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Gwen; outside the ranch. :3
The return of the sun was a relief after recent weeks of flooding and ceaseless rain. An unsaid nature lover, Jefferson emerged from the ranch house at every opportunity he got to bask in the sunshine and stretch his legs. Patrolling the borders was half the misery in the sunshine; the task had already been done for the morning, of course, and thus he had sauntered back to the ranch amicably but had no desire to dwell in the confines of the building where the fresh air and light were closed off. Instead, the one-eyed brute took to minding the animals in the farm. Summer that year had started later than usual due to a drop in temperature and almost a full month of rain, thus the animals were thrown off guard with the unsightly weather conditions so late in the year. They were, however, perfectly content with grazing when the Patriarch opened the barn for the day and allowed them their free range of the pasture.
As he pulled some dry hay from the barn's keeping, Jefferson stood back and frowned. His first few months in Phoenix Valley had been spent there -- sleeping in the hay stacks of the animals. Wolves and coyotes alike recognized the scarred, horrendous hybrid as a monster, but the farm animals had always acted reserved and unfazed by his presence. Even when he had first appeared, bony and starved, the animals simply watched as he took to napping in their daily food supply. He'd had many conversations with Iskata there and spent hours daydreaming despite the uncomfortable sticks in his back; those had been the days when he'd been allotted so much free time that he didn't know what to do with himself. Nowadays, of course, things were different.
That didn't stop him from smirking coyly to himself and plopping backwards into the hay, however. A few stray horses glanced over quizzically, but otherwise left the idiot to bask in the sunshine. Closing an eye and extending a wide, smug smile, Jefferson made himself comfortable. His hand searched briefly for a small twig, placed it at his lips to chew idly, before tucking his hand behind his head and heaving a long, contented sigh. It wasn't like the animals were going to shoo him away, so why not take advantage of a little nap?
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[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v463/ ... Tablep.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat; width:400px; border:1px #D8FF00 solid; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"> It had been a considerable length of time since Geneva had seen the blue of the sky. She reveled in it, not missing the blanket of gray and black storm clouds one bit. The air felt lighter, fresher in her lungs as she patrolled the borders in the morning. She had not expected it to warm up, and so she was pleasantly surprised when she had awoken this morning and seen sunlight coming in through the blinds. That had been enough to invigorate her and send her flying out the door.
She had spent the last few hours outdoors, just glad for this fortuitous change of worth. She did not know how much she had missed the feeling of sunlight on her shoulders. Geneva was hardly an outdoors kind of creature, although she had changed her habits drastically and spent much more time outside of buildings. Still, it had been quite some time since she had simply enjoyed the simple novelty of being outside. She would remember not to take it for granted.
The gray wolfess had eventually turned her footsteps back toward the ranch. She felt that it would be a nice day to sit in the sun and write, at least for a short time, as she had finished her duties for the morning. And she was be easily accessible if anyone needed her. But she brightened when she saw a familiar form. She approached quietly, taking care to mask her footfalls until she was near. She stood a foot away, trying to decide what to do. Geneva was not normally impulsive, but she let impulse get the best of her now. Jefferson did not seem to be asleep now, though that might he his intention in a few minutes. Geneva crept closer than pounced on top of him, taking hold of his wrists and smiling. "I've got you now. What will you trade for your freedom?" [/html]
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Needless to say, it didn't take very long for Jefferson to drift into something similar to sleep. He napped rather easily, being that he wasn't as young and fruitful as he was in previous years. Exhaustion was that kind of close acquaintance that always appeared at the most inopportune moments; he napped when he could, which wasn't especially often, and then again he napped when he shouldn't have been napping, which was more often than not. Which one this nap was was hard to say, but either way, he'd fallen asleep by the time Geneva had come bounding.
He could have jumped out of his skin had she not been holding him inside of it. Pinned down by this thin and delicate thing, the cyclops gaped one-eyed up at her in sheer shock, taking in her eyes and features slowly before releasing a long, relieved sigh as the girl was recognized. He didn't move at first, noting that he had chose to held down his bad wrist as well as his good, though knowing the patterns of pain in his arm well enough to avoid actually hurting him. He smirked slowly, a glint in his eye. "Nothing," he shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd rather see how long you're willing to say there."
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Mahaha. Thank you for making my day. Asserson is a hoot.
I spoke to you in cautious tones,
you answered me with no pretense.
And still I feel I've said too much,
my silence is my self-defense.
It seemed as though she had caught Jefferson unaware. She had not expected him to fall into sleep so suddenly, and her face showed some of her surprise. But as recognition dawned on his features, her expression settled back into a smile. Jefferson had seemed more worn around the edges recently, the glint absent from his single emerald eye on many occasions. It made sense that the Patriarch would be tired and worn out. Geneva suspected that if he could, he would work himself into the ground. On more than one occasion, she had happened upon him when he had settled for a quick round of shut eye, but she usually left him alone.
It had been weeks since they had said more than a few words to each other. Although she saw him frequently enough, passing by him in the hall of the ranch or while patrolling the borders, the two had spent very little quality time together. She had missed spending time with him, plain and simple. She missed the way he could bring quiet to her soul and send her mind and blood racing all at the same time. It was a strange conundrum, but something she had learned to accept in her interactions with Jefferson. When she was with him, she could feel each moment moving past so clearly, as if time had slowed down significantly. Normally the moments of her day blended together and became a familiar blur, but with him she could feel the passage of time so distinctly.
She found herself feeling slightly embarrassed as he spoke once more, a glint in his eye. But she was able to function beyond her intrinsic shyness with him. She smirked back at him, an expression not usually on her features. With Jefferson, she was better able to express a larger range of emotion. Her interactions with him were unique in that when she was with him, she felt as though she could completely and totally be herself without fearing the consequences. She pressed her knees playfully into his sides and bent to touch her nose to his playfully. "I think I'll stay a while. The view's nice."
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It was odd, how she'd brushed past his initial boundaries somehow to void out the argumentative nature in him; with Geneva, he was not the brutish, coldshouldered idiot that constantly pushed away intruders to his walls. No, she'd found some deep, raw point deep within him one way or another, and now that his core had been so blatantly exposed, he no longer felt any need to push her away. At the same time, however, despite the closeness that had developed between the two, he and Geneva had hardly shared a smile or a greeting in recent weeks. She'd made an excellent assistant in DaVinci's stead; moving her to the subleader positions was something he didn't question in the least, and at the same time, balanced Phoenix Valley excellently at the same time. The brute that he was still realized that a kindly figure in the leader ranks would help bring down some tension the pack might have been feeling.
She grinned at him as gingerly as ever, almost forwarding some of that deep-set optimism and spirit she possessed straight to the worn, scarred male. He needed that spirit. He needed many things, in fact, but the energy she was so willing to ease him with kept the Patriarch on his feet, gave him reason to smile, and got him out of the house and walking. Evidently, he'd run out of such energy earlier that day, considering he'd passed out in the hay bale outside the ranch. He brightened (ever so slightly) at the touch of noses. "I thought I could hide here," he grinned, now raising his good arm up effortlessly despite her pressure to keep him pinned. The bad arm, of course, stayed where it was. No amount of spirit she could give him would get that arm to cease its ache. "But I was hiding because there's nothing to see in a pile of hay. You're not usually in this area this time of day; what's the occasion?"
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Do you think we could forward date this to this weekish, for the sake of timelines? 
I spoke to you in cautious tones,
you answered me with no pretense.
And still I feel I've said too much,
my silence is my self-defense.
"I guess I was going to do a bit of hiding too, in my own way," Geneva admitted. "I was going to sneak off to see if I could sit in the sun and read a while." She smiled wryly when he lifted his good arm easily. Despite his obvious physical limitations, there was no doubt in Geneva's mind that Jefferson could easily overtake and overpower her. She was not exerting her full strength pinning him down by any means, but she wasn't simply holding him loosely either. She was conscious of his bad arm, but she had been putting some pressure, if only teasingly, on his good arm. "I didn't say you could be free," she mocked scowled at him. "You are going to ruin my reputation for being ruthless." Her thumb traced lazy circles over his pulse, her gentle touch at odds with her playful mock-growl. The gray-furred sub-leader released his other wrist to touch his face, light and gentle, nearly as insubstantial as a whisper. It never ceased to amaze her when she pondered the depth of what she felt for Jefferson. The woman had loved before, and deeply, but there was a new edge to the emotions and decisions she was making now. It was like there was a new flavor to something she thought she had understood, a new dimension that added mystery. Upon thinking of this, she straightened slightly. Her expression settled into something a little more serious. Geneva looked at him with a bit of gravity in her gaze, her playfulness forgotten, but the gentleness of her touch still lingering. She looked searchingly into his face before she poke. "Jefferson," she said carefully, slowly. "How do you feel about me?"
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She was some kind of enigma: as much as the cyclops tried to figure her out, she never ceased to bombard or overwhelm him one way or another. He smirked bemusedly as she explained herself and mocked a pout, at which he loudly scoffed. He could be unusually playful himself, though periods of it were few and far between and required a certain number of prerequisites before achievement. All in all, Jefferson was still some kind of rusty mechanical work, constantly clicking and working, but almost as if something in his head had become offset and loose. An odd one he was, anyway.
She touched his face; his demeanor immediately stilled at the feel of her fingers. His eye gaped up at her with an almost innocent look within, possessing that childhood-like innocence and naivete he couldn't even remember having when he was of the correct age. When she spoke, however, his gaze quickly grew perturbed. "What I feel about you?" He said it slowly, then scoffed. His eye rolled elsewhere. "You're... doing better than DaVinci at his rank," Jefferson tried. Even a few seconds' more of thinking for all the right words to respond were worth the stalling she would most likely scold him for.
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I spoke to you in cautious tones,
you answered me with no pretense.
And still I feel I've said too much,
my silence is my self-defense.
The way he stilled, and the way his expression changed under her touch made Geneva remember the day she had found him staring listlessly into the waves at the beach after he had found his children. There were so many different sides to him, the little whispers of words that built up a big secret. She knew that there were pieces of him missing, pieces he could not hold on to or find. And when he encountered something that brought those pieces closer to him, he dropped his walls. And she caught a glimpse into the creature he used to be before pain had warped him into someone who had to develop protective instinct in order to just get by. The soft expression on his face was washed away once he registered her words. She expected him to push her away then, still cautious of the fragile thing that existed between them. Even though he had already given her his acceptance, and had hinted at deeper things, she was still almost afraid that he would turn away from her. She was relieved when he did not move away, although he did look away. She rested her hands on her thighs, giving him the space he was so clearly trying to establish for himself without pulling away from her. "Thank you," she said, guardedly. It was a compliment. She herself held DaVinci in high regard, and she felt his absence was a loss to the Valley. She had not known the man well at all, but she had known him to be responsible and strong. She knew that DaVinci had been Jefferson's friend. But that wasn't what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear. She knew that Jefferson felt something for her, something more than just a friend. But she wanted to hear him say the words, because then she would know that it was true. Jefferson had never lied to her.
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As assumed, it was not the answer she was looking for. He'd evaded the question, but surprisingly was left unreprimanded for it; instead, Geneva sat back and became reserved, switching back to her typical quiet observer-type he knew her best as. The weary green of his eye watched several unsaid thoughts breeze over her eyes as she became temporarily unfocused and forgetful. He frowned, wordless for some time. What did she want from him? He'd assured her before that he couldn't be what she could possibly ever want -- and yet she'd said she loved him. The cyclops' thoughts fluttered back to the fireflies in the night, the coolness of the breeze, and the softness of her fur when he'd held her close. He'd felt something then; something within his chest was blooming like the spring's first flowers, emerging from the soil and bursting into life. It made him sick to his stomach.
Her response was protected. He heard the hesitation and disappointment in his voice; his scowl lengthened and his gaze again flicked elsewhere. What could he say? He couldn't put his thoughts into word form, that was impossible... but she deserved to hear something. Deep down, all he wanted was for her to stop having to frown at him so much. "I feel... things," he grumbled, low from the depths of his throat, and his body stiffened like ice. Just finding the simple words were frustratingly difficult. "Confused. Frustrated. ...Scared." He paused, inhaled deeply, and turned his glowing emerald eye up at her. "...But when you're here, I only feel happy." Until she brought up this kind of conversation, of course.
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I spoke to you in cautious tones,
you answered me with no pretense.
And still I feel I've said too much,
my silence is my self-defense.
She could tell that he was trying because he was scowling now. Despite the seriousness of his expression, a smile touched her own face. Her expression was rueful. His electric green eye had rolled away from her face, and he looked off into the distance. He was probably thinking about how much she annoyed him. She had had that effect on him since the moment they had met. But that was only a single dimension of their interaction patterns. As time went on and she got to know him better, she was aware of the fact that he had the frustrating ability to get under her skin and drive all patience out of her. His body stiffened, and he felt like a statue beneath her. But he did not try to move away. He was putting forth an effort and seemed to be uncomfortable as hell. She placed a hand on one side of his rigid jaw, her touch gentle, trying to ease the tension in him. She mimicked his smirk in good humor before she spoke again, the edge of a laugh in her voice, "You don't look very happy right now." But she didn't push the issue further. It was obvious that there was something there, something in his words, and in words he could not yet find. She could be satisfied with that for now. He was willing to try, to rise to the challenge, despite the difficult of the task for him. That spoke far more than words could to her. But Geneva felt the need to speak her own mind, and to give him the honesty he deserved. "For me, there's no one else." The words came tumbling out of her usually guarded mouth. "If you don't feel the same, I understand. But I needed to let you know...and that changes things for me, the way I act and react toward you. I need to know...if you feel anything similar, so I know what to do..." she finished lamely, feeling slightly embarrassed now.
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She was unyielding at making a point. Regardless of any amount of sarcasm or subject-changing material Jefferson could have thrown at her, Geneva's mind was set: now was the time to get the poor, one-eyed idiot to admit something he didn't know he was saying. Jefferson was no ignoramus, however; the cyclops understood what Geneva was consistently aiming for, but an inner doubt -- a cold, nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach -- forced a hesitation rare for Jefferson to display. Unlike himself, of course, Geneva admitted her true colors willingly, most likely to inspire speech from the tight-lipped Patriarch. As she spoke, however, only his frown prevailed. He could only stare into her olive eyes and wonder, just wonder, what the true effects of his words would be. If he pushed her away now, would she finally give up after so much trouble in admitting the truth? Would she keep trying to get to him? Would he really never be rid of the green-eyed nuisance?
But if he told her he loved her -- if that's what he was feeling -- what would happen then? Would their lives continue as normal? Would the pack wait to see the permanent effects of her affection on his character? Would Iskata and Laruku smile down upon him, glad to see how little, silly Maluki had grown, or would they frown to know the more familiar Jefferson had changed forever?
As she slowly approached a finish to her brief tyrade of innermost thoughts, the Patriarch lifted his good hand to place a finger on her lips to silence her. His eye moved away, distancing a long while as such thoughts continued breezing through his mind. There's no one else: it echoed ceaselessly in the back of his head. His chest heaved a long, burdened sigh then; his finger stayed still on her lips, maintaining her silence as he finally found words. Emerald eye returned to her, this time sharpened with a thousand questions behind it. "If I told you I loved you," he began quietly, a slight measure of sternness in his voice, "what would you do?"
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Geneva had not posed a question to him, but he had detected the purpose behind her blunder of words. His finger on her lips silenced her, and her lime green eyes crossed for a moment in surprise as she looked at it. And then he looked away, his face twisted in a scowl. She waited, incredibly still as she waited for him to speak. And in true Jefferson fashion, he had answered her question with a question. Despite the serious look in his eyes, and the gravity of his voice, she felt compelled to smile wryly. She nipped his finger lightly for answering her question with a question.
She could see that he was trying to be careful, trying to map out the possibilities. Could it be that he was afraid? Afraid of admitting it, afraid of what it could mean? Geneva was uneasy with the unknown, but she would not let that fear control her. "Could you tell me in honesty that you loved me?" she countered.
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Each time the cyclops grew dreadfully serious, it was repelled with a youthful, almost childish reaction for the olive-eyed woman. The sound of her giggle was melodic; his ears unconsciously pricked at the sound and he resisted grinning any further than a small, tightly restrained smile. Jefferson admired that in her: Geneva could absorb any frustration or anger he could throw at her like a sponge, seriously considering all his actions as made evident by her studying eyes, but the anger was never released or returned. She simply took it all in, smiled, and continued on as normal. He admired that. The fact that he'd never attempted such a feat, however, was something he was consistently disappointed in himself for.
She nipped at his finger, at which point it was retracted and she spoke once more. It was an ongoing fight between the two, one always questioning the other while never reaching answers or conclusions. This, of course, was probably his fault; although Geneva had already broken down his walls, it was as if Jefferson was trying to protect the fallen debris, all that was left of his fortress. Tattered ears flicked back once again and as always he released a long, burdened sigh as his thoughts buzzed about in his mind. "Yes..." dragged his voice in response, trailing off slowly. He could be honest to her -- he had been honest to her before. He swallowed the lump in his throat, connected his green eye with her olive, and continued more confidently: "I do."
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It was funny, the way she craved words. Perhaps it was the result of life as a wall flower. When she spoke her mind, she was honest. The woman was becoming a creature of action instead of reaction, remolding herself in the image of a proper sub-leader. Still, she wanted to hear the words from Jefferson. She needed to hear them as much as she need him to hear them. The man was good at hiding, even from himself.
She was almost taken aback by his confidence when he spoke to her again. His words were simple and few, but they meant a lot to the woman. He had made eye contact with her, as if to reinforce the words. Overcome with happiness that he had given her an honest answer at all, and the one that she had wanted, she bent down and wrapped her arms around his neck, planting her mouth over his in a sudden warm moment of joy.
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He hadn't known what her reaction would be. Neither she nor he were particularly mild-mannered; his reaction to her admission had been quiet and reserved. How she would respond, of course, he hadn't tried to plan. Geneva was full of surprises as her personality so greatly contrasted his own; although Jefferson had at first resented the fact that he couldn't predict her every move and direct himself accordingly as if they were playing a great game of chess, but with time the cyclops had at first grown not to mind it and later moved to almost... like it. She was changing him -- he knew it. Jefferson didn't invite it, and yet he didn't stop it. He, the immovable wall, was being moved by the unstoppable force.
And that's what she did. A few precious seconds passed in silence between them after the words left his lips. The brightest smile he had yet to see on her lightened her gentle features so suddenly before she plunged forward, enveloping him in so many motions at once that the cyclops was caught up in her whirlwind; the second his mind stopped spinning did he realize his place, her place, and where they met. His torn, scarred body tensed -- what was going on?! He was Jefferson -- immovable Jefferson! The one-eyed Patriarch was supposed to be an intimidating asshole. People weren't supposed to care for him. The questions he'd asked her before, a thousand times before, sprung back into his head. They weren't repelled with the answers she'd given him, and yet he trusted her -- her reasons, however they worked, he believed. Something about him was worth... loving.
The cyclops leaned out slowly, baffled and confused beyond rationality. His eye peered at her modestly, searching for answers that went unsaid, before he simply pulled her closer and wrapped her in his one-armed embrace.
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At some point, Geneva had regained the rest of her shattered confidence. The process of healing her heart had begun in Crimson Dreams, months before she had come to Phoenix Valley. She had arrived in these lands without the concept of hope. She hadn't thought that she would hope again. She had come here to lick her wounds, to heal, and to survive. But the life she had now was richer and more meaningful than that.
The process had begun when she had discovered a strangely deep conception to Anu. The vision of her blue eyes still traveled through the Savant's mind, and while she was haunted by their beauty, she was no longer haunted by the sadness that had once accompanied that vision. She had discovered that her heart, though shattered, had been in working condition, and she had moved on from there. And now she was able to love again, completely and without shame.
Geneva felt now that she deserved whole and complete happiness. She was now whole again, and wanted to pursue her passions to their greatest extent. She had been willing to fight for Jefferson, but it seemed that he did not want to fight on this point. He had realized that there was something about him worth loving, that he was worth loving. "You are worth it, you know."
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Oddly, he grinned. It seemed Geneva was the only one left worth his most genuine smiles; the closer they had gotten in the past few months, the more he'd unconsciously began to smile more and more even when the two were apart. When Xeris had admitted to prancing on Inferni territory and running into some wolf-hating devil there, Jefferson had snapped at her -- but his frustration subsided quickly and he'd apologized. Apologized! Even then, even in the most subtle changes of his behavior, he could see the olive-eyed goddess' influence. At first, he'd been upset. As time progressed, however, he'd adapted and grown to like it -- and with that, made more effort to learn from her further.
How much she could change the tyrant for good, he didn't know. The one-eyed beast bore far too many scars to be changed permanently; there was no going back for the sinner. He was a rapist, a blasphemer, a murderer. He was not to be forgiven, but apparently he was to be loved somehow instead.
"I'm tired of fighting," he said quietly after releasing a long, contented sigh. The cyclops could feel her heart pounding against his chest as she delightfully remained there; the Patriarch's smile twitched at the thought, but he hid it from being too obvious. "I was tired of arguing against you, I guess. I gave up." And gave in. Single eye staring up at the clouds, he pondered a moment before snickering to himself at his own thoughts in contrast to hers, "You are worth it, you know." "...I was going to say you had low standards, but I guess it's too late for that, isn't it."
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