[html] Jefferson. Ranch.
Geneva let the door of the rustic cabin to shut behind her loudly. With a dull bang it resettled, reclaiming its position surrounded by the wooden frame. The gray lady was excited, and careless enough to allow her entrance to be heard. Typically she tried to be as quiet as possible. It was just something that was ingrained in her nature. But now, she wanted to be noticed, and by one creature in particular. With scarcely hidden excitement, the female, in Optime form, raised her gentle voice. The volume of her voice was louder than normal; Jefferson had been known to steal away for a winter's nap before, and she wanted to rouse him.
"Jefferson? Jefferson! I am by the fireplace. Come here." Satisfied that her mate would hear her, the delicate-boned female straightened the skirt of her summer dress. It was shorter than she usually wore and fell to her knees, and it was a pale color. Age and time had worn away what had probably been a light pastel hue. Now it was washed out, but she still liked it. Wearing a longer skirt didn't make sense in the winter, although it would have kept her warmer. The longer skirts would become sodden by the snow and weigh her down. Her hair had been shorter in the summer, but now it was long enough to barely brush her shoulders. A piece hung in her face and she impatiently tried to rearrange it; however, this chunk of hair was too short and just fell back into its place. She claimed a seat in Jefferson's rocking chair, a bright and mischievous smile playing on her delicate features. Then, with a second thought, she moved to sit cross legged on the braided rug in front of the hearth. If she had roused Jefferson from a nap, he might be grumpy, and baiting him probably wouldn't lighten his mood any. One of her slim hands rested on a pouch slung over her shoulder. She couldn't wait til he saw it. With anticipation, her lime green eyes were wide as she waited for him.
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What had he been doing? Well, it wasn't important. For some time he had slept, cozy in the silent tranquility of his bedroom and away from the frigidity of the thick winter outside. For some time he had simply sat there, and for some time he had found a book and attempted reading it once more, straight from his bedsheets. When that grew old, he moved next to the window, where he had stood when he was called. The beast's green eye had hardly been in their vicinity, distant like the highest heavens; he considered Tayui still, then his meeting with Alaine. Pripyat, Addison, Heath, Miriette. He considered it all in a stolid silence, his gaze nowhere near, yet locked on the drifting snow outside. Surely, it was cold.
An ear twitched at the rap of the front door, but hardly cracked his attention. It was not until Geneva's bold, haughty voice broke through the closed door that his focus was startled and the mist of thoughts dispersed. The images that had danced before his vision vanished, returning only to the falling snow and ice-capped trees and fogged glass of the window. He blinked, then scratched his head. No argument. The Patriarch simply turned and moved from the bedroom, unfazed, unalarmed. Obedient.
Hand in his pocket, he shuffled down the hallway, the warmth of the nearing fireplace augmenting as he drew closer. Jefferson brushed into the room, his eye wearily falling upon her in his chair. A moment of consideration, then slightly furrowed brows. A voice of tired indifference. "...Why are you wearing that?" [/html]
[html] Jefferson. Ranch.
”What do you mean ‘what am I wearing’?” Geneva said, furrowing her brow as she looked down to consider herself. It was true that she had only recently taken to dressing in human castoffs a few months ago, but she thought that she looked decent enough. She found human leggings to be too restrictive and unnatural to her. She much preferred the bell-shaped dresses with short or strappy sleeves, because she felt more capable of free movement while wearing such things. ”I think I look nice,” Geneva said defensively, more than a little self conscious about her appearance. This was still something that she was getting used to. She ran her fingers through her hair in irritation, trying in vain to tuck some of the shorter strands behind her ears and failing once more.
Geneva cross her arms over her chest and heaved a sigh. Whatever was she going to do with her mate? He seemed somewhat preoccupied or distracted by something. He probably would not want to talk about whatever was on his mind, but that had never really stopped the gray scale lady before. However, instead of delving into his issues, as was her usual approach, she decided to shift her plan of action. He could be distracted.
She rose from her perch, uncrossing her arms. Before she approached him, the green eyed lady readjusted the strap of the creaking, creased leather satchel slung over her shoulder. When she was satisfied that it would not swing about and distract her, she caught hold of Jefferson’s scarred hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing his fingertips, before tugging him forward. ”Sit down,” she suggested, although she pushed some of her slight weight into him, urging him to settle into his rocking chair.
”I made something for you,” she said with a suddenly shy smile. Before she could let her self consciousness get the best of her, she reached into the satchel. Her fingers grasped the bumpy texture of the knitted thing before she pulled it out to reveal it in a whirl of color. She held it in front of her, extending her arms to let him examine what she had been working on in secret for the last week or so. ”You put it on your head,” she offered helpfully. The hat itself was a bright, striped pattern in various loud hues of orange, school bus yellow, red, and lime green. She had also knitted a puff that sat somewhat lopsidedly atop the colorful thing; it was a bright robin’s egg blue. ”Try it on!” she urged him.
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She got predictably huffy, and still alarm did not enter his stance nor expression, but a simple shrug of the shoulders sufficed. "I didn't say it didn't look nice," he said flatly, but left the lack of verification in the open. He was not one for compliments, after all, and she knew that. Such a sentence would be enough of a hint that however she dressed didn't really bother him, as he was not exactly one for appearances—being coated in scars, a sling, and a missing eye.
But she swept forward and reached for his tattered fingers, the ones hanging limply from the edge of the sling across his chest; she kissed them, which perked his ears confusedly, before the Savant pulled at the arm altogether. The arm and sling lifted off his chest and he noticeably winced, but followed her direction if for not other reason than to prevent her from doing anything else with his wounded arm, and he was forced into his rocking chair, which creaked disapprovingly at the sudden weight.
I made something for you, she chirped next, and from her satchel she presented possibly the most horrendous-looking thing he had ever seen; green eye stared at it quite perplexedly, clueless entirely what it even was or why its color so painfully stabbed his eye. It was, in fact, nearly as painful as his now-throbbing arm, but his expression did not expose it. Instead, he simply stared at it. Clueless, perplexed, somewhat dumbfounded. Hesitatingly, the brute raised a finger to poke at the monstrosity of a puffball at the hat's top, then retracted his finger as if the fabric itself was on fire. "What, uh..." he stammered, unable to pry his eye away, "what is this... thing?" [/html]
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Geneva's brow furrowed as she watched Jefferson taking in the hat she had taken so much time to make for him. He seemed to be considering it with a great amount of attention to detail. His green eye seemed to be riveted to the pom pom on top of the hat.
It is called a hat," Geneva explained helpfully. "Humans used to wear them on their heads. That's what you should do with your hat." Her eyes were also intent on the hat that he held in his hand. She was very eager to see what it would look like on him. She had taken special care to try to get the measurements for his skull right, and had even left slits for his ears. She wanted to see if her efforts had panned out. "Do you like the colors?" Geneva furthered questioned him. She had taken great care to find many different skeins of yarn. It had taken a while for her, but she had been resolute in finding the most unique colors for him. She had wanted to make him something remarkable that he might have never seen before. She turned her head for a moment, wrinkling her nose as she reached into her satchel once more. After rummaging around in it for a few seconds, she produced what she was looking for. "I made these for Pripyat. They are for his feet." The socks she held in the air were four different colors, all of which were represented in the colors of Jefferson's hat. "I can make some for you too, if you'd like," she mused.
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