alone!

witch

Of course he doesn't figure that she's a little weirded out that the door was open the whole time. Doesn't want to sleep with the door open. Doesn't want to go close it, naked and pink and so on. Send the boy. Even with his wet dick and semi: he's big and large and threatening and she's weirded out by the door standing open.

Fine with the windows sending a breeze over them. Fine with him laying behind her, arm around her. Asks her if she wants him to get her socks. She just huffs a laugh; he falls asleep. She watches the sky and the horizon through the window, listening to the loudly clacking clock and not-so-distant waves and the rustling of branches overhead and the steadiness of his animal breath behind her. Falls asleep to that slow music. Joins it.

--

She is still sleeping. Turned over in sleep, wanting his warmth as night fell and the wind coming off the water cooled. Tucked herself under his arm and into the sheets, burrowing a little. Maybe they tugged a blanket over themselves. Maybe she sneezed in her sleep. But sometime later she grew hot, rolled onto her back, leg draping over his. His palm against her inner thigh, holding her there. She's still breathing so steady, so slow, her head turned away from him, her hand by her face on that flat, scrunched-up pillow. As he moves, working his way away from her, she remains asleep. Sighs a little as his warm hand leaves her leg, as her leg shifts downward to the mattress. Rolls aside a bit, curling up.

It's the change in light that wakes her. She drowsily rises to wakefulness from the depths of sleep, opening her eyes very gradually. Notices how dark it is; sees the porch light. Sees Rafael against it. Sees the shadows and light move as he half-shuts the door and comes back to her. Looks at him, eyes heavy-lidded, as he sits down. As he touches her hand.

They close again as he touches her lips then, her cheek. Quivers a little, as though ticklish, as he traces her ear. Has said nothing. Has not sighed or yawned or stretched. Wakes so quietly, now. Keeps her eyes closed as he kisses her. Keeps her eyes closed as he asks if her she wants food.

Keeps her eyes closed as she nods, two or three times, face rubbing against the pillow.

wolfman

Wolf stays there a while. Half-sprawled at the edge of the bed. Half-atop her, though his arms are braced to either side of her. His brow to hers, her face still half against the pillow.

Kisses her again, this time on the corner of the mouth. Pushes up and gets up then. A moment later the little lamp on the little bedside table snaps on. Warm, low-wattage light fills the small room.

Girl's Sid and Nancy t-shirt lands atop her. Then her jeans. "Come on," wolf urges. "Food."

witch

Quiet, that. All of this. Ever since they went to sleep. No other room for her to go to, no other bed. Been a while since she's done that. She looks like she's going back to sleep, his shadow over her cutting in between any light from outside and her tender eyes. He can feel her breath steadying out again as he rests his brow near hers. Can feel her breath catch a little when he kisses her again, soft like that.

He throws clothes at her. Turns on the light. She groans a little, stretching, rolling onto her belly, making whining noises. But eventually she pushes herself up into a catlike stretch, ass up and spine elongated. Sheet still barely covers her rump. She groans again, small sound again, and then shakes herself out, crawling around the bed. She goes over to her backpack and sniffs a few items til she gets a clean pair of undies and a new bra. Gets out her little toiletry case, which is bright blue vinyl with a sugar skull on the side in white and green and pink and purple and yellow. Takes those to the bathroom and washes up: uses a washcloth for here and there. Brushes her teeth with the brush from the travel case, the little tube of toothpaste in there. Splashes water on her face and scrubs a bit. Sprays something on her hair and her face and her neck and even other spots from one of her many little unlabeled bottles. She smells like white tea, aloe, like jasmine when she comes back over, putting on her bra (pink dots on blue fabric) and wiggle-stepping into new panties (green and white striped). Tosses the shirt on over her head, works herself into the bright blue jeans. Gets out a pair of flip-flops -- she owns some now, she bought them at a convenience store on this very trip and they are black -- and steps into those.

She's ready. Wait, no: she pulls a tangled club of plastic black bracelets out of her backpack and puts those on her wrist. Then, tying her hair up, braiding it back behind her as they walk out to the car. She doesn't take a jacket. He's her jacket. Whether he knows it or not.

wolfman

Girl doesn't need a jacket anyway. Seventy-five degrees outside and humid. Wolf looks like he wasn't even going to put a shirt on but then girl goes and pretties herself up and wolf thinks maybe he should get presentable too.

Fuck it. Wolf doesn't put a shirt on. Wolf wears jeans and wolf goes commando. Wolf slips on flipflops, at least. His are navy blue. She precedes him out of the room and he closes the door, locks it as an afterthought. Catches up to her as she starts down that long dirt road toward town.

"Pretty far," he says. "Let's drive."

So they do. Get in the car, make a wide u-turn on that dirt road. Head back the way they came, their headlights the only light around for some time. Darkness feels different, though. This is a green land. This is a living, wakeful land, not caught in the slumber of winter. Soil's sandy by the ocean, but just a little inland the ground is rich. Maize, beans, chile, oranges growing under the open sky. Even in winter there's the smell of fecundity in the air.

They discover there's a bridge after all connecting the mainland to the peninsula. They take it across, and then they're in the little town of Tamiahua, a strip of land caught between two estuaries. Wolf parks off the main street. Right around dinnertime. Sleepy fishing village, but there are a couple restaurants, diners, general stores.

witch

No makeup. She's hungry. Stops to accessorize, though. Watches him out the corner of her eye as he pulls on his jeans, boxer-less. No shirt.

Wants to fuck him.

So she licks her lips, walking out, and she wasn't paying attention to where town was but he seems to know; they go to the car. She looks at him. Keeps thinking about his cock in his jeans, his body under her hands. Keeps thinking about him, and fucking him, and wonders why she woke up so damn... horny. Fuck's sake.

Her stomach growls.

They get to the little town. And she steps out of the car, stretching again, looking around. "Tacos?" she asks him.

wolfman

"Yeah, sure. Just want some fish or meat or something."

Girl keeps looking at him. Wolf's not a complete idiot. Wolf keeps looking at her too. Lick of her lips. Wind in her hair. Shit like that. She stretches, his arm goes around her. Hand over her hip. They start walking and there's something he thinks is a restaurant, though it's really just somebody's house with the front room remodeled and the front door propped open. Spanish sign on the eaves.

"You read any Spanish at all? Isn't it supposed to be similar to Portuguese?"

witch

Wolf can't smell her but he can see the way she looks at him. Feels her when he pulls her clothes, shirtless and lazy as he is. "You look --"

maybe she's thinking he looks like white trash, or poor, or homeless, or something. Doesn't end up saying any of that. Doesn't want to push on a bruise. Also really wants to tell him what he looks like to her. About as appealing as a seared and sizzling steak. About as good as... the exact kind of hot fuck they put themselves to sleep with.

She shrugs. "Sort of. Not really." There's a pause. "I can guess a bit."

wolfman

"Well," he ushers her ahead of him into the tiny restaurant, "just point me at the meat and fish."

Bare cement floors. Four wooden tables, each with four wooden chairs. All crowded together. Twenty-year-old Mexican pop coming out of little speakers nailed up in the corners. By day it'd probably look like a dump, probably is a dump, but there are strings of little lights strung up from corner to corner, wall to wall. Gives the interior an odd, charming sort of magic. The windows are open and the breeze is fresh. The food smells fresh, too, and good.

Smiling local girl, probably the proprietor's daughter, hands them photocopied menus and shows them to one of the tables. A family eating at another table, and one sunburnt old-timer at a third. Fourth table stands empty. They get a few curious glances; not because wolf is shirtless and not because girl is wearing a clacking stack of bracelets but because they're not from here, don't look like they're from here.

Might expect the wolf to be uneasy, hackles up to be amongst strangers. He's not, though. These strangers don't threaten him. They're not rich. They're not judging him. Just curious about him, and maybe a little wary. He can deal with that. Drops down in his seat, slaps the menu on the tabletop and looms over it, arms folded, frowning.

witch

She looks at her own menu a bit, then looks at him.

Scoots her chair over nearer, and reads over his shoulder. "Easier to read than speak," she tells him, without looking at him. "The pronunciation..." shrugs one shoulder. "Can't speak Spanish. Can read a little, if I guess."

Her arm slips around his bare bicep.

"You're turning me on so much," she murmurs, quieter, while he is finding beef on the menu.

wolfman

Two out of four chairs empty. Girl scoots closer still and now they're taking up maybe a fifth of the table. Wolf doesn't pull away from her though. Wolf doesn't really mind.

Girl leans into his arm. Wolf keeps brooding over the menu. Girl tells him something interesting and wolf doesn't look at her, but he smirks.

"Yeah? Coming from the girl that struts around in tiny skirts and big boots all the time, even when it's like ten degrees out. Which one's fish here?"

witch

Doesn't say much to that. Slides her hand out from his arm, though. And then gets up, and heads for the door, saying:

"Try miming it."

wolfman

[I HAVE THIS MANY EMPATHY DICE NOW!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

witch

[1. her mood is "You asshole. Fuck you very much."

2. her mood is also insulted re: her clothing and re: what she wears when it's cold and is sort of tied up in that one time she had to be rescued from the cold and asked him to not make fun of her so BETRAYALLL

3. kinda uncomfortable with telling him what she did and him snarking about her 'tiny skirts' but she doesn't have words for it

4. AND SINCE ONE OF THOSE WAS A NINE, SURE: also rejection, hence the *fwip-zoom* to gtfo.]

wolfman

Wolf's stunned for a minute.

Then he gets up, so fast his chair goes grinding back a couple extra inches. Other diners look up. Look scared. Maybe he's going to tear someone's head off, smack that girl through a wall -- but no. Just goes after her, catching up just outside.

"Devon. Devon. Wait. Fuck, didn't mean that in a bad way."

witch

She walks, arms folded tight over her middle, feet all but stomping. In flip flops. "Dick," she mutters, and it's only half to him.

wolfman

So he follows. So their table at the little restaurant is abandoned and the proprietors are wondering what the fuck, are thinking how rude. Wolf keeps pace with the girl, shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Just meant you turn me on too. Why the hell are you mad?"

witch

Her feet stop abruptly, kicking up a bit of dust. She holds her body so tight, shoulders drawn inward, arms crossed. It's not because it's cold. It is not cold. Has to keep herself held like that, tight and sharp, to stop from trembling. It's all so she can glare at him for a few seconds.

Wouldn't feel safe glaring at him, otherwise.

"Funny way of saying it."

wolfman

Wolf stops too. Almost simultaneous but not quite. Just a beat after, so he's a little farther ahead, so he turns to face her.

Close by. Close, until he sees how tight she holds herself. Then he takes a halfstep back. Gives her that much more room.

"What the fuck did I say wrong? Meant the shit you wear turns me on. Meant serves you right for being turned on, because you turn me on too. Meant it as a joke. Hell was so bad about that?"

witch

Stares at him. Is half-scowling. Can't quite relax. Just shakes her head after a few seconds. "Forget it," she mutters, looking away. Swallows. And starts walking again, head down.

wolfman

Couple seconds go by. Then he follows. She hears it, the soft scuff of his flipflops. Bought them same time as her, at the same cheap convenience shop. Two of them traveling by road like penniless twenty-somethings. Would never dream of the fortune he's inherited.

Wolf just walks with her a while this time. Doesn't say much. They leave that little restaurant behind. They leave the tiny town center behind, and now it's all residential. Barely any streetlights. Dim, the only light coming from people's houses.

"Wasn't rejecting you again," he tries again, a little later. "Was just playing, is all. Don't be mad. Okay?"

witch

Devon presses the heel of her hand against her eye when he starts following her. She wasn't inviting him to walk with her. She was walking away. And speeds up a touch, since it's easier right now than telling him to just leave her alone. She doesn't trust her throat.

Fucker keeps walking and she is about to lose her shit, throat be damned, when he tells her he wasn't rejecting her and just playing. He'll hear her in the dark, hear the sniff.

"Just leave me alone, Rafael," she says, roughly, still walking. Quickly.

wolfman

So he slows. So he stops. Saying nothing now, watching her go. She's a shadow in the darkness soon enough. A sound of receding footsteps for a little longer; then nothing.

--

Wolf ends up going back to the restaurant. Wolf ends up ordering by drawing on the menu, for fuck's sake. Wolf gets food to go, ignores the stares. Carries styrofoam containers in thin plastic bags, puts them in the car. Drives through town and over the bridge.

Down the dirt road.

Out to the cabin.

--

Girl hears the car engine coming up behind her. Sees the headlights, pale in the darkness, lighting up the trees. Incandescing the wispy dry grass at the side of the road. Tires crunching dirt, and then slowing next to her. Windows rolled down.

Wolf looking at her from the driver's seat. Pile of food boxes on the passenger's. He starts leaning across, opening the door for her.

witch

He lets her keep walking. And she does, just as quick, off into the darkness in the direction that they came, back toward the cabin.

--

It's dark, except for the moon. It's warm and humid, but her hair has that oil she makes in it, it doesn't frizz on her. She cries a little, forcefully repressing it, wiping her eyes with her hands. A mile, even two, takes time when you're walking. Not enough, really.

She's not quite at the cabin, but she's quite some distance away from town, when the car drives past. Wasn't the only one to pass, and at least one honked at her, but this one slows. Devon tenses. She presses her nails into her palm. She takes a sharp breath as the car pulls up slow, windows roll down, and she edges away.

Looks at her, leaning over, to pop the door.

Devon makes a noise. It's a strangled, frustrated, angry sound. A second later she's bent over, grabbing something, and then chucking that something, that rock, at the side of the car. "Alone!" she shouts at him, repeats, when the stone has dinged off the car door, taken a chip out of the paint. And whips around, walking onward.

wolfman

Rock goes flying. Wolf throws a hand up, reflexive, but rock hits the car, dents it. Flash of anger in the wolf's eyes. He throws himself back into the driver's seat. Floors it.

Tires churn up dust. Long trail of it all the way out to the cabin.

--

Car's parked out front when girl gets back to the cabin. Wolf's not there, though. She wanted to be alone. Key's in the lock so she can get in; styrofoam box of food on the bedside table. Tacos.

witch

Dust kicks up and she averts her face, grit on her cheeks. After coughing, which feels and sounds more like choking on a sob, Devon lowers her head and wraps her arms around herself and just keeps walking.

Not to the cabin. He's going back to the cabin. She's passing it by, seeing the car only, but doesn't get close enough to see the key in the door. She just keeps walking, her feet sore from the stupid flip-flops and the mile and a half of walking. There is dust on her face and there are a couple of tracks in that dust.

Devon walks down the road a little longer, though she is gnawingly hungry and thinks she has a granola bar in her backpack, parched of thirst and knows there's a bottle of water somewhere. She is tempted. She is still tired and she feels small and weak and chaotic inside, so she is tempted: finally a shower, finally some food, and then some rest. She keeps walking anyway, all the way to the beach. Takes off her flip-flops, letting the night-cooled sand chill her worn out feet, sink between her sore toes.

Nearly deserted down here.

She walks toward the sea.

wolfman

Wolf's on the beach too. Only so many places to go on this long, narrow strip of land.

Wolf's on the beach but a few hundred feet north. Sits up high on the strand, out of reach of the waves, in the shadow of trees. Eating his damn dinner. Sees the girl and stills a little, straightens a little. Girl might see him too if she looks. Might not.

Wolf watches, anyway.

witch

Can't see him from here. Can't smell him, especially not with her puny human nose. Can't sense him, his rage, not when he isn't stalking her, hunting her somehow. This is why humankind made fire and guns, made shelter and engines of war: smart as they are, they never would have dominated the planet with their weak senses and clawless hands, fangless mouths. No natural camouflage. No natural armor. Fragile, fleshy things, who in their vast intelligence and meager wisdom conquer the moon with rockets, poison the seas with oil, burn the land with bombs that can disintegrate life instantly.

She is not human, though. She has that fierce and blinding intelligence, but she has an animal and ancient wisdom in her blood and bones to temper it. She has loyalty to something greater than profit, greater than desire, greater even than her own survival. She is part of something else, dark and inhuman, passionate and monstrous.

Devon goes down to the water, her trudging steps picking up the pace the closer she gets. She walks down the beach a bit, almost jogging now, til she finds some spot that suits her. Tosses down her sandals and strips her shirt off, her jeans. Quick as a whistle, she loses that polka-dotted bra, those striped knickers. All in a pile on the sand, then. Drops her bracelets atop them, and the tie she pulls from her braided hair. It comes unraveled as she runs then, light-footed, into the Gulf of Mexico. Descends into the water until it's hip-deep, waist-deep, and then vanishes into it, diving forward into the saltwater.

wolfman

Not the first time wolf's seen girl slip into the water.

First time was in a bathtub, and she was so sleepy. Thought maybe she was drowning, actually; became taut and silent until she reemerged. Never said a word about that later, though maybe she knew.

This time he doesn't think she's drowning. Doesn't think she's suicidal. Watches her strip naked and of course it arouses it; but it makes him feel strangely guilty too. Like an unwanted spy. Hunter watching Artemis just to be turned to stone, or maybe he's mixing his myths up.

Makes him feel oddly distanced from her too. Left behind, wistful, as girl sheds her clothes like a selkie sheds her skin. Dives into the sun-warm water like she belongs there.

--

Waves wash the shore.

Wolf finishes his dinner.

--

Gets up, box in hand. Doesn't want it to blow away in the wind, wash away in the surf. Choke some actual seal somewhere. Standing there at the edge of the sea when girl comes back to shore, brooding and dark, frowning.

"Food for you at the cabin," he tells her. "I'll sleep out in the car later."

witch

She swims; he eats. She goes out far but not so far he can't see her, a dark shape rising under moonlight. Might lose her in the water if there were no moon at all.

For her part, Devon doesn't know about him. The water is sun-warmed but colder than it would be in any other season. Warmer than it would be farther north. Doesn't really matter; this isn't about comfort. And it is. Feels different than a pool, the water unique. She wonders how it can be so different from all the other seas when they're all connected, when they're all part of the same. Thinks on this, and on the endless land beneath the water that connects all the land above the water, and how different those lands are. Comes up for air and cries tears that feel hot on her cheeks, treading water.

She's so fucking hungry, and she feels nameless heartbreak and faceless dread. Her stomach hurts. She shivers. And she dives down again, hard as she can, as though she might touch bottom like in a swimming pool, but already she's far past the point where her legs could stretch down and touch earth.

Wonders, as her body inevitably rises up to surface again, if the oceans just get deeper every year with erosion or pressure or -- she realizes she was never that good at earth sciences. Plants she knows a lot about, but not the science part. Wonders, too, if this buoyancy that she is grateful for and curses at the same time is Gaia wrapping hands around her. Or maybe Luna, mistress to these waves, playing a game with her. Luna's fickle, though: you might bob safely back to air. You might drown.

Devon pushes wet, salty hair from her face. She trembles a little, and begins to swim back.

Sees someone standing there, and arrests her movement, straightening up, halting. Freezing. Recognizes him, though. Just the shape of him. The stillness he holds himself with, entirely animal, strangely calm despite the rage he has in him. She starts swimming again, and then she starts walking, and rising, and coming towards him.

Has her arms wrapped around herself, but not to cover her body. Shoulders are hunched. She's cold now, after nightfall, soaked through. She comes to stand in front of him, looking up at him, and starts crying. Haltingly, sniffing these rapid little sniffs. Jesus, it's pitiful. She cries. And stands there dripping. And says:

"I'm sorry I threw a rock at you."

wolfman

Wolf stares at her for a beat. Awkward as fuck, uncomfortable in his skin for all the strength of his body.

Then he drops the styrofoam container. Fuck the seals. He reaches out, envelops her in one powerful grab. Pulls her against his body, nevermind that she's soaked through and salty-cold. Wraps her in his arms and his warmth.

He's her jacket. Guess he knows it after all.

"You've got bad aim anyway," wolf mutters. Some attempt at a joke, lame at best. "Sorry I made you feel unwanted."

witch

"Was aiming for the car," she snaps, though the words don't snap like a rubber band, sting like a slap. Hard to make them, when she's crying, and when it's muffled against his torso.

"You didn't," Devon says, shuddering out a sigh with the words, pushing into his embrace because, yes, she's chilly now, and she's sad and hungry and embarrassed. "I'm just... "

Whatever she's just. She sniffs. And she coughs a little. And she takes a deep breath. "Don't sleep in the car."

wolfman

"Come on."

Sometimes there are little gaps in their conversation. Places where more words could fit. Don't sleep in the car.

...

Come on.

Could be something else there. Okay. I won't. I didn't want to anyway. I wanted to sleep near you. Other words, ghosts of themselves; nonexistent. Nothing but empty spaces where they could have lived.

Wolf leans down to pick up his discarded box while she picks up her clothes. Moon's down to a sliver, but night's so dark, countryside is so dark that it's enough to silver the sea-strand. Wolf waits for her to put her clothes on, sand on her feet and salt on her skin. Puts his arm around her as they walk up the beach, from the compacted wet sand to the shifting dry sand, from there to the straggly beach-grasses and the terra firma that supports their little cabin.