depths of Winter.
Or
so it really feels, with Kiara. The moment she appears through the gate
wheeling a small carry on suitcase behind her Ian can sense it. Sense
her,
too. All that rejuvenating energy coiled away inside a slender brunette
with long, wavy hair unleashed around her shoulders and a pair of
over-sized sunglasses perched on the crown of her head. She's dressed to
travel, Kiara, in soft cotton cargo pants and sneakers, a dark navy
hoodie half zipped over a plain white v neck and save for the fact her
lips are painted a glossy pink, very little in the way of make up; if
anything, with the traces of a light tan she bears, it boosts the
picture of vitality she offers.
As if she'd been drinking in
the sunshine and was presently manifesting herself as some extension of
the warmer summer days currently so distant from them.
-
She'd almost missed her flight.
Somehow between Denver to Hawaii and back to Denver again the Verbena's sleeping schedule (and her ability to
stop)
had become severely compromised. She'd found herself drifting, like a
sliver of seaweed caught in the tide, traveling along without conscious
thought to put a halt to the momentum and allow herself the time to
recover; to recharge and contemplate everything that had happened
recently.
Some of that was
Her doing, of course.
Miles to go and she was restless and driven and the wind kicked up around Kiara the longer she idled.
-
She
finds him the crowd. He's toward the back, his body back-lit by light,
rays of it trickling through the dismal overcast skies outside and
there's a subtle little expression of pleasure that plays into focus
across her generous mouth, finds depth and surety in her dark eyes as
she navigates her way through the throng toward him.
Of course she'd have found him but - there's a degree of urgency to this reunion.
Almosts and
could-have-been's,
you understand. Life was never a certainty for them and he'd been
absent nearly a month, the type of woman that the Verbena was; her
calling; meant it would never be a surety - that they'd reunite like
this every time. That there would be a way for it to happen so
seamlessly.
"Hey."
She greets as she clears the crowd, her eyes bright. "Waiting for anyone in particular?"
Ian[awareness, woo]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
IanHe
does sense her. Feels the familiar stirrings of her energy before he
catches her face approaching through the crowd. Kiara is dressed for
traveling. There are sunglasses in her hair (which she likely won't have
need of) and her skin's been kissed with this warm glow of life that
feels a far cry away from the clouded winter sky hanging over Chicago.
Ian isn't exactly pale (his skin tends toward a soft tan even in the
colder months) but he doesn't bear the marks of the sun the way that she
does. By the time she spots him, he's slipped his phone into the back
pocket of his jeans and is leaning against the windows watching her
approach.
He doesn't push through the crowd to get to her -
not immediately. Instead he waits until there isn't a throng of people
between them, then he lifts off the wall and...
Hey. Waiting for anyone in particular?
...closes
the distance between them. It happens quickly, that part, and when he
catches her he threads his hands into her hair and kisses her hungrily -
inhaling (stealing) some of her breath when their lips make contact. It
feels like it's been so fucking long since he touched her. Smelled her.
Tasted her skin beneath his tongue. It's been a little over three
weeks, but they've both traveled hundreds of miles in the interim.
He
makes this little noise in the back of his throat. Soft enough that
only she can hear. There's a hoard of people around them, any number of
whom might be glancing in their direction, but for the moment he really
could not care less.
"Yes," he replies eventually, teeth grazing her lower lip.
He doesn't really want to step away. When he does, it feels like tearing away from a magnetic field.
"Let's
get the hell out of here. Did your flight go okay?" He starts to reach
down to take her luggage, though if she seems content to hold onto it
he'll let the offer rest.
KiaraShe's always had a strange relationship with flying.
Not a
fear
- not for a woman who had leaped out of them in the past - but rather
with the static quality of the experience. Caged inside and yet as a
whole moving - she struggles to remain in her seat for the duration for
longer trips - fidgets and shifts and props her chin on her hand,
staring out the tiny square window offered her; drifting among the
clouds outside as much as retaining her awareness of what was going on
inside it.
"Mm, it was frustratingly uneventful," she replies
rather breathlessly when they draw apart; her hands framing his face in
the way she liked - kissing him with equal (if not more) aggression -
before they slid down to shape the remembered strength of his shoulders,
curling in there and sliding around his neck; lifting her body against
him for just a lingering moment to lean her face against him and brush
her nose into the side of his cheek.
There was something luxurious in the motion.
"Not even a
little
turbulence." Something wry to that as she does pull away, traces a
thumb over his lower lip where her lip-gloss has left the tinges of
sticky-sweet residue. She cedes the luggage to him without much in the
way of seeming concern; a touch of bemusement perhaps at the gesture but
she seems satisfied enough to loop her arm through his and cast a
doubtful look over his shoulder toward the weather outside.
The rain miserably pledging itself to falling in slow, sluggish deliberation.
"Everyone
says hello back in Denver, by the way," she murmurs as they began to
pick a careful path through the crowds. "I saw most of them at the house
for Annie's Yuletide party." A beat, Kiara's voice notching into
something less appreciative: "One of the Hermetics you told me about was
there. Henry's son."
IanThis is something
they've yet to do - take a flight together (skydriving excluded.)
Perhaps on the trip home Ian will find himself amused by Kiara's
restlessness. His own strategy for dealing with the long journey is
quite a bit more meditative.
Kiara mentions the lack of
turbulence as though it were a disappointment. There's a glint of
amusement in Ian's eyes as they pull away (reluctantly) from each
other's orbit. Some of the gloss on her lips has transferred to his own,
leaving traces of her in his mouth. He rolls his lower lip between his
teeth after she touches it with her thumb, sliding his tongue over it.
She
lets him take her bag (with some bemusement,) and soon he's walking
them through the crowd, mindful of stray feet and elbows as he picks up a
purposeful gate.
He doesn't like airports. Doesn't like being
stuck in this kind of crowd, where everyone is stressed and no one
seems to know where the hell they're going.
He glances back
when she mentions the others - that they said hello. "Yeah, Leah invited
me. I talked to Kalen on the phone the other day. I'll have to catch up
with the rest when I get back." There's a pause while he mulls over his
thoughts on the holiday - on group gatherings, but Kiara's mention of
the Hermetics derails that train of thought. A crease forms between his
brows and he makes this little noise that might well be swallowed up by
the crowd.
"What was he like?"
They get to the exit and Ian picks up his stride as the automatic doors slide open.
KiaraThe moment the automatic doors slide open the world rushes in to greet them.
The
smell of the rain on the air fills Kiara's lungs and it's with
perceivable pleasure that the pagan sets foot outdoors; making some tiny
noise of such and tipping her face up to greet the flecks of rain
washing down across the airport entrance as they pass through into
Chicago proper. It's not really any less busy once they pass through the
whirring electronic doors but the frenetic pace is given more breathing
room out here, at the very least.
The people and cars; those
milling about for taxis and buses and the near-constant rumble of planes
as they soared overhead or descended and circled slowly in to bank and
careen across the tarmac.
There was a family standing just
outside the doors; a frazzled father balancing a small wailing child on
his hip while another pawed and tugged insistently at his side, his wife
yelling into her phone about delays and rescheduling and what about
their luggage all the while rocking a stroller back and forth to soothe a
newborn infant grumbling inside it. The Verbena opens her eyes on the
scene and there's a beat where Kiara studies them as they glide past -
not so much with sympathy as keen awareness.
They were so
alive in the moment, this family, so full of vibrancy, even in the
height of their agitation and they would, most likely, never have the
slightest idea of it. How close they played their mundane concerns to a
far more dangerous set of them.
She thinks, briefly, of Haoa and his Grandson; of Ali'ikai.
Tightens her hold on Ian almost in reflex and catches on to the tail-end of his words:
What was he like?
"Honestly?
I couldn't tell you. I spent most of the evening actively avoiding him.
He mostly stood by the window in the living room and ignored everyone
from what I could tell." There's a beat, Kiara's eyes tick to Ian's face
for a moment; registering it in profile. "I don't think Annie and the
others were
happy, exactly, with his presence."
There's a quiet sigh from the brunette.
"Sasha said if he knew what Kalen and I had been up to, he'd have had to
arrest
us." A curl of that same derisive humor Sasha had heard in the
Verbena's voice at the time. Something entirely darker and volatile
flickering through the female's eyes, twitching her mouth into a frown.
"Anyone would think we weren't trying to make things right."
With who, she doesn't quite make clear.
IanThat
Annie and her cabal-mates might not look at a visiting Hermetic
authority with much favor does not register as especially surprising to
Ian. Kiara probably knows them better than he does, but from what he's
gathered of Annie she does not especially care for either the Order or
for authority figures.
The air outside the terminal has a
particularly urban scent to it. Glass and metal and rain-soaked pavement
mingles with the exhaust fumes of idling cars and vague hints of jet
fuel. The humidity makes the smells worse. Catches them and holds them
in the air. Ian makes this face when they get outside, his nose
wrinkling slightly to add to the look of brooding irritation.
He
shouldn't be feeling that way right now. Shouldn't be thinking about
how this airport makes him feel like a residue is clinging to his skin
that he might never be able to get clean of.
A drop of rain
falls on his forehead, trailing down past the corner of his eye. He
stops moving for a second to wipe it away, then adjusts his grip on
Kiara's bag.
He doesn't look at the family. (Really doesn't
want to.) He does look at Kiara though, and this causes his expression
to smooth out a little. Whatever else, he
is happy to see her.
Happy to have her arm linked up with his own. The warmth and realness of
her presence feels like this drawing pull at his side. The force of it
is distracting, but in a wholly welcome way.
He shoots her a
wary look when she says that Richard might have cause to arrest them.
"Why would...? You know, don't tell me here." He steps out into the
crosswalk and starts to lead them across to the parking ramp. "If he
tries to touch you, I'll..."
What? Break the man's arm? Ian
seems to realize midway through his sentence how much he's starting to
sound like an overprotective boyfriend, and he stops himself with a
self-deprecating huff. "Jesus, when did I start talking like this?" They
reach the sidewalk on the other side and Ian gestures in the direction
of the car. "I parked over here."
"The Order doesn't have any right to come into Denver and dictate how we do things. They can go fuck themselves."
KiaraThere's
a moment where Kiara looks at him after he begins to make that threat
and it's honestly difficult to know what she makes of it - his
protectiveness of her; of the way it rankles him to consider the idea
she could do anything so startling it would invoke some requirement of
another Tradition to take her into custody. She doesn't need (or would
likely ever
ask) for his protection and he knows that.
Still
- there's something to the instinct about it, the sudden, furious
determination that sparks in his voice and in that wary look he casts
her that has the Verbena studying him for a long moment before she looks
away; a faint furrow etched between her brows.
A beat of
silence that gathers steam as they move toward the car and Kiara uncurls
her arm from his to tend to her hair; to push the heaviness of it over
her shoulder where the humidity was beginning to paste it to her skin.
She waits to answer until they're making their final approach to the car
Ian's rented; Kiara's arms sliding over her chest; her hip coming to
reside against the side of the car. Tiny drops of rain are landing on
her sunglasses where she's left them unattended in her hair; beading and
dripping down the reflective surfaces.
"No, they really
don't. But since when has that stopped them?" There's a sardonic wisp to
that, too. A deliberate barb that gleams in the brunette's eyes as she
studies him for a long moment then - "Hey," - draws closer and reaches
to loosen his grip on her suitcase. Gathering him into the circle of her
arms around his shoulders; her eyes following the path her fingers
track over his shoulders.
"None of that matters right now.
Richard, the Order, my running around after stray artifacts ... " She
smiles into a kiss, pressed against the edge of his jaw. "I don't care
about any of it right now," she murmurs. It's not the truth, of course.
He's seen the way concern etched itself into the pagan's features when
she's mentioned the quest for the crown; the potential danger it posed.
It's
an easy lie to swallow though, in the here and now, as her arms twine
around his neck and she plays with the fine hairs at the nape of his
neck. "The only thing that matters is that I missed you." She turns her
face and presses her mouth to the other side of his jaw and mirrors the
attention she'd paid the former. "And we have a whole
month to make up for."
The brunette's eyes shine. "I hope your stamina holds up."
IanHe
does know that. That she's capable, independent - that she's never been
someone he could (or should) try to stand in front of. In truth, that's
part of why he fell in love with her.
It doesn't make any of
it easier though - the feelings he gets when she tells him she had to
fight a dragon, or that a Hermetic might try to arrest her. There's
something about that fear that feels like old ghosts. Especially here,
in this city (where the ghosts are so fucking loud.)
They get
to the car and Kiara stops him, makes a sardonic comment about the Order
as she draws in close, reminding him why she's there. That she's missed
him. That they have weeks of lost time to make up for. She says none of
the rest matters right now, and he catches her eye with a suspicious
little tilt of his head even as a smile starts to form on his lips. He
left his jacket unzipped and there's a soft white t-shirt underneath.
Past that, his body is warm and firm and alive under her hands. He lets
his own hip lean against the car, surrendering to the contact. For a
moment his eyes fall shut.
The only indication she'll have
that he's about to do something is in this sudden, quick breath. Then
his hands are on her waist and he turns with this sudden gesture to
shove her back against the side of the car, lifting as he does so her
legs can get some purchase around his hips. Her sunglasses might fall,
but he's not thinking about that. For a few stuttered, electrified
seconds, he also isn't thinking about the people getting in and out of
their cars nearby, or the security cameras hanging from the ceiling. He
just rolls himself against her body and kisses her roughly on the side
of her throat, teeth scratching the delicate skin over her pulse.
He doesn't make any wry comments in response to her little taunt. Instead he just breaths, "
God I want to fuck you..." like maybe he's considering actually trying it...
He isn't lying. She can feel it readily enough, pressed together like they are.
But
there are people. That's the thing. And when he pushes her weight
against the car it shifts on its axle, giving this little creak of
protest. When he hears it, a man glances over from where he's pulling
luggage out of the trunk of his own car. There's a moment of amused
surprise when he catches sight of the two of them, and he gives a little
cough. Ian's eyes tick to his face just in time to see the guy toss him
a thumbs up gesture. Then he leans his forehead against Kiara's neck
and sighs like maybe he'd rather cut off his own hand than stop what
he's doing.
"We should get out of here before
I get us arrested."
Kiara
There's a moment where Kiara looks
at him after he begins to make that threat and it's honestly difficult
to know what she makes of it - his protectiveness of her; of the way it
rankles him to consider the idea she could do anything so startling it
would invoke some requirement of another Tradition to take her into
custody. She doesn't need (or would likely ever
ask) for his protection and he knows that.
Still
- there's something to the instinct about it, the sudden, furious
determination that sparks in his voice and in that wary look he casts
her that has the Verbena studying him for a long moment before she looks
away; a faint furrow etched between her brows.
A beat of
silence that gathers steam as they move toward the car and Kiara uncurls
her arm from his to tend to her hair; to push the heaviness of it over
her shoulder where the humidity was beginning to paste it to her skin.
She waits to answer until they're making their final approach to the car
Ian's rented; Kiara's arms sliding over her chest; her hip coming to
reside against the side of the car. Tiny drops of rain are landing on
her sunglasses where she's left them unattended in her hair; beading and
dripping down the reflective surfaces.
"No, they really
don't. But since when has that stopped them?" There's a sardonic wisp to
that, too. A deliberate barb that gleams in the brunette's eyes as she
studies him for a long moment then - "Hey," - draws closer and reaches
to loosen his grip on her suitcase. Gathering him into the circle of her
arms around his shoulders; her eyes following the path her fingers
track over his shoulders.
"None of that matters right now.
Richard, the Order, my running around after stray artifacts ... " She
smiles into a kiss, pressed against the edge of his jaw. "I don't care
about any of it right now," she murmurs. It's not the truth, of course.
He's seen the way concern etched itself into the pagan's features when
she's mentioned the quest for the crown; the potential danger it posed.
It's
an easy lie to swallow though, in the here and now, as her arms twine
around his neck and she plays with the fine hairs at the nape of his
neck. "The only thing that matters is that I missed you." She turns her
face and presses her mouth to the other side of his jaw and mirrors the
attention she'd paid the former. "And we have a whole
month to make up for."
The brunette's eyes shine. "I hope your stamina holds up."
Ian
He
does know that. That she's capable, independent - that she's never been
someone he could (or should) try to stand in front of. In truth, that's
part of why he fell in love with her.
It doesn't make any of
it easier though - the feelings he gets when she tells him she had to
fight a dragon, or that a Hermetic might try to arrest her. There's
something about that fear that feels like old ghosts. Especially here,
in this city (where the ghosts are so fucking loud.)
They get
to the car and Kiara stops him, makes a sardonic comment about the Order
as she draws in close, reminding him why she's there. That she's missed
him. That they have weeks of lost time to make up for. She says none of
the rest matters right now, and he catches her eye with a suspicious
little tilt of his head even as a smile starts to form on his lips. He
left his jacket unzipped and there's a soft white t-shirt underneath.
Past that, his body is warm and firm and alive under her hands. He lets
his own hip lean against the car, surrendering to the contact. For a
moment his eyes fall shut.
The only indication she'll have
that he's about to do something is in this sudden, quick breath. Then
his hands are on her waist and he turns with this sudden gesture to
shove her back against the side of the car, lifting as he does so her
legs can get some purchase around his hips. Her sunglasses might fall,
but he's not thinking about that. For a few stuttered, electrified
seconds, he also isn't thinking about the people getting in and out of
their cars nearby, or the security cameras hanging from the ceiling. He
just rolls himself against her body and kisses her roughly on the side
of her throat, teeth scratching the delicate skin over her pulse.
He doesn't make any wry comments in response to her little taunt. Instead he just breaths, "
God I want to fuck you..." like maybe he's considering actually trying it...
He isn't lying. She can feel it readily enough, pressed together like they are.
But
there are people. That's the thing. And when he pushes her weight
against the car it shifts on its axle, giving this little creak of
protest. When he hears it, a man glances over from where he's pulling
luggage out of the trunk of his own car. There's a moment of amused
surprise when he catches sight of the two of them, and he gives a little
cough. Ian's eyes tick to his face just in time to see the guy toss him
a thumbs up gesture. Then he leans his forehead against Kiara's neck
and sighs like maybe he'd rather cut off his own hand than stop what
he's doing.
"We should get out of here before I get us arrested."
[reposts!]
KiaraThey were both capable, independent souls in their own ways.
Neither
one of them required (or particularly enjoyed) the assistance of others
to solve their problems. There was a certain reckless stubbornness to
the Verbena's insistence on it at times, however. Her deep set
need to
handle situations in her own way, in her own time. A measure of
necessity was mixed in there too, of course. Kiara Woolfe had long ago
had her hand forced into adapting to the world she found herself mixed
up in.
You didn't evade the attention of the people she'd so far managed to by chance alone.
No,
there was a recklessness to this creature currently roughly delivered
back against the side of a car, but it was not altogether a bad thing.
To possess that liberation of spirit, to be capable of allowing the
moment to seize hold and drag you under; along. Ian lifts her and she
curls her legs around his waist with a
breath of startled laughter, pressing her body against his like a rather determined barnacle.
Her sunglasses clatter to the ground.
He
kisses her throat and her fingers sink in tight to his shoulders;
curling up under the folds of his clothing and lightly exploring,
stroking along the warmth of his skin before there's a polite
cough
from somewhere nearby and a sigh from her would be captor. The
brunette's body vibrates with repressed laughter as she cranes her face
back to glimpse their startled audience.
We should get out of here before I get us arrested
"I
don't know, we might have made his entire year if we'd kept going," she
murmurs against his lobe, nipping it gently with sharp little teeth and
letting her legs slide regretfully from around his hips; she shifts
past him, stooping as she does to collect her glasses. "But the other
dancers in your troupe might not be as understanding if you miss the
show because you were arrested for having sex in an airport parking
lot."
The Verbena's mouth curled as she leaned both arms on the roof of the car and set her sunglasses back in place.
Ian"I'm not
that
much of an exhibitionist," Ian murmurs his response with closed eyes as
he exhales against her shoulder. Her teeth are on his ear and her body
is
right there and the act of pulling away seems so impossibly
difficult. The truth is, he isn't an exhibitionist at all - though he's
been accused of it many times (and justifiably so.)
There are
ways in which he can be (like her) a little reckless. He's always been
prone to following his instincts. And if he'd ever been self-conscious
about his body, the last shreds of that disappeared back when he was
modeling.
Kiara slides away and Ian leans forward with folded
arms on the roof of the car, watching her with this borderline dejected
expression that, given the circumstances, may come off as somewhat
comical. When Kiara makes that comment about the other dancers, he lifts
an eyebrow knowingly. "Shannon already thinks I'm going to miss the
show. Emma was texting me about it before you got here. Apparently
everyone I know assumes that I think with my dick."
Says the guy currently leaning against a car trying to will his erection to go away.
He
presses his thumbs to the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a
moment, exhaling. Then he steps away from the car and moves to unlock
the trunk so Kiara can stash her luggage. The black Jetta is clean and
in good condition. All things considered, it's not the worst vehicle for
a three hour drive, though it doesn't have the soft leather seats or
the handling capacity of his Audi.
"If you need us to stop for food, let me know. But I was planning to grab dinner once we get into Madison."
Once
they're both settled into the car, Ian shuts the driver's side door and
reaches behind his seat for something he left on the floor. He comes up
with a small purple box tied with silk ribbon. The top of the box has
an embossed silver label that says:
Vosges. It looks like the
kind of box that might contain high-end chocolate, which, in fact, is
exactly what it is. He hands it across to Kiara with a subtle smile. "I
grabbed this over on Mag Mile this morning. If you don't like it, I can
give it to the other dancers. They'll eat anything."
KiaraThere's a particular way the brunette's thin brow
arches
as she slides into the car that speaks volumes on her thoughts when it
comes to the assumptions of Ian's fellow dancers. The edge of a smile
playing at the corners of her lips suggests she clearly finds some
aspect of it - the idea they'd be incapable of resisting each other long
enough to make his show perhaps - rather entertaining.
(They hadn't been entirely wrong, after all).
The
small purple box is greeted with faux suspicion; the Verbena's fine
little fingers unlacing the ribbon with deft handiwork and peeling the
lid back to peer inside it at the delicately arranged confections. "Are
you kidding? These are absolutely all mine. Thank you." She leans over
and kisses the edge of his mouth without lingering into the contact; as
much as she might have otherwise considered doing.
She settles
back against the seat. "We can have dinner once we get there, you can
show me around the city." It feels like it has intention, the soft
spoken way Kiara offers that, turning to take in the expanses of the
parking area as Ian pulls out and the car swings around. The Verbena's
fingers neatly framed around the small box in her lap. Less any
instruction and more - an invitation. A willingness to see the place
that she knew had history and threaded, deep root in his memory.
Her thumb strokes the slightly raised indentation in the box's cover, feeling the edges of the embossed lettering.
There's
a beat and then, with only the smallest of hesitations: "I got you
something, too. Nothing big or - " She turns to glance at him, her mouth
shifting a touch toward some subtle humor. " - worthy of being hung on
your wall but - it reminded me of you."
IanKiara
thanks him for the chocolates, kissing the edge of his mouth in this
way that's a little mindful of not lingering. Ian tilts his head into it
a little; slides forward in the seat like he means to chase her back to
her side of the car, but in the end he doesn't follow through on that
impulse. Instead he rolls his lower lip into his mouth and smiles.
They
pull out of the parking stall and he swings the car around toward the
exit, leaning over to grab the parking ticket from the space beneath the
dash. There's a small line to get out, so they're forced to idle for a
minute. When Kiara mentions she got him a gift as well, he tosses her a
curious look. "Oh?"
Truth is, the chocolates were more of a:
hey, I missed you
than a proper gift. Perhaps there's a part of him that would like to be
able to afford expensive paintings, but for now he'll have to settle
for smaller gestures. He doesn't tell Kiara that he's saving her real
present for Christmas.
They finally get to the front of the
line and Ian pays for the half-hour of time he spent on the lot, then he
rolls up the window and turns onto the main road.
Traffic in
the city isn't so bad at 3:15pm on a weekday as it might be during rush
hour or on the weekend, but it's still perilously close to Christmas and
there's enough cars on the roads to keep them frustratingly congested.
Ian seems to know his way around the roads, and there are points where
he takes them down a couple of less-frequented side streets in order to
bypass the main throng of traffic. They aren't going to get to see much
of Chicago today, but if Kiara looks out her window she'll be able to
take in the sight of Lake Michigan and some of the downtown high-rises.
They
don't drive past the neighborhood where Ian used to live. He did go
there briefly this morning: walked into the Asian market across the
street and looked around like he half-expected someone he knew to jump
out from behind the displays. That didn't actually happen though. The
only person he recognized was the girl working behind the counter.
(She'd been all of thirteen the last time he saw her. Now she's in
college.)
He's felt a bit off since then. Like pieces of his
life are colliding. Maybe that's why he didn't voice any disappointment
when he found out Kiara'd be arriving too late to show her around.
They'll be back in a few days though. Perhaps by then he'll feel
differently.
It takes too long (and way too many tolls) to get
on the highway, but finally they do get there. After that, the drive
goes much more smoothly. As they leave Chicago and head Northwest, the
landscape goes from urban to rural. Northern Illinois is not especially
picturesque. Not the way that Colorado is. Mostly this area is just flat
farmland and old industrial sites and tall, trailing power lines. At
some point Ian pulls off his jacket and tosses it in the back.
"There's
something I should probably tell you..." his voice trails off a bit as
he glances over at Kiara. "I didn't think to earlier. Naomi... the girl I
dated in high school? She lives in Madison. It's possible we might run
into her."
Kiara
Oh?
"Mmhm, it's
in my bag. You'll get it later." There had been a touch of the coy to
the way the Verbena offered that, her fingers reaching over to slide
through his hair and play, briefly, with the tiny hairs at the nape of
his neck in a fleeting caress before they drew back to settle against
her knee. In truth the gift had been less of anything relating to the
seasonal holiday and far more something that had caught the brunette's
eye in her recent travels. Kiara spoke of Christmas not by the Christian
idea of it after all, but by its older, far more ancient roots - it was
Yule to the dark eyed woman beside him, much as the other holiday
celebrations had their pagan namesakes to her.
She'd never
given him a gift, not quite like this and the expectation and awareness
of it - the strangely somber quality it brings to the pagan for a moment
- feels weighted and fragile-spun.
It's not until they're
well clear of Chicago and the landscape has begun to change before the
Verbena's sleepy gaze (her lids rising and falling in gradual
progression toward finally remaining closed), her head resting idly back
against the edge of the window that the mood seems to shift; that the
brunette's expression clears (even as she lets herself be lulled by the
motion of the car) and she stirs when he pulls his jacket off and throws
it over the seats; sitting upright and stretching her muscles out.
There's something I should probably tell you
- her eyes are suddenly focused on him, her weariness feels abandoned
in the sudden tension that arcs into her mouth; touches her brow.
Naomi, the girl he dated in high school lives in Madison. They might run into her.
Ian
Kiara
prepares herself for something ominous. Next to the dangers she's faced
recently, the prospect of an ex-girlfriend might seem almost laughably
mundane. She seems to take it in without much care, offering that neat
little shrug. Ian watches her with a focused expression. After a moment
he pulls his eyes away to glance at the road.
"I didn't for a long time. Last year I ran into her and we talked a little."
He's quiet for a long moment.
"I
think we both needed to be away from each other, after everything that
happened. I ended things with her really badly." Some shadow of guilt
passes over his eyes. Old and aching and private. The next glance he
affords Kiara is softer, more vulnerable. He reaches out to grasp her
wrist, pulling her left hand gently into his chest. She can feel his
heart beating there under the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "I'm glad
you're here," he says softly, dragging his thumb over her knuckles in a
slow caress.
Kiara
It's never easy to listen to talk of old wounds.
To
feel the reawakening of stale emotions and long neglected scars that
litter a memory - that can be traced and mapped as potently as if they
could be drawn with fingertips along a sliver of exposed skin. She's
prepared so many times, in her head, for this moment. For a thousand
just like it where the conversation steers itself with an unyielding
sort of destiny about it toward the same conclusion.
She's imagined what her expression would read as when it did.
How cool-eyed and level headed she'd be as it played out.
She's
known some of it already, the glimpses and mentions of his past, the
phantom girlfriend of the time. There's something different to the
reality, though, to sitting strapped to a passenger seat and speeding
headlong toward the point where the lines (where the past) intersects
the
now. To be fair to herself, Kiara had also known for all
her idle considerations of the moment that she wasn't built to contain
her feelings as anything but what they were. To feel the spark of
something violent and protective and fierce unfurl itself in her chest
and rake its talons over her heart at the idea of his past self and the
girl whose heart he might have broken.
(She knows he did, break Naomi's, somehow, the Verbena doesn't seem to doubt that as a truth)
I ended things with her really badly.
"I know a little of how that goes." An echo of distant grief, too.
Quiet and whole, a simple truth from her own long buried past.
He
reaches out for her and captures her hand, she turns it inward and
splays her fingers there against his chest and holds his eyes; a
familiar, edged little smile stealing across her mouth; sweetening her
dark eyes for a lingering beat. "I am too." She drops her focus to where
his thumb rubs over knuckles and breathes out carefully, glancing at
the road ahead where it stretched outward; on and on.
(miles to go, Ms Woolfe)
"We
traveled out to this little island, Moloka'i and rented a boat, took it
right out to this spot where Henry's map had pinpointed the first of
the missing stones to be located. We dove down and it was - " She's
quiet for a moment, the Verbena, then stirs and turns her face, smiling.
"Beautiful, down there. We ran into what we thought were -
are
- sharks, but they were different. Stronger. Smarter." She's reminded,
for a moment, of the creatures Ian had told her his blood made him one
of; the affinity for the tiger in him; part of him. "They called them
Rokea. The stone was in the keeping of a sea witch known as Ali'iaki
deep under the water, she had - magick, of a kind. She said her bargain
for the stone would be us finding her son and bringing him to her."
She shifts a little, the brunette. Her fingers returning to slide the chain around her neck.
"We
tracked him down, this man, Haoa and his grandson Jake, and convinced
them to come with us." There's a beat, some gleam that catches in
Kiara's eyes, a particular inflection in her voice. "She left, you know.
Chose her duty over him. Over her family. There was a lot of deep
mistrust and resentment between them. I still don't know if we fixed
anything, not long term but - they came. She agreed to part with the
stone and we brought it back." Another pause.
"I still don't
believe it should be used, assuming we can even find all the stones,
that crown. If I had the power to - I'd destroy it." A tick of her eyes
toward him, a tiny curl of humor. "How badly do you think they'd want to
arrest me, then?"
"Tell me what happened in Hawai'i?"
Ian[quietly moves that last line back up to Ian's post where it belongs. (no idea how it even got there.)]
IanMemories
can take on a certain power, the way they haunt and linger. Perhaps,
had Ian and Naomi been given a chance to let their relationship run its
course without the introduction of tragedy, those memories would not
possess the same kind of weight. Young love isn't meant to last, because
people need to grow - to collect experiences - before they can know who
they are. But natural evolution wasn't ever in the cards for them.
Perhaps
it would have been a fraught subject regardless. But Ian changes the
subject, and Kiara responds with the story of her time in Hawai'i. This
time she gives him more than just the pretty snapshots (horseback riding
and waterfalls and tantalizing stories of time spent alone on the
beach.) As she speaks, Ian releases his hold on her hand. His eyes drift
occasionally to the road, keeping just enough attention on the highway
so they aren't liable to crash if something unexpected occurs, but most
of his focus remains on her.
There's a suggestion of concerned
surprise when Kiara mentions the sharks: subtle inflections in the set
of his eyes when he looks at her. But whatever the specifics of that
encounter, it doesn't seem to have been anything she and Kalen couldn't
handle. Truth is, the whole thing sounds like something out of a fairy
tale. Dragons and sea witches and enchanted crowns. That things like
this could still exist are part of what makes their lives both dangerous
and inspiring.
He should be upset at the prospect of the
Order taking some kind of drastic measure against Kiara for what she's
been up to. And he
is - of course he is (worried about her,)
but right at that moment? Alone together and miles away from any known
threat? What he sees is her stubborn defiance. And that... just makes
him smile. Like he's remembering all over again why he missed her.
"Well if you're going to piss them off, may as well go all the way."
His hand drifts to settle on her knee, one finger tracing a slow circle just inside her leg.
"For what it's worth, I'm glad the sharks didn't eat you."
KiaraThis too, in a small way, is progress for them.
It
feels a far cry from the first mission the brunette had been tasked
with in the Umbra and the intentional way she'd sought to keep the
details from him. Then only extracted with confrontation on a sandy
shore-front when Kiara had no way to escape or distract him from hearing
the particular details that the Verbena had sworn she'd keep
concealed.
Details she'd shared with Samir over shots with
some small measure of self disgust. It had to be self inflicted damage,
really, the way the woman deliberately hid the worst parts of her life
from a man she claimed openly to care about.
But then - neither of them had ever claimed to be anything
but damaged, in their own ways. It was part of what had naturally drawn them together, the simple acceptance that they
were
flawed and there was no cure for the bruises their lives had left
lingering on their psyches. Impressions seared into flesh and bone;
pressed into their interactions with each other; with others.
(Perhaps
that
too, was a key to survival in their world. Embrace the scar tissue, it
would buffer the soul against the worst tumults yet to come).
Now
when he asks, she tells him. There are aspects she leaves out,
naturally. Sidebars and moments and conversations she and Kalen had
shared that don't find an easy place in the flow of the story she
recounts to him but the bones of it feel honest enough - laid out and
presented for consumption and when she cants that gleaming look of
defiance and sharp humor his way - his hand finds her knee and she
offers him a momentarily brighter smile.
Her eyes returning for a beat to the road.
"Well,
you know me," she murmurs, "I've never been one for doing things half
way." Her hand finds his on her knee and she idly runs the tips of her
fingers over his knuckles. "As weird as it might sound, I'm glad it gave
Kalen and I time to talk a little. I wasn't sure, when he found out
about us, how awkward it might be."
She throws him a look for a
moment, it's searching and keen. "Potential war mongering from the
Order aside, he seemed in a good place." She breathes out, once. A bare
little gust of laughter. "You know, for Kalen."
IanThere's a smile at that (because yes, Ian
does know
Kalen.) It feels a bit weighted, threaded through with whispers of
memory. But these memories, as complicated as they may be, are not the
same kind of heavy that talk of his more distant past dredges up.
"I
think Kalen does relationships the same way I do sex. Or... used to."
It's an odd revelation to come to like this, mid-conversation. The
realities of how much his habits have changed. "So I don't really know
what he thinks. If it matters to him. I suspect that even if it did, he
might not say anything. But he did seem alright when I talked to him the
other day."
Kiara's fingers trace over the details of his
hand. Ian glances over and slides his palm a little further up her
thigh. There isn't anything hurried or especially determined about it
(not the way he was back at the airport.) But she's there next to him
and now that he's touching her he doesn't especially want to stop. The
lazy circling of his fingers changes briefly to a figure-eight.
At
some point the landscape outside the car starts to change. They pass a
sign that indicates they've left Illinois and entered Wisconsin and the
most immediate difference will be the absence of those massive
power-lines, followed soon by a shift toward more picturesque vistas:
trees and rolling hills dotted with these postcard-charming farmhouses.
You'd think the difference wouldn't be that noticeable across state lines, but it is.
"When
we get into Madison, there's this gastro-pub I thought we could grab
dinner at. It's right by the capitol. Then we can check into the hotel. I
think after that I'll have to go get ready for the show, but at some
point... maybe tomorrow? We could maybe visit one of the chantries, if
you feel like mingling with the locals. The Cultists will probably have
some big winter party going."
KiaraIn truth it's been a long time since she's set foot into another Chantry.
Denver
had been her first true venture since events in New York and even then
it had been gradual, an invitation at first and then subsequently more
returns before Annie Pierce and her Cabal had resurfaced and the visits
had become far more frequent and slid (with surprising easiness) into a
pattern.
"Mm, I think he enjoyed the prospect of an
adventure." It's not entirely an answer on the subject of Kalen (or the
way Ian used to view sex versus relationships) but the conversation
steers toward Madison, as the landscape dotting the road outside
transforms; nature beginning to swarm and reclaim back morsels of
green-flecked hills and looming trees as they start to appear. It draws
the brunette's focus for a time (always does, when it came to nature and
her capacity to retake what was, by right, hers) even as he suggests
somewhere they could get dinner.
That they could could visit one of the Chantries. Mingle with the locals.
That,
more than anything, draws a response from the brunette. Pulls her eyes
from the roadside and back to his face; the edge of her mouth curving
up. "Trust the Cultists to have the lowdown on the best parties."
There's a twinge in there somewhere that speaks of affection, perhaps
mostly for Serafine and Dan, the inflection of fond recognition. Then:
"That sounds nice." She moves her hand, then. Slides it around the back
of his neck, his only warning the gleam in Kiara's dark eyes before she
cranes across the distance between their seats and presses a chaste, if
warm and suggestive, kiss to the underside of his jaw.
She's
back and safely ensconced in her own in the blink of an eye - but
resting back into the nook of the door and seat; her body half turned
toward him, watching with a small expression of satisfaction. There was,
occasionally, something entirely feline and capricious to her, Kiara,
when she offered gestures of physical affection. A sudden surfacing
before they receded.
"You're going to be great tonight." A half hooded tick of dark eyes over his profile. "We can celebrate afterwards."
IanTrust the Cultists to have the lowdown on the best parties.
Ian
lofts a brow at that, tossing Kiara a wry expression. He doesn't
mention that he suspects Naomi will be there. That it's possible another
man he spent a weekend with last year might also be there. Mostly
because he doesn't really want to think about them right now.
And after Kiara kisses him like that, he
isn't
thinking about them. The quickness of the movement surprises him a
little and he laughs as he lifts his chin to allow her better access.
Then she's back on her side of the car, leaving a lingering shadow of
warmth where her lips and her breath touched his skin. He looks at her
with his mouth slightly parted, contemplative and suddenly a little more
sharply focused than he was a moment ago.
"Which performance are you referring to?" he asks in a deliberately coy tone.
(She means the dance. But he can't avoid taking the bait.)
---
It
takes another hour or so before they arrive at their destination. Signs
for Madison start to appear about half an hour out, and eventually Ian
takes a turn that brings them off the highway and onto a pretty
residential street. The areas around the outskirts of the city are not
wholly impressive in their own right. Mostly it's the same sorts of
things one might expect from any mid-sized city in this part of the
country. There are houses and commercial properties. The street they're
on contains not one but two new-looking strip malls, the buildings
constructed of sandy-colored brick and boasting the kinds of stores one
would expect to find in an upper-middle-class neighborhood that's trying
to cater to both families with children and young professionals. In
between them lies a park and an elementary school.
(There are, in fact, a
lot of
parks in Madison. Much like Denver, whoever constructed the layout of
the city seems to have given a high priority to green spaces.)
Past
this neighborhood, they take a turn onto a main road that leads them
toward the heart of the city. Residences turn to more commercial
properties, then to towering academic buildings as they find themselves
driving past the University. UW-Madison's campus sprawls across a good
portion of the downtown area, with eclectic buildings that range from
endearingly dated to modern in their architecture (depending on how well
funded the department is.) The roads are busy and a little chaotic.
This part of town was built more for pedestrians than for cars. Despite
it being winter break, there are still a lot of students walking around.
The sidewalks are dominated by 20-somethings in hip winter gear:
waiting for buses, walking to and from buildings, spilling into warmly
lit coffee shops and dimly lit bars.
They drive past the more
bohemian area spilling off of State Street as they enter the Capital
Square - where the architecture gets a bit more upscale and urban. And
there - oh.
The capital building is beautiful. One of the
tallest in the country, and lit up with gleaming lights that make the
gold on the dome's statue shine. There's something else, too. Even in
the car as the drive by, Kiara can feel a whisper of it ghosting up the
back of her neck. Drawing her attention towards the city's heart like a
beacon.
It
resonates. Like hope and justice and idealism.
Ian glances over at her as they drive past, watching to see if she notices. "There's a node in there," he offers quietly.
They
don't actually stop on the square (because there isn't any parking
there,) but Ian finds a parking ramp not too far away and leaves the car
there. Getting out, he takes a moment to stretch the kinks out of his
arms and back and neck, rolling his head loosely from side to side. He
seems pretty glad to be done with the drive.
