meadowlarklogs

[ She bumps, he glances. He's never had a problem with physical affection. That part's easy. He's a hugger, he's tactile — of course he is, he works with his hands, it's like an ingrained personality trait now.

However.

That question. ]

No idea what you're talking about.

[ He declares dismissively. New phone, who this.

He plunks a glass down on her counter, then tugs open her fridge to scope out the options. Is that faux pas? Sorry, man, he makes himself at home wherever he plants his feet.

A beat, and a convenient change of subject. ]

Is that fucking SunnyD?

[ Not all orange things are SunnyD, Ian. ]

[It's probably a faux pas, but Kyna doesn't care. She follows again, grinning.]

It's orange juice, you fucking weirdo.

[Uh-oh, that is definitely fondness in her voice. She loops her arm around his waist, waggling her eyebrows.]

You're totally being protective. It's cute.

[ You have never seen a man go from excited to disappointed so fast and so thoroughly as Ian does when his SunnyD dreams are shot down.

The apocalypse makes you miss the little things.

From his back pocket he tugs out the notebook Nate gave him, scribbles down SunnyD recipe recreation — corn syrup, lemonade mix? orange juice, pineapple?

Her kitchen is going to become the source of experimentation extremely soon. He opts to look at this rather than her, sidling up to him pointing out things that are Definitely Not True. ]

Completely delusional. Wild conspiracy. Not buying it.

Uh huh.

[He's such a fucking liar. It's still strange to see her own anxieties in him, so much more severe and over the top. The realization that it means she can call him out on them is even stranger, and oddly comforting. They're on even footing.

This time, she's going to let him dodge. She's picking her battles.]

You know, I kicked way more ass at home.

[ Well, for what it's worth even he knows he sounds about as convincing as the second George Bush at a MENSA convention. He's not even trying to sell it in the slightest.

He's just blowin' right on by.

The second sentence brings him pause, and he looks over from his notebook. ]

What does that have to do with SunnyD?

[ Because this is what he's chosen to move onto. Fifteen year old poverty staples never fade. ]

[She makes a face, letting her arm drop from his waist and shifting her weight uncomfortably.]

Nothing. Just...

[Wow, look at that. She is suddenly fascinated by the contents of her own refrigerator.]

I probably wouldn't have gotten my arm torn up. Or screwed up my hand.

[Back home, she was dangerous. Here, she can barely protect herself. Somehow, it seems important that Ian know she's usually better than this.]

[ And the understanding filters in right then, joking-distracted countenance fading out to be replaced with something empathetic.

He shuts her fridge. Stuffs his notebook back into his pocket. ]

You realize how much ass you kick here, though, right?

[ With an absolute earnestness that suggests it isn't just a platitude. ]

I mean-- holy shit, you phased through a bat the size of a fucking volkswagen and you electrocuted it unconscious.

[ Volkswagen is a little bit of an overstatement, maybe, but still. ]

You could literally run straight through somebody, their powers wouldn't even fucking touch you, no guns, no bullets, just you ghosting on through them lighting them up with like two hundred volts.

[It's the earnestness that gets her more than what he's actually saying. For all the "follow your dreams" talk she's gotten whenever this comes up, it's that tone in his voice that sends a sudden rush of affection through her. She laughs, surprise and gratitude mingling in the sound.]

Probably more than that.

[She says it in a sort of shit-eating way. Back home, she would have known exactly how powerful those shocks she was creating were, and she would have been able to control them near perfectly. Maybe that's why here, everything she can do feels like so much less, like some sort of pathetic mimicry of real power.

Hearing Ian talk about it, though... It's easier to picture from a less biased perspective. It does sound pretty badass.]

You can totally keep complimenting me if you want.

Edited 2020-08-15 16:23 (UTC)

[ The absolutely dead-eyed face Ian pulls cannot be put into words. He wraps his hand around the glass and points it at her accusingly. ]

How dare you.

[ Only the deepest of offenses. ]

Correcting my science without even having any god damn SunnyD.

[ He abandons her to yank her fridge open again for that pathetic orange juice. ]

I'm movin' out.

Okay, bye.

[She says, like an asshole. What she desperately wants to say, and is far too afraid to, is that she's so, so happy they're still talking. That she's not sure how she would have gotten through the last week without him, and that having him stay here is almost... steadying. Grounding.

Even if he complains about the fucking thermostat every chance he gets.

Just the thought of telling him makes that old panic swell up again though, and she keeps her mouth shut.]

I don't think SunnyD exists anymore.

[ Equally like an asshole, he completely ignores her willingness to let him bounce and pretends he never said it in the first place. All while helping himself to her juice, are you sure you're stoked to have this dude around? ]

Yet.

[ He corrects with great intention. ]

I'm about to bring on the revival, and when I'm a billionaire you can come live on my couch.

Wait, you'd make me live on your couch if you were a billionaire? You wouldn't shower me with gifts?

[She actually sounds a little offended.]

How the hell are you gonna revive it?

First of all, it's gonna be the most comfortable goddamn couch you ever saw.

[ He's offended you're offended, how dare you look down upon his hypothetical expensive couch. ]

And I'll buy you so many couches you won't even know what to do with them all. But that's after I reverse engineer the recipe. So. Get ready to drink a shitload of juice this week.

Oh my God.

[This sounds like an absolute nightmare.]

Who are you, Martha Stewart?

Martha Stewart was an absolute bad ass.

[ Didn't you ever hear about her prison stint and her dope ass relationship with Snoop? Also, that bitch could make a casserole and a wreath that would blow your entire damn mind. ]

So yes, it would be an honor.

[She lets out a loud, dramatic sigh.]

Okay, fine. But only if I can help.

Deal.

[ And that's how Kyna winds up spending every evening she's not working helping Ian experiment with the right combination of grape fruit juice and high fructose corn syrup and a shitload of other citrus juices.

For what it's worth, they're all good. It's incredibly hard to go wrong when you slap together any combination of fruit juice. It's just that Ian keeps insisting they're not right yet, and so the project lives on.

As it turns out, batch 4 goes really well with Tequila.

(So did the previous 3, what a coincidence.)

It also goes really well with some of the music on Ian's playlist, which is on his MP3 player, which he woke up with. Almost excited enough to offset the end of the world outside (except that he'd carried it through his own apocalypse, he's trying not to see that as an omen).

Which is how they end up with one ear phone on each, listening to shuffle and drinking. ]

Hey, so... Did I tell you that your magic best friend showed up the other day?

[It's a totally dumb project, and Kyna spends half of their time working on it teasing him—are you sure we don't need fucking unicorn blood, Ian?—but it's a good distraction. By the time they've settled down for the night, she's got a warm, comfortable buzz going, and she's sitting beside him with her head on his shoulder. She's laid off teasing him about his music. For now, anyway.]

My what?

Your magic bro. Merlin the bear.

[ He's enjoying this too much, okay, sorry, he'll just say names. ]

Nathan with the good hair.

[ Not that the last one would be enough on its own, is there a Nathan with bad hair? Not that he's met yet. But anyway, the magic part will probably do it. ]

He was cruising on my turf to win you over and steal your couch. Also, maybe my secret recipe.

[She laughs at that. She totally doubts Nathan was here to "win her over", but she's fine playing along.]

He totally waited for my shift to end so he could walk me home once. He's definitely winning.

He's got an unfair advantage.

[ Just an observation, okay, tell him he's wrong. ]

You guys have, like, the same DNA. Plus he was a wizard cop, it's really hard to top that.

[That gets her to pull away enough to squint up at him.]

The same DNA because we could both use magic?

Yeah. Like midichlorians.

[ You know. Star Wars. It's in your blood. ]

Oh my God.

[She swats at his arm.]

It's not midichlorians. Is that what you guys talked about?

[She can only imagine Nathan's face.]

Yes, that's definitely what we talked about.

[ He confirms happily, settling back into the couch and flipping through the next few songs until he finds one he likes. ]

He stood there like he does, making that face, you know-- this one--

[ Have his best impression of Nathan's :\ expression. ]

While I talked to him about Star Wars. He had strong opinions, and then we made out and baked cookies.

Edited (thats the face) 2020-08-20 21:28 (UTC)

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