Another day of driving. Devon sleeps for a good portion, her boots kicked off and her arms wrapped around a pillow. She doesn't talk in her sleep now. She doesn't toss and turn fitfully; she sleeps heavily, the way one does when they've been drained.
But when the car pulls to a stop, sliding up beside a pump at a gas station, she stirs. She lifts her head blearily, but Rafael is already out of the Civic. Devon gets out while the tank is getting refilled. She stretches. She yawns. She goes inside and gets some cold water and some caffeine and gummy strawberries, comes out with water for him, sharing her candy, giving him whatever he may have asked for.
She makes a halfhearted attempt to offer to drive, but this time she doesn't trick him or press it. The truth is, she's a little wary now. She doesn't want to wear herself out if she doesn't need to. Rafael's energy comes from a well that seems unfathomably deep at times. Rafael's energy is renewed by danger, by threat -- Devon's can only be drained further. She doesn't say it. She just doesn't argue with him much when he says he's fine to keep driving them to Milwaukee.
So back to the passenger seat she goes, DJing through her phone, telling him more about Ursula: yes, that's her real name. She's a couple of years younger than Devon. Before she dropped out of college she was studying film. They haven't talked much about why she dropped out, but Devon thinks she just wasn't getting what she wanted out of the program, or something. She has a boyfriend whose name is Conrad, who apparently knows that Ursula is a witch and is okay with it, but Devon doesn't know if that means he believes, or if he knows the full extent of what Ursula can do.
"We haven't talked much about him, really," Devon says. "Ursula says he's great, though. Super supportive, all that." She shrugs.
They drive.
--
In due time, in the hours between Omaha and Milwaukee, they get off the interstates and freeways and into regular roads. Devon texts Ursula, and announces:
"Oh, she's actually at Conrad's right now." Devon changes the GPS settings, and the car announces their turn-by-turn, closer to the lake... closer... basically on the lake now. They pull up to one of the tallest buildings in the area, right across from a park and with an unbroken view of the lake. Devon raises her eyebrows, then spots a curbside parking spot for them to snag.
RafaelMilwaukee is a small city, but like so many other small cities in the spillover watershed of their huge, overcrowded cousins, it is growing. There's construction everywhere -- contractors and developers alike taking advantage of the too-short summer. Even with the road closures and backups traffic isn't much of a problem. It takes them twenty minutes to get downtown from the outskirts. It takes only a little longer to navigate their way to Prospect Avenue, where apartments and condominiums line up for a view of the lake.
The street is one-way, pleasant, and tree-lined. Buildings of all ages march along the avenue. The oldest are low, four or five stories at most, ivy-covered, brick and stone. 'Vintage' would be the polite term. Next are the drab midcentury buildings with their smallish windows and their parquet floors, stretching up ten or twelve stories. The newest, all glass and concrete, manage to soar twenty or so stories above ground. Conrad lives in one of those.
Street parking is relatively plentiful. There's a cafe on the corner, a brand-new Whole Foods down the street. Wolf and his girl getting out of a new Civic don't look out of place at all, even with their Colorado plates. Plenty of new-in-towns here.
Wolf goes around back to open the hatch. "We bringing anything up?"
DevonDevon has noticed the changes around her. She grew up in two of the oldest cities of her two countries; she sees the smaller buildings, the older roads, next to these new towers. Now she is standing outside of her car, staring up at the curved edge of Conrad's building. Her eyes don't blink, but it isn't awe. She just stands there, looking upward, standing quite still.
When Rafael speaks she blinks, coming out of some sort of reverie. She looks at him, shakes her head. "Still think we should stay in that hotel near Ursula's," she mentions. Maybe they have a reservation; she can't remember. She glances upward again, then shoulders the leather bag her boyfriend gave her once upon a time.
She smiles at him, reaching for his hand before they cross the street. She takes her phone out with her other hand, to text Ursula that they're downstairs.
RafaelHis grunt means assent. He shuts the hatch again -- hard, but not because he's angry. Just heavyhanded. That heavy hand of his takes hers as they cross the street. He's actually wearing a buttondown shirt today, charcoal grey and shortsleeved, cut sleekly. Looks good in it, athletic and modern. Maybe he doesn't want the first witch friend girl has to think he's some sort of bargain-basement axe murderer. Maybe he prefers to look like a well-dressed axe murderer.
Anyway. They cross the street. He keeps holding her hand on the other side, walking with her up the steps to the building lobby. There's a doorman; a reception desk. They are asked to provide their names, and Conrad is called on their behalf.
While they wait, wolf mutters in girl's ear: "All witches have rich boyfriends now or something?"
DevonThat actually makes her laugh. She huffs it out, gaspingly, her face breaking into a bright grin. God, but she's radiant sometimes. She squeezes his hand.
"Last year the hot witch accessories were all selenite spheres and giant hunks of citrine. Now it's rich boyfriends." She flicks those bright, saturated eyes of hers up at him, her mouth pursed in an impish little smile. "We started a trend."
Reception hangs up and ushers them in, even hits the right floor for them: not the penthouse. So there's that. Conrad only warrants the 17th floor, apparently. Up they go, and Devon still doesn't let go of Rafael's hand. Maybe she's nervous about meeting Ursula. Anyone would be, meeting their internet friend in person for the first time. And of course she would be, meeting her first witch friend in this century for the first time.
And maybe that's all it is.
--
The doors spring open and they don't have to go hunting for Conrad's condo, because when they step off the elevator, there's a young woman and a young man waiting for them. Ursula is recognizable from the video, though she's dressed in normal, casual clothes instead of some flowy Victorian dress. Well, she's half normal: she looks a bit like a mermaid who grew legs and went to Coachella: her hair is loose and unbridled and shiny, and she's wearing white cutoffs and a flowy off-the-shoulder top and she's taller than Devon by several inches. Between her rather ample breasts is a large piece of raw amethyst, wrapped in wire and hanging around her neck from a silver chain. She has lots of rings, the way Devon has lots of bracelets. Her expression is one of utter delight when she sees them, and she looks like she wants to throw her arms around Devon but restrains herself. She does not restrain herself from
"Oh my god you're here! You're real!" and has her hands in little fists, shaking them up by her shoulders because she is trying so hard not to hug.
Conrad is as tall as Rafael, but something about him gives off the impression of even greater height. He's much more slender, his shoulders not as broad but his musculature appearing just as defined: he's in a plain white t-shirt that makes one think yes, of course plain white t-shirts can and should cost three hundred dollars, if they look that good on someone. His jeans look worn and a bit frayed, and the same is true: yes, of course jeans can and should cost five hundred dollars, especially if they are a bit frayed. His hair is longish but not overly so, not shaggy or unkempt, and is a color that must be referred to as 'chestnut'; somehow nothing else seems to suit. His eyes are a green as vivid as Devon's are blue. He has a disarming, somewhat self-deprecating smile, and runs his fingers through his hair a bit sheepishly.
"I'm underdressed," he says, laughing a bit. "I have to beg your pardon for meeting you like this."
They aren't even wearing shoes.
"It's my fault," Ursula laughs, dancing around a bit. "I was just so excited to see you. Come on! Come in! We were just going to open some wine and watch the sunset."
"It's not for hours, but we have plenty of wine to get us through til then," Conrad adds, with a wink.
RafaelSomehow, wolf wasn't expecting to be greeted the moment they stepped off the elevator. Hardly a social butterfly to begin with, the sudden encounter is enough to set him on his heels.
Doesn't help either that Conrad's so fucking ... rich. Even if he's only on the 17th floor, something about him smacks of money and easy privilege. The shirt, the jeans, the haircut, even the charming sheepishness. Wolf already dislikes him, which is unfair: he could be a great guy. He probably is. Not his fault that he's apparently rolling in it. Not his fault he reminds wolf of that half-brother he's never met, who is apparently the epitome of all that is Silver Fang.
Not his fault that the weirdness from the night before, and the warning in the cards, is still lingering in the back of the wolf's mind.
He musters though. Does it for girl's sake if nothing else. And Ursula seems nice enough. Even the cards think so. He comes off the elevator and frowns at Conrad's wink, then directs his attention back to Ursula.
"I'm Rafael," he says.
Devon"I know!" Ursula says gleefully, like she just can't stand it. "This is Conrad," which is probably obvious. Also obvious is her affection for him: the way her hand touches his shoulder when she says his name, slides off gently, a caress that is anything but idle. Conrad just smiles at her, all warmth and fondness. Still: he has a bit more restraint than she does. He nods his head down the hall to indicate which way they're going. Neither Ursula nor Conrad worry overmuch about the pleasantries of introductions. Everyone knows who everyone is, more or less, just from hearsay.
Devon glances at Rafael as they follow the happy couple towards Conrad's place, but it's hard to read. Normally she might roll her eyes, or frown at him for frowning at friendliness, or... who knows what. But she seems oddly distracted. She glances at him, but then they're there, at the door to Conrad's condo, and he's opening it and welcoming them in, showing them around: the bathroom is down that hall and to your left, make yourself at home, do you prefer white or red, all that. And really: Rafael has to respond now, because Devon is slipping her hand from his, following Ursula to go look at the view. Rafael can vaguely hear Ursula ask if she can hug her, hear Devon's gentle laugh, how she says sure, and of course he can see the taller but younger woman wrap her up in a hug that is, of course, somewhat bear-like.
Conrad is frowning at wine bottle labels, and Rafael is stuck with him.
RafaelWhite or red. Wolf finds himself wishing he'd spent more time in his own goddamn cellar. Maybe actually tried tasting different wines, figuring out what was good and what wasn't. Now he's stuck with this glorious specimen who can probably taste the notes of black cherry and woodsmoke in his wine, who wants to know if he wants white or red.
"Red," he decides. And then points at random. "That'll be fine."
Devon"Perfect," Conrad says, pushing the white he had away, putting it back in the mini-fridge (no: wine cooler) under his counter. The red he decides to open is so rich that it's nearly black, the scent filling the air as he takes the cork out. Everything he does has a grace to it, a softness that makes it hard to see the strength underneath. But strength there is: visible through the fabric of the shirt on his back, in the line of his jaw, even the steadiness of his eyes.
He selects the glasses carefully, taking out four large-bowled pieces of stemware to pour into.
"So..." he says, feigning awkwardness -- and it is feigned, even Rafael can tell that this man is never awkward in social settings, or perhaps any setting -- "how long have you and Devon been seeing one another?"
RafaelIt's not that the wolf means to be such a poorly socialized grump. It's not that he means to spoil parties for his girlfriend, make it impossible for them to go out, enjoy gatherings, Have Nice Things (tm). Just doesn't like company much. Prefers to go it alone. His pack is a minor asterisk on the end of that statement. Girl's a major one, the exception that makes the rule. And of course he's happy for her, having a new friend, a fellow witch in this century.
Can't seem to help disliking this goddamn interaction, though. Can't seem to help resenting this guy and his sleekness, his sophistication, that charmingly-awkward schtick of his.
He's frowning again. No, now it's a scowl. He turns toward the window and pretends to admire the view because even he knows it's really fucking rude to be such a dick to someone who's invited you into his very nice home to drink very nice wine and watch a presumably very nice sunset.
"A while," he says, monosyllabic. And then, a great effort: "You?"
Devon"Just shy of six months," sayeth Conrad, sliding a glass of wine to Rafael while he cradles his own, warming the goblet -- no, just a wineglass, people don't drink from goblets anymore -- in his palm. His eyes skim to Devon and Ursula, who are now sitting on a couch, talking like old friends.
He looks back to Rafael. "What do you think of... this 'witchcraft' thing?"
RafaelHe has to turn back to take the wine he requested. Has no idea if they've just uncorked a two hundred dollar bottle or three-buck-chuck. Takes a sip.
Silence for a moment. He stares at the wine, thinking.
Then he just shrugs.
DevonConrad raises his eyebrows. "Not much of a talker, are you?" he says, but it's rhetorical. He takes a sip of his wine. "That's all right." He says this next conspiratorially: "Ursula will talk enough for all four of us and then some."
There's no wink this time. He just picks up the two other glasses, holding all three level like it's nothing because of fucking course he does, and strolls over to the couch, handing Ursula and Devon their glasses of wine. If Rafael hasn't already followed, Conrad tells him -- as he sinks into an armchair -- "Come on over, Rafael! We can play parlor games!"
This makes Ursula laugh. It makes Devon laugh too, sort of... awkwardly, but it's there. She sips her wine, looking over the rim at Rafael.
RafaelAfter Conrad picks up the glasses, before he walks out of the kitchen --
"What do you think of it?"
Wolf's looking at the other now. There's something direct and forceful there, a stare unyielding and stubborn.
DevonThat makes Conrad pause. He stands there, holding three glasses of wine, and turns thoughtful a moment. He doesn't seem bothered by the way Rafael is staring at him; that's unusual. Few people seem so at ease with him, even other wolves. Even kinfolk. Conrad is neither wolf nor kin; that air of kingliness around him does not smell like the blood of any of the tribes. There's nothing wolflike about him. All the same: being stared at, scowled at by a full moon of Gaia does not seem to unsettle him the way it normally would.
Should.
"Well... I believe in it, I suppose. There are things I have seen Ursula do that shouldn't be possible, according to the laws of physics." He sisps his wine, meeting Rafael's eyes, green to green. "Maybe I'm just lovestruck, or want to believe in magic. But... she's very special. Filled with light. A sort of dreamy, innocent light."
He huffs a laugh. "I sound like a fool. Suffice it to say: Ursula believes in magic with all her heart. And I believe in her."
Rafael[percep+emp: IS THAT THE TRUTH?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
Devon[It's true. It's not the whole truth; he's choosing his words carefully. The closest things to lies he says are the following: maybe I'm just lovestruck (he isn't), I sound like a fool (he doesn't think so), and I believe in her (it's not Ursula he believes in, not in the way most people would mean it).]
RafaelWolf takes a step closer. Leans in.
"Something about you is off," he says. "I don't like it."
And then he brushes past. Gets to the living room, puts his glass down on the coffee table.
"Let's go check in, Devon. Then you and Ursula can have some time to talk. By yourselves."
DevonThis startles Conrad, but the way he handles it is damnably smooth: a raised eyebrow. A mild shrug, which communicates the phrase as you like it without him having to say a word. He doesn't say a word to Rafael after that.
He picks up the the two other glasses, holding all three level like it's nothing because of fucking course he does. He strolls around the kitchen island where he and Rafael were talking and heads into the living room, more or less at pace with Rafael. He is in the midst of handing the girls their glasses of wine to watch the aforementioned sunset when Rafael tells Devon they should go check in.
She is in the midst of taking her glass of wine when she looks at him like he has grown a second head.
"We... were," she says, stammering a bit. Her brow wrinkles. "We just got here, babe," she says quietly, unsure of how to push back because she's baffled, at the moment. Maybe even a little hurt. She knows something is up with him, but she can't react the way she would if they were alone. She glances at Ursula, who looks taken aback but not nearly as much as Devon.
"Oh, stay," Ursula pleads, sitting cross-legged on the couch, cupping her glass with both palms. "It's totally fine."
RafaelEven for the wolf, this counts as a monumentally awkward encounter. He can feel the weight of the eyes on him. Casts about for a moment to find some diplomatic way out of this, then gives up.
"It's not you," he says to Ursula. "I want you two to talk. But not here. And not with him hanging around."
DevonThe mood in the room, already shifting, changes abruptly. Ursula has no idea what to say. She's staring at Rafael for about three seconds before she looks at Devon. Conrad is sipping his wine, not taking his eyes off of Rafael. Devon sets down her glass. She doesn't say in some faux-polite suburbanite tone of voice: Can I talk to you?
No. She stands up, her eyes holding onto Rafael's, and then walks out of the apartment. If he doesn't know he's supposed to follow, well.
It's not like anyone would accuse him of being socially astute right about now, anyway.
RafaelDoesn't really know he's supposed to follow. Just thinks she's pissed off, maybe. Leaving, maybe. Which is a good thing, because he thinks Conrad is a weird motherfucker. But also a bad thing, because he doesn't want to have ruined this for her. Not when she's been looking so long. Not when she was so happy to have found Ursula.
Wolf grimaces a little. Looks right at Ursula again. "Sorry," he says. And again, "It's not you."
Then he follows girl out.
DevonDevon steps outside. She holds the door for Rafael, then peers inside and tells Ursula: "I'll be right back. I'm... sorry." Then she closes the door behind them, stands in front of it with Rafael, and cross her arms over her chest.
"What," she says, her voice restrained to try and keep it quiet, "the fuck."
RafaelHe keeps walking. Goes halfway down the hall, until there's no way anyone inside could hear them, then turns to face her.
"He's fucking weird." It's just above a whisper. "Pretending to be some awkward nice-guy when he's a ... fucking tower of self esteem. Wanted to know how long we'd been together. Wanted to know what I thought about witchcraft. I asked him what he thought and he trotted out some shit about how in love with Ursula he is. Then he goes on about how she's special and 'filled with dreamy innocent light'. Who the fuck says that?"
DevonRafael keeps walking. Devon does not follow him. When he looks at her again, she hasn't moved, her arms haven't moved, and she only looks more furious than before.
Her mouth slowly opens as he describes the things that made him... act like that.
"So maybe he's a fucking douchebag," she says, whispering it, but still managing to sound like she's throwing up her hands. "Maybe he was making small talk. Maybe he thinks you're a towering inferno of creepy and weird, too," and her voice has started to rise so she tamps it back down. It makes her almost hiss, but not with rage. Frustration, certainly. But mostly she's just shocked. Just upset. Just... hurt. There it is again.
Devon's nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath. She forcibly unfolds her arms, resting her hands at her side, but it's hard for her to not make fists. "I am sorry that you don't like her boyfriend," she says, as quietly as she can while still being audible to her own boyfriend, "but we didn't drive all this way for you to be friends with him."
A year ago, or two, now is when she would have marched back inside after telling him to fuck off if he wants to. But not now. Not after everything. She stands there, something raw in her eyes, giving him at least a chance to answer her.
RafaelHe's frustrated too. Wants to throw up his hands too. Wants to punch through a wall. Wants to throw a certain someone off his own balcony. He settles for raising his hands to his head, clawing his fingers back through his hair.
"It's not that," he insists. "It's not just that I don't like him. Or that he's weird. I want you to be friends with Ursula. I want you to have someone else like you, I want that more than anything. But something is not right with that boyfriend of hers.
"They've only been together six months. And he knows way too much about what she is. She thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread but I don't think he even loves her. The way he talked about her being special, and filled with innocent light -- "
He breaks off. Something just clicked. Some circuit just closed. She can see it in his face, the way he's moving through the paces in his mind.
"I don't think he cares about her at all," he says slowly. "I think he cares about the magic inside her, though. Cares about it a lot."
DevonFinally she takes a couple of steps away from the door, towards him.
"Babe," she says, her voice staying low, "I am not saying you are wrong. I have a weird feeling, too. But even six months in, if someone treated you like that around me, I'd eat their fucking head. I don't think that treating Conrad like an enemy ends with anything but you and I turning around and driving back to Denver, and Ursula never talking to me again."
Devon looks up at him. Holds her hand out to him. Even the idea of losing the chance of a real friend in Ursula seems to have stripped her bare. "If something is up, I don't think this is the way to figure it out. And I..." she winces, because she thinks right now this is a hard thing to ask of him: "I need you to leave room for the possibility that you're being paranoid because of what happened last night. Maybe something is up with Conrad, but what if you're wrong? What if he's on our side?"
RafaelFor the second time in as many days, girl's acknowledgment of something being off is enough to calm him, if only a little. The set of his shoulders relaxes a touch. He looks at her hand, then takes it.
Listens to her. Hears her. Takes a breath and lets it out.
"You're right," he says gruffly. "So ... what? We go back in, pretend I didn't say anything?"
DevonHis hand is so much heavier than hers that when he brings his hand to touch her, her arm lowers a touch. This makes her smile. He's so big and gruff and... ungentle. Socially. Physically. She does love him. Even for this.
So she pulls him closer, by a step or two. He tells her she's right, and she doesn't smirk or toss her hair or laugh at him. She just says: "Thank you."
He asks her what to do, and she thinks a moment.
"No," she decides. "But I do think you should say you're sorry. Even if in your head you're only saying it to Ursula. Blame the long drive. We'll drink some wine and watch the sunset and if things get weird... we'll go from there. All right?"
RafaelRolls his shoulders like the prospect of apologizing to that too-perfect bastard is a weight. Does relent that step or two, though. Lowers his head to bump his brow against hers, inexact and mammalian.
"All right." It's a sigh. "Let's go."
DevonDevon's eyes close as he lowers his head to hers. She rolls her forehead gently against his, the sort of nuzzle required when one person is so much smaller than the other. She opens her eyes again as they part. Doesn't let go of his hand. Doesn't say a word.
Turns, and gives a little knock on the door to let Ursula and Conrad know they're coming back in, then opens it. Conrad is in the kitchen again, pouring more wine. Ursula is sitting on the couch still, looking fretful.
RafaelSo they step back into that gorgeous condominium. Back into the company of that too-perfect bastard, which is becoming his label the same way girl with the eyes was his witch's back in the day. Back into the company of girl's new friend, too. Sight of her makes him ache a little. She looks unhappy, and worried. That's what he's made of what should have been a happy day.
His grip on girl's hand is tight as he steps forward. "I'm sorry," he says. "Was a long drive and I'm tired. Get grumpy when I'm tired." Pause. "Just ... not good with this people-person thing, anyway."
Ends on a shrug. Ran out of things to say.
DevonConrad smiles, giving a shrug. "No apology necessary," he says, because of course he does.
Ursula looks relieved. "Do you want to lie down?" she says, unfolding her legs and starting to get to her feet. "It's totally fine, there's a guest room and --"
"I think it's all right," Devon chimes in, glancing up at Rafael, knowing damn well he isn't that tired and knowing even better that he isn't about to leave her alone here. "Let's watch that sunset," she says, and picks up the glass Conrad just refilled.
Conrad smiles at Rafael, but doesn't attempt to engage him in conversation again. He goes back to the living room with his own wine, taking a seat in an armchair. Devon walks with Rafael to the couch and sits between him and Ursula, and the girls get back to talking. At some point Conrad picks up the remote and turns on the television: some baseball game. It is deeply boring, but at least it takes the pressure off of the two of them talking to each other.
The sunset is, as sunsets often are, rather lovely. Devon seems to relax again, laughing over wine with her new friend, who really does talk a blue streak when she gets going, then laughs at herself and apologizes for it. But when Conrad offers to open another bottle of wine, Devon begs off, saying they should go check in to their hotel. She and Ursula make vague plans to meet for brunch at Ursula's house tomorrow, and they even hug.
Walking out after goodbyes, Devon is happy again, and tipsy, leaning heavily on Rafael and hugging him from one side.
--
Their hotel isn't far from Ursula's house, according to Devon. She's rambling a bit, since now she's on the drunker side of things, sighing as she faceplants into the second hotel bed in as many nights. This one is nicer than the DoubleTree, even has jets in the tub, but Devon doesn't strip down to take a bath. She hits the bed with a sigh of relief, smiling to herself.
RafaelWolf doesn't hit the sack quite so readily. Takes off his shoes as they enter, spends some time putting wallet and keys and phone on his nightstand. Then he sits on the edge of the bed. Girl's sighing happily, and in relief. Because it's nice to be in bed, he thinks. But maybe also because she likes her new friend, this new witch.
After a moment he rolls onto the bed, still dressed, also unshowered. He looks at the ceiling for a while, then turns his head to look at her.
"Happy?" he wants to know, quiet.
DevonDevon is halfway to sleep when he sits on the edge of the bed. He knows she's awake because she sighs in pleasure at his nearness, one slender hand flopping over, her plastic bracelets and rubber bangles thumping and clacking a bit. Her hand lands on his leg.
He moves, and her hand falls off. He lies down beside her, unsettled, just like he was in the last hotel room, the last city, the last night.
It takes some time, and apparently profound effort, for Devon to turn her head to look at him. She has a dreamy softness in her eyes, which reflect the light in little sparks amidst the blue. She looks lovely. She looks quite drunk, which is a bit of a surprise, considering she only had the two glasses of wine and this is... Devon. Maybe in her attempts to not drink as much in case she wants to have a baby, she's lost some of that old Fianna tolerance.
"Your eyes are so green," she murmurs, almost as if she didn't hear him, but she sounds rapt. She sounds like the green of his eyes is the loveliest thing she's ever seen. She blinks slowly, though, and adds: "I really like Ursula. Reminds me a bit of Sheila." Her aunt. No: godmother. May as well be an aunt.
Devon closes her eyes, her makeup smudged and dark. "I can hear music," she whispers. "Pretty."
There isn't any music. There's someone watching television in a room next door, far too loud, and there's some noise from the city outside as things settle down. But then: she seems pretty fucking wasted.
Her eyes are still closed: "Don't be mad. I think everything's okay. Three cups."
RafaelDoesn't sound right.
Doesn't seem right.
Something in wolf's heart is tense. A taut wire, vibrating in some unseen wind. No way to tell where the threat is, though. No reason to feel a threat at all, and yet --
Unheard music. Her drunkenness, dreaminess. Something is wrong. He knows it in the marrow of his bones. Everything is not okay. He knows it in the depths of his spirit.
But what is there to do? There is no enemy to fight, nothing at which to bare his teeth. And so, after some tense span of moments, he rolls toward her. He wraps his arm over her, and around her. Covers her with his body, as though his strength could shelter against whatever may come. Whatever is coming.
DevonBut she's so happy. She's so blissful right now, even if it is the sort of bliss reserved for the mad and the drunk. What can he do but hold her?
Devon is far enough away that she doesn't realize how tense he is, how wary. She only feels his big arms wrapping around her, his body covering her, and without knowing how incongruent it will sound to him, she giggles.
Her smaller arms come around him, with some effort, because she is deeply uncoordinated right now. But she holds him all the same. She nuzzles his chest, which is basically reduced to rubbing her face on his shirt.
"Love you," she murmurs. "Love you so much. Makes my heart... burst. Flow. Like lava and fireworks and --"
Devon pauses there, to sigh, but then
yawns. It's a huge yawn, and her arms tighten. She hasn't even taken off her boots. She falls asleep just like that, humming along to some music that he cannot hear, lost in some dream that hasn't been shared with him.
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