his laugh is everything.

it fades in the confines of her den and in it's wake she finds herself longing to hear it again; wishing they could rewind and take back the probing questions. he had not meant to probe, she knew, for it had been an innocent question and would not have stirred up trauma for most. homes were meant to be happy memories, and calypso wished that that had been the case for her.

"dey were not just not good, though. dey were evil men." her mind wandered a little, thinking of those that she had met here in amaryllis. only one of the many had given her the same feeling as those from her home, and she shivered to think of what viridian was planning next. "dis place... it's not as bad. and... i have you." the last part tacked on to lighten the mood, to shift the direction and bring them back to somewhere fun.

in a continued effort to salvage the day she summoned a half smile; pressing it in to place with stubborn fingers and hoping it would stay. "aye, she was an amazing woman." good, that was good, especially with the way her smile brightened. "i miss her terribly." damn it.

she was really winning at this "keeping things light" plan, hey?

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surely @Calypso could have picked a different partner for this dance — after all, someone with lighter feet ( and more emotional intelligence ) might have weaved through these heavy topics with ease. alas, it is him who is in her den today, and so he slugs through — heavy steps stomping forward to traipse through with little grace, eyebrows furrowing. bad men, evil men — men often were these things and more. he knows it, probably just as well as she does, though he says nothing — just lets his lips slant, quiet and considering in this moment. solidarity for whatever horrors she might have experienced outside this island, and a quiet hope that this place could be better. for the both of them. and… i have you. she pairs it with a smile, half-formed and maybe a little forced, but his brows raise regardless. aye, he says, huffing a little laugh — mores at himself than her. he likes to think himself as being above this, as having all his walls boarded up, but there was something enchanting about her that he found himself weak to. maybe he was weak in general — wasn’t that what his mother always said? you have me. he says with a soft voice, though he does not quite know what it means. what he means when he says it, but it seems right — standing here, in her den, surrounded by all her things. ears twist forward when she speaks of her mother. amazing was a curious word to use, though he cannot think of how he’d describe his own. you will see her again, he says, almost absently, in a voice that’s awful close to a promise. an oracle’s vow, even if he lacks the true voice — or sight. he blinks, then, as if only realizing what he said after the fact. he adds a shrug, then, as if it does not matter.

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they move away from her past with quiet admissions. his voice is soft and comforting - aye, you have me - and she is guided by impulse when she reaches for him. her head ducks, almost shy, and then seeks to rise beneath his chin. it is a more affectionate move than most of their past touches, a step in a direction that speaks to the flutter in her heart. in a short couple of months he had become important to her, and calypso aimed to show him that (and more) without saying a word.

he speaks, again, and she does not move from her place beneath his chin. her ears tip forward to catch each syllable and carry them to her heart, where a warmth blooms despite the odd tone he had used. some small part of her feels an urge to cry, can feel, even, the glisten of tears in her eyes. she blinks and they are gone — “I hope ye are right.” — a whisper in response, as if afraid to break the peace that had settled in the wake of his statement.

a wry smile twisted her lips, then, and she aimed to bump her shoulder against his. “I t’ink she’d like ye.” finally she pulled back and sought his gaze, her own warm and sparkling. “dough ye might t’ink her half mad.” her mother was a wild woman, comparatively, and fearless. calypso admired her immensely, and wished then that such a meeting were possible.

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perhaps his mishandling of this ( whatever this was ) is not so obvious — or, at least, is not so terrible that she will spite him for it. instead, her head tilts, chin pressing to her chest. the motion pulls his attention, gaze shifting to her — seafoam eyes widening as she steps closer. this is... different, he thinks, to their previous encounters. there'd been a fair amount of touching there, too, but it was mostly with claw or fang, a precursor to a more delicious heat. this, though, was different. it felt soft simply for the sake of it as she presses herself up under his chin, chest to chest. it isn't bad. fuck, he thinks he actually likes it. but it doesn't stop his heart from pounding, blood rushing in his ears. fear is not a feeling he is used to, but the skagos feels it now. instead of answering with words he simply rumbles a quiet noise, deep within his chest. pressed as close as she is, she can probably feel it more than hear, and somehow that feels right. it soothes him too, just a little, just in time for her to bump her shoulder against his. that is more casual ( and therefore it feels safer ) and here he laughs, a snort as his eyes roll. aren't all mothers mad? he asks, his lips slanting up but it's almost not a joke. mine certainly is, he says with another little huff. he.... isn't sure if ofelia would like @Calypso or not; he isn't sure if such a thing mattered. but, maybe it did. ( and that is another thought that scares him. )

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there is a purr that rumbles in response to his own quiet noise, which vibrated through her skin and tracked its way through her body. her nerves woke and were electrified.

she might have grown more bold, pressed further, caught up in the excitement of this silent statement. but… she could both hear and feel the way his heart raced, and calypso knew better than to chase the fear. it was new, exciting, and yes… scary. in the brief moment her mind followed that thought she knew that he now had a certain power; if he so chose he could hurt her. that thought is chased by the certainty that he would not do such a thing, that he is safe to trust and that she hopes he will trust in return.

if not now, then someday. for now all she can is make herself worthy of it.

“aye,” she mused, with a soft laugh of her own, “perhaps tiny creatures wit’ built in deat’ wishes will drive anybody mad.” keeping them alive seemed to be the hardest part, and she briefly considered that perhaps she would have a leg up on that, with her knowledge of herbs.

calypso does not retreat from their embrace, not entirely, but shifts enough to give him space to breath if he needed it. always tuned in to the needs of those around her, she navigates this dance clumsily but with a kind of awareness that some might not have. “how is minna, by de way?” she did not mention the hoards of other children that had been at the challenge with him, though she felt a burning curiosity she did not expect.

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her answering purr seeks to soothe him though the skagos punk seems almost resistant to it. afraid of whatever this was, his pulse racing and skittering in his veins. she does not press further though and neither does he, and instead they simply… are. it is a novel idea and the moment stretches, a little piece of perfect that will linger long after the scent of her den fades from his fur. she eases backwards, just a little, and he is pathetically grateful for it — ignoring the crawling sensation of too much, too much, but only just. instead his haunches sink to the floor, reclining into a sitting position, to keep him fixed in place. he thinks, maybe, his mother was mad long before him or his siblings had come along. but that is best left to himself — or, rather, kept to far the recesses of his mind; no matter what he thought of amaryllis, at least he is free here. free of her overwhelming, overbearing shadow, and free of the oracle herself. maybe so, he says with a light shrug, momentarily transfixed of the idea of baby @Calypso. what was she like, when she was a toddler? he imagines her with knobby knees, chasing after a snake still and collecting trinkets, and almost smiles. but then the conversation shifts, his ears flicking forward at the interest expressed. it was unexpected, uncertainly ( and certainly strange that she knows so much about him ), but the thought of minna pulls a frown to his features. an annoyed huff pulls from his throat, both unfair and genuine. she’s angry, all the time. he answers in a low tone — and maybe, just maybe, there’s something hidden in that gruff voice. a sense of… guilt? that he cannot be what she obviously needs. he is failing her, and she him, but he doesn’t know how to course-correct without dooming them both. she is… a cousin, i think. her parents must have come here and they didn’t get far. he rumbles out a half-laugh, lips slanting down at the memory. they were family, aye, but far-flung — he did not care much for his own immediate family, and so he cared even less for his extended. i couldn’t just leave her there, but i think it might’ve been better if i did. Was there anything as undoing as a daughter?

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there is a tension that has sprung to life between them, a nervous energy that she wishes nothing more than to squash. calypso misreads it, thinks she has pushed too far, asked for too much. they had not named this budding thing between them; perhaps, then, it is only the passion and lust that he seeks. she had offered him blood and more when he had needed it -- but what about when he does not?

it is difficult to push her thoughts away from this niggling doubt, to focus on the topic at hand. it is not really the light and easy conversation she had hoped to give him; and she mentally curses herself for asking after the tumultuous child. it was none of her damn business, though as he spoke she wishes she could help.

a frown creased her brow and when she speaks she is careful with her words, sensitive to whatever feelings the skagos had. "loss of d'at magnitude be difficult t'ing to manage," she offered, believing fully that it was grief that rocked the small child "especially for one so young." a deep part of the pirate wished she could scoop her up and comfort her, give her the tenderness she thought might help.

"ye gave her a home, safety, and dat is better d'an what would have come her way." small reassurances, but she hoped she could ease at least that concern of his. no matter how minna lashed out she was certainly better off with him than with none -- the world was cruel to lost children. "anger is grief's closest mate," she added; it is not your fault is the unspoken meaning, there.

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he... isn't sure what he was expecting, when he lays these problems at her feet. a roll of her eyes, or shoulders, maybe -- certainly it is what he would give, were their roles reversed. yet @Calypso speaks, and her words are both observant and logical. he is struck quiet by it, surprised -- dark-tipped ears twitch as he listens, a frown slanting his mouth regardless. sure, he says, voice veiled and tone pointedly even. but.... the wheels in his mind are obviously turning, turning over her words again and again. anger is grief's closest mate. why, exactly, had he come? to look at the snake she'd slayed, certainly, but was that it? he isn't sure, not even in the privacy of his own mind, and is scared of thinking too terribly about it. better to avoid that particular train of thought; better to avoid the churning in his chest when he looks at her. still he does ( because hakon is nothing if not a glutton for punishment ), the severe expression never fading from his features but there is certainly something softening the edges. i've never been good with this -- shit. a paw raises to wave, gesturing vaguely in the scant space between them. it is both an explanation and an apology, ears tipping tight against his skull as he lets that linger. there is more he wants to say, but he is afraid, an itch on his tongue that he wants to swallow down and never think of again. but, shit, i don't know. maybe your right and i'm just going mad. he is no mother but certainly a parent -- perhaps her theory did have some weight to it after all. his lips finally curve, the skin between his brows finally unclenching.

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he battles with something beyond what she can see and she wonders what haunts him. she wonders at his fears and hopes and dreams and has to bite her tongue before the questions spill out between them. before she pushes, again, and watches him leave.

i've never been good with this...

the statement is far from what she had expected, and her ears tip towards him with an expression that indicates her surprise. it fades quickly and is held carefully neutral as she mulls this statement over, unearthing the core meaning and refusing to allow herself much room for hope.

but then he adds on and she cannot stop herself from reaching to gently brush his shoulder with her nose, a gesture meant to be reassuring, her expression now keen and determined. "not mad," she assured, because there is something a little too close to truth in the words.

she retreats and gives him a grin, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a hint of the mirth that colors her next words - "d'ough i have heard d'at children will drive even d'e most sane, insane." how many exasperated parents had she met in her years?

"if ye need help..." she begins and then purses her lips tight, swallowing down the words that would be too much. she does not want to push him, does not want to give too much without it being asked for, but it is her nature to offer. it lingers between them, said while simultaneously unsaid, and that will have to be enough.

@Hákon

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he expects her to wave him off, just as he was doing to himself. but maybe one day he would know better than to try and guess her actions. instead she reaches forward, pressing her nose into his shoulder -- a small touch that leaves his breath catching. seafoam eyes snap to her, widening ever-so-slightly -- he looks like a doe caught in the headlights and the expression sits strange on his handsome face. yeah? he asks, surprise flickering across his features. he says it softly, barely more than an exhale -- clearly surprised at the offer. he is.... not used to this. there is a kindness to @Calypso that he had not expected, given that their first interactions hardly left room to learn anything about each other. there is a moment of panic where he thinks he -- they -- have made a mistake, unused to such affection he balks at it. but he tips his muzzle, ducking it away from her, pinching the skin of his inner cheek between his teeth before he says: i -- thanks. he says it like it cost him something, says it like a dog nervously watching a hand coming for its face. but he says, and he stays. that had to count for something. she's a fucking handful though, maybe we should wait until your leg's a bit more healed. he says, gruff voice lilting -- and though his lips slant in a smile, he watches her. keenly, sharply. it would be a big imposition, of course, but... maybe he didn't hate the idea. but certainly it would not happen if it hindered her healing. he had not traipsed all over this fucking island to find her those herbs ( guessing and second-guessing, grabbing more useless plants than useful ones, sneezing all the while ) just for her to not rest. and... maybe he should be out the door, then, so she can do just that. but his toes flex firm on the floor of her den, not wanting to leave this woman just yet. weak, aye. he is weak.

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