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May, 2010... Fantasy became reality. Worlds overlay for the briefest moment. Outworlders became stranded on earth as more than half the human populace vanished. Our World, our universe, was transformed.

Fiction is now reality. Humans and those now bound to this world will either learn to coexist, or battle for supremecy.

Maree'Anca Marin

Order of Light
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200 Writing Contribution Superstar

About Maree'Anca Marin

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned


    Evangeline Lilly
  • AGE
  • RACE
    Magus-Psion/Kinetic Energy Manipulation
  • JOB
    Hospital janitor, freelance artist; gives art lessons at local hospice care
  • 'SHIP:
    New York
    Order of Light
    Her artistic flair has completely taken over her life; a carefree simple style reserved for her personal appearance, the lush and elaborate artisan’s loft reflecting her eclectic tastes. Light strawberry auburn hair is a mass of careless curl- sometimes flat-ironed straight, usually pulled back in a ponytail or loose plait when she’s working at the hospital and up in a checkered handkerchief when she’s at home working on projects. Recent events have forced her to begin dyeing the signature cascade of strawberry to a deep chestnut, hiding in the open.

    After work, light gray scrubs and tennis shoes are immediately traded out for camis or dark colored tank tops, comfortable low slung jeans and flip flops; sometimes a worn cardigan if it gets cool.

    She wears no make-up most of the time except for tinted chapstick, nose with a soft spatter of peachy freckles. Striking pale green eyes mirror her twin brother’s, set with gentle melancholy that contradicts her defined and intense features.

    Maree is compact and athletic, used to hard work from her employment, working with tools and metal sculpture; also experienced in Aikido and Savate- which she still practices. She has no problem being covered in paint, grease or metal ash and actually enjoys getting her hands dirty. Sometimes, she’s seen at a local farmer’s market still covered in paint; part of her eclectic charm.

    On her back is a large burn scar of spidering patterns. At a glance, it looks like a pale pink tattoo of frost, starting thin at the base of her spine and blossoming up to her shoulders into a tree-like pattern. She has no memory of when it happened, or where it came from. It’s not painful, and is quite beautiful; so finite and detailed it looks like professionally done work.
    Most of the time incredibly kind and soft-spoken, she is a favorite at the hospice care where she volunteers her time and goes by "Jo". At the hospital, she does her job quietly, rarely making conversation. When she does, it highlights a sassy streak that comes off as playful and friendly. Her public persona is a sharp contrast to her private life. She would much rather be home with a blowtorch and some fresh scrap metal than around large groups of people. Despite being charming and affectionate with others, it is exhausting for her introverted and increasingly volatile personality.

    Enduring the Event, separation from her brother and torture, she now finds herself battling new demons. She is frustrated from bouts of amnesia she assumes were caused by a concussion suffered during the Event. In public she holds it together, using her volunteer work as an outlet. When alone, a bi-polar shift happens; exploding as angry outbursts and destruction in her studio from uncontrolled telekinetic ability manifesting through willed rage. Afraid to seek medical help given her “condition”, she finds details slipping away the more the years drag on, replaced with memories of people she never knew or met. Personal memories from before the shift fade in and out like water with her mood changes, the only constant being her twin brother; desperate to find him. She is afraid to inquire as to his whereabouts to avoid suspicion about her personal “condition”.

    Maree has an unbelievable resilience to injury and abuse. A victim of experimentation early after the Resonance, her psychological fortitude allowed her core personality to remain intact, but her lack of training makes the struggle to stay balanced a hard fight. As frustration grows, so does her inability to control what is coming with it. The dark anger and light kindness that inhabit her body are becoming further and further polarized as powers become more uncontrolled- a wicked lick of personality starting to emerge the more trained she becomes.
    Maree lives comfortably in a partially abandoned industrial district near the harbor. She rents a large two story shipping warehouse in a quiet complex. The former office overlooking the generous storage area has been turned into her bedroom and living space, lushly decorated with opulent fabrics, her paintings and wrought iron wall hangings in between curtains and drapes of incredible yardages of light colors. Furnishings are rich and dark, topped with an eclectic collection of classical and modern art. She climbs up to her loft through a simple ladder, having cut out the metal stairs for an art project some time earlier.

    Below is her art studio, a cement floor wonderland of half-finished paintings on giant canvases, metal sculptures that look like mythical creatures from scrap metal, work tables, welding equipment and heavy tools. Entrance to the studio is through a garage style metal door. Her only mode of transportation is a faded blue 1951 Chevy truck with no key, rigged to her own personal hot-wire system. She has a small makeshift area in the lower art studio that serves as a small corner garage space for her truck.

    She keeps her viola, a gift from her deceased parents, in a huge antique safe on the main floor. It’s professional caliber, custom made to her measurements and based off of early viola makers from Brescia, Italy.

    Next to her bed on the wall is a mounted array of custom made Jodo and oddly enough, several walking sticks.

    On a black cord around her neck is her most prized possession, a ring from her parents. When she turned eighteen, their parents gifted them with matching custom rings set with Mexican Fire Opals made from the same stone. They were designed to wear on the middle finger, but to protect it from her art work and her job she wears it around the cord. She never takes it off.


    Maree has made considerable progress from her training with the Order’s Sebastian Ardal. Her abilities focus on two fronts: empathy/healing, and combat/protective telekinetics; focused by the ring she shares with her brother. The metaphysical properties of the Fire Opal coupled with the intense emotional need for her brother makes it a particularly effective foci for her skills.

    Her telekinetic abilities are of the most concern, already severely sensitive to her moods. She was captured by the Vatican shortly after the Resonance, experimented on and tortured; to which their obsession with her telekinetic affinity brought her to the breaking point. After her escape, she refused to look for help and ignores the ability after attempts to control it herself lead to destruction. She is walking a thin line between looking for help, trying to teach herself with dire consequences, and staying out of sight. Now, she is actively training, and gaining control of the frightening -albeit useful- powers.

    Low Level Abilities
    • Emotional Sensitivity- Limited Control; in public, her attention gravitates toward intense emotion. Words clarify, moods shift and conversations seem to float to her even through crowds and busy streets. These can be the most distressing moments in someone’s life to the happiest or most intimate. She’s caught herself on numerous occasions listening in at inopportune intrigues, or crying over someone’s loss. Believing she is a hopeless introvert, the constant personal interaction and interest in others is exhausting for her. Willingly inserting herself into emotional positions in order to placate suffering, she is engaging a channel and paying the physical price. She volunteers on Fridays at hospice care, and usually finds herself sleeping most of her Saturdays away.

    • Farsight- Limited Control; she can gain information about an object, person or location that is hidden from view when she is actively looking for them. She gains no history, personal connection or precognition, only where and what they are at that time. It is not effective over distances further than her physical surroundings; the further the object, the more inaccurate it becomes and the more physically draining it is. When honed to its potential, the danger of losing grasp on what is physically in front of her and what she sees in her mind will be very real. It is useful several times daily finding close objects, pushing beyond that increases the risk of warped reality exponentially and physically depletes the Magus.

    Medium Level Abilities
    • Sympathy Pains- Controlled; Maree discovered some time ago that she can recognize illness in patients through focused touch, especially those that are in hospice care. When focusing on one person she can become overwhelmed with feelings of illness, can feel headaches in those that later die of brain tumors, cannot breathe around those that soon die of pneumonia, and has chest pains before heart attacks. Like the Placebo Effect, she takes on the symptoms of whatever ailments she discovers. Patients and individuals with mental illness and impairments transmit their symptoms to her as well; while immune to physical transference of ailments other than symptoms, those contained in the electrical currents of the mind can wreak permanent psychological damage to the Magus if continuously exposed. She not only battles the physical symptoms afterward, but the intense exhaustion engaging the channel brings.

    • Placebo Effect- Limited Control; ability to imply calm suggestions to someone in extreme states of emotional distress. Depending on psychological fortitude of the target, she can encourage a mind to placate pain, anger, anxiety, or sorrow. Unfortunately, the energy flow with this ability is a two way street. What is sent out, returns. The Magus takes on whatever emotions they sought to placate, taking days to shed. Frequent engagement can cause disruption of brain function and even permanent psychological damage to the Magus. Engagement of this ability is congruent to physical tolerance. Extreme emotions result in limited usage, less psychologically stressful emotions have less physical impact.

    • Candali- Controlled; Maree can fluctuate the temperature of anything she touches, including the air in her immediate vicinity and her skin. She has honed it beyond temperatures she can physically tolerate and has discovered it responds to intense focus, frustration and anger. With her dark moods spiraling into outbursts, this is a powder keg given the caustic and flammable items in her studio. Trained, this skill is a useful healing tool; able to heat or cool her skin to ease pain. It can also be a weapon; used to make objects intolerable to hold, igniting flammables and the like. Heating or cooling her skin is a gentle use and relatively low draining, the sudden emotional outbursts physically exhaust her immediately in one shot. Aggressive outbursts also cause root-like burns from fingertips to shoulders, similar to lightning burns; often causing her fingernails to char, splinter or fall out. They are exceptionally painful, sometimes taking weeks to heal even after being unconscious for days. She has finally become able to channel and expel the energy fast enough without injuring herself when engaging the sudden temperature fluctuations.

    • Waveforming- Limited Control; manipulation of current for biological purposes. Practically, this could include manipulation of current to restart a heart or raising someone’s hypothermic body temperature; it is only the manipulation of existing available current. Pulsing a living heart for example, may or may not cause any problems depending on the health of the target. Pushing a dead heart, could reboot the brain to produce a pulse. This ability can also produce disruption to technology and electricity depending on the level of available channels. The Magus is extremely susceptible to thermal damage with concentrated focus if unable to control and expel current without damaging the recipient. Beside complete physical depletion, use of this ability at any skill level always slows the heart and may induce unconsciousness and even death.

    High Level Abilities
    • Telekinetic Healing- Limited Control; psychic surgery; manipulation of biological function through combining high accuracy engagement of Low and Medium Level abilities; removal of bullets, cauterizing wounds, opening arteries and redirecting blood flow. The Magus can only use if the receiver has consciously allowed manipulation or is unconscious, and completely depletes the bearer in one use. Disruption of focus or current while in progress can severely injure both the Magus and recipient, causing certain unconsciousness and risk of death.

    • Aurora Borealis- Limited Control; manipulation of current within a ten foot radius to create a field intolerant to the penetration of objects in order to protect the Magus. This does not produce the ability to move and manipulate objects, only create a current intolerable to physical objects intending the strike the Magus; low and mid level projectile spells are also stopped. Speed of physical objects is a factor; a bullet or arrow can be stopped if the Magus knows it's going to happen and can cast. The Magus still feels the strike and may be shoved or knocked down, but there is no physical damage. The shield creates a luminous, rather beautiful light show but imprints the bearer with frost like skin burns when used for more than a few short bursts or one sustained shield of up to five minutes. Even under great control, the risk of burn and physical exhaustion is the same.

    • Remote Lifting/Telekinesis- Limited Control; the movement of objects congruent with the weight/strength ratio of the bearer; the Magus' weight. When combined with finite control of Low and Medium Level abilities, this can produce movement of magnetically compatible matter of a larger size than basic telekinesis; the bearer's weight plus their lifting strength. The Magus does not merely manipulate an object without touch; they must physically assume control as if it was in their own hands. If objects are beyond the weight ratio of the Magus, losing control or dropping the item has the capacity to break the bearer’s bones, crush or even kill them. Controlling the movement of small objects will eventually deplete the ability until recharge; manipulation of large objects longer than five minutes will deplete the Magus completely.
    Well studied in a variety of artistic styles; born in Czechoslovakia and speaking fluent English and French, she has no formal degrees to the like. She studies and absorbs the styles of who she surrounds herself with, and has apprenticed with the unique cultures where she spent time with her brother. Maree is exceptionally skilled in welding and metal work, various painting mediums, sculpture and textile art. With a good understanding of tools she keeps her truck running on her own, able to tinker and understand basic mechanics to figure out problems as they pop up.

    Maree is an exceptional viola player, taking lessons from the age of five and often performing with local ensembles wherever her brother was stationed. She has not practiced or performed since the Event. It ties her to her brother, and she feels it needs to sit silent until she finds him again.

    A prolific student of Aikido and Savate, a silver glove 1, she still practices; her compact form and agility giving her a feline grace. She has an incredible will to survive and continues to hone her skills with the expectation that those that captured and tortured her before, will find her again.
    .............giggle soft, a sharp whiff came from between her lips to get the strawberry curls off his face. His warmth was so comforting, snuggled against his chest in a blanket, their noses touching as they basked in the thick heaviness of the morning. She’d jumped into bed next to him, only to annoy the piss out of him. It never seemed to work, even when she kept tickling his nose. She never felt complete unless he was close, sharing a womb together could do that…

    Sometimes their affection was mistaken for something other than siblings... it didn't bother them. People who weren't twins, would never understand anyway.

    She whiffed at the curls again

    “Wake up silly,” she whispered, “it’s 7am. It’s the last day of your assignment… then we can go somewhere cooler for a vacation.”

    His pale eyes snapped open frantically before the blanket was thrown off.

    She openly laughed as he scampered around the room trying to find everything he needed before bolting to the shower, but not before taking the time to boff a pillow directly at her face.

    He’d worked so hard the night before, until his migraines had taken over. Sometimes he was really hard to drag to bed. Small frame strode to the kitchen in her satin cami and pajama pants, listening to him swear to himself as he tried to get ready as quickly as possible. Bacon was already sizzling before he got out of the shower in the LA apartment she shared with her twin brother. She smiled as he came tripping into the kitchen, half in a suit, half still getting dressed, reaching into the fridge to gulp milk from the carton.

    “Stop that,” she hissed, snapping off the TV as she spied him watching the news. They had no problem sharing so many things, germs was not one of them.

    He was always distracted by turmoil. Intense turmoil it seemed this time in Africa... which meant that would be where he wanted to go next. He needed time off first.

    “It’s so good like this,” he grinned like a fool. “Long day today, have to turn in all my ID’s.”

    He took another gulp, and returned it to the fridge, tucking in his shirt and crunching on bacon as he tied his tie. Suitcoat was thrown on, a muffled “bye” through toast stuffed between his lips.

    “Get back soon, then we can pack,” she smiled brightly. “I can’t pull our tickets up yet for some reason. Internet is down. I’ll get that figured out while you’re gone.”

    He smiled his pearly teeth at her over the toast and closed the door.

    She frowned at the cell phone left on the table, padding quickly to the door in time to watch the elevator door close. She wouldn’t stop him, he would be late. Returning to the kitchen, she cleaned up, clicking the TV back on and sitting to eat breakfast. Heel moved up to catch on the edge of her seat as she leaned on her knee, crunching the bacon and not really sure what she was watching. Something… a disaster of some kind?

    She frowned at the TV, cleaning up her plate and heading to the bedroom to pull out their suitcases. Everything stayed, the apartment already furnished when they got there. It was just a working assignment. They had their personal things, and that was about it. Packing would go smoothly and they would be on their way home in no time. She was ready for a change of pace, and somewhere else she could use as a muse.

    A little overzealous, she had spent most of the day packing their things. Itchy, she’d felt itchy all day, stopping finally to look at her arms in the bathroom mirror. She was covered with hives of some kind. A frantic pound on the door broke her morbid attention on the weird rash, brows flicking downward when the pounding didn’t stop. She frowned, moving toward the front door to slide the chain off and open it.

    “You’re gonna give me the keys to your car…”

    The screams outside in the hallway were panicked, her heart instantly skittering as she stared at the guy from across the hall. What the hell was happening?!

    “Mr. Dalton, what the hell?!” she snapped.

    “If you’re not going to give them to me, I’ll go through you to get them!”

    He pushed her backward, forcing himself into her apartment and immediately tossing the place to find the keys. What the hell was happening?! She peered out into the hallway, doors gaping open as others were banging on the elevator button at the end of the hall just in case it would move faster. Head snapped forward as she was grabbed and tossed on the couch.

    “Where are the KEYS!” he screamed at her.

    He had the same rash on his arms as she did.

    Oh god, something happened at the facility. They were infected with something. Bodhan!

    She scampered toward the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone off the kitchen counter, followed in by the aggressive neighbor that was now frothing at the mouth.

    He snarled at her.

    Her hands were shaking, dropping the phone and snatching a knife from the butcher block, playing a morbid game of ring around the kitchen table. Bare foot took a trained stance, watching the insanity through his eyes. His feet skidded on the kitchen floor to rush her, her heel making contact with his nose almost instantly. Blood spray shattered against the wall, the elegant kick followed up with a slice of knife across his chest. He was down for the count, but still twitching. There was so much blood; slipping with bare feet, she pulled herself out of the kitchen and grabbed her tennis shoes, pulling them on one at a time as she ran down the hall to the elevator. Pressing the button, hearing the screams inside that sounded like a wild dog…the elevator door opening suddenly, pale green eyes looking downward at it stuck on the next floor down…

    …backing up and making a break for the stairs.

    All she could think about was Bo, feet hitting the street at a feral run. What was a sudden rush of panic in the building, was now eerily silent. His compound surrounded by razor wire, as silent as a tomb.

    “Kde jsi!“ she screamed, banging on the chain link fence.

    She was completely alone.


    Parents long gone after an accident on an autobahn in Germany, she had followed her twin brother Bodhan around the world, bringing whatever light she could to people so desperately in need of hope. Sometimes annoyed with being the grown-up and taking care of him when he overworked himself, she still supported his work and became a prolific artist, musician and a physically honed soul.

    He never came home that day. Nightmares became real, fearing the worst of her twin brother, no longer able to feel the warmth where it had always been. She’d looked for days, finally figuring out she’d never been looking at all. Waking up on top of the elevator with broken ribs had been the beginning of her nightmare; having fallen down the elevator shaft after the doors had been pushed open by her own hands. Days passed before finally coming to; realizing Bodhan had probably come looking for her and couldn’t find her. Her nightmare continued after discovering she was no longer the same. Days lapsed in the span of what seemed like hours, exhaustion set in from being in refugee centers…she felt like she was breaking apart from the inside, emotions so strong she could barely function.

    She sought out help from those her brother had worked for. At first they asked for his whereabouts... then the questions shifted. Concerned with how she was feeling, what she was feeling, and promising to take her to her brother. He had been taken for his protection; they'd promised at first. He was after all a genius, and longed to help those in need... he could help rebuild a new world and they would take her to be with him. Their promises were like honey...she went willingly.

    Most has been lost to a dark nothing, psyche protecting her from what could fracture the thin veil that keeps her sane. When her consciousness is asleep, her mind allows her memory to wander....screaming Bodhan's name...begging for him to help her. Her bones vibrating, burning, her skin on fire from the very marrow of her being...turning her psychologically to ash from the inside out. Eyes hazed of red, hemorrhage seeping to trickle from her nose...ears, sinuses...the drip of her own blood choking.

    They demanded to know where her brother was...they demanded to know what she would promise to do if they left him alive.

    ...they demanded her compliance.

    Anything. She would do anything...even endure torture, the endless words echoing around her like a constant rhythmic needle tapping on her forehead...her skin burned; it seemed death would never take her, the air warped and waned like heat, the nausea it caused unable to allow any food to remain in her gut. Her world became agony wrapped in the sickly smell of unrequited blood stained vomit and words she couldn't understand...words she was urged to repeat. The only thing she insisted speaking being her brother's name...

    ...until she popped.

    Instead of bile, words spilled from between bloody teeth like venom, the psionic filet ripping upward through the flesh on her spine...terrified, in agony...her world instantly became a nightmare of emotional apocalypse, a flurry of panic…confusion, escape and fear...the moment in time allowing her to propel herself from their clutches and run....

    She didn't stop running.

    She was found half naked in a ditch, covered in blood and burns, hair singed in some places to the scalp and missing all her fingernails..her ring still on her finger under the crust of dirt, blood and broken flesh. The elderly couple took her in, nursed her back to health.

    Then they were killed.

    Her room tossed, her things taken. They were looking for her.

    She didn't stop running, one person and one goal in mind. Get back to the States, find her brother. It was not the same country she knew. Norms were different, she was different...new rules and consequences. Halted in the faceless oblivion of New York City after fleeing France, she is determined to remain lost in the shuffle. All she believes is that she will be killed if discovered, unaware of her purposeful grooming. The Order knows everything about her, her brother...unknown abilities she can't learn to control for sake of staying invisible. They know what she is, and she is useful to them....so she hides who and what she is, trying to make a little light in the corner of her world a bit brighter for those around her.

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    Bodhan "Triska" Marin
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Since the beginning of time
  • Role Play Sample
    See primary character.
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  1. Maree'Anca Marin

    A Storm Stopped

    May 11th, 2022 5:30am DeClan's Apartment Up for a half hour already, coffee was brewing quietly. Instead of hovering over it, the lithe form slid back beneath the warm sheets. Lying on her side, it was cathartic watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He would never believe it, but the furl of his brow disappeared while he was asleep, as did the tension in his shoulders. Truly peaceful. She would let him sleep a bit more, an itch to paint had woken her up before dawn. Leaning up when the coffee pot gurgled to a stop, lips were pressed softly on his forehead. Fingertips traced across the back of his hand and she slid from bed to retrieve a fresh cup of coffee. Bare feet whispered across the floor, coffee in hand as the heated curls of steam drifted lazily past her face. Taking a sip, she watched the horizon from the wall of windows. The ocean was still sullen, cold from its winter slumber. It made the glow just above the water so much more brilliant as the sun came closer to crossing the threshold. White button up was the only thing she wore over a baby blue cami and shorts, curls in a lazy braid that was somewhere between being completely free and a ponytail. They were drifting back to their fiery red. It was time to dye them again. Especially now. The Order had been on her mind. The missing. It was hard not to keep her finger on the pulse of the people she was hiding from. How to stay up with happenings and not draw attention to herself? She hadn't figured that out yet. One more sip from her coffee and she slid into her chair, placing the mug on the small table in the corner that held her paints next to a small easel. He'd offered a room, but there was something about climbing out of bed when the mood struck at a moment's notice. That had been at night lately, just before dawn. Sometimes, she even painted in the dark by city light. Water color was her current medium of choice. The loose colors, soft edges. She'd been working on the skyline for a few days, the horizon never quite right. Today it was warm, the peaches and haze perfect as she tucked up one foot beneath her leg to swish water over her brush, loose foot swinging lazily right above the floor as she mixed her colors.
  2. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    Neither ugly nor un-ugly… simply skilled or not. Likely only my eyes would see such difference. Well then. Skilled sometimes played off as arrogant, but he had bragging rights to be both. Sorry….doc hands…. Eyes blinked softly at the odd self-consciousness. If he’d been anyone else, this would have gone in a vastly different direction. He, his behavior, set her back on her keel. She didn’t want to step on his toes, be the pest that everyone always was in his presence. Plus the head of the nurses still scared her to death. So… if had been anyone else, her free spirit would have made this trip a very different one already. They always been on the cold side. She nodded just as thoughtfully, her non-ulterior motive confession absolutely needing to be said at this point. Quirk of brow hid the decision to find some way back to New York on her own or this was going to be a very uncomfortable trip from here on out. What was seeping into her bones from around her just couldn’t be anything else but discomfort waiting to happen. She was already going to get smacked on the back of the head from her “boss” if she didn’t halt this right now. Lips pursed at the snatch of elbow, the thick swallow stopping her breath. She was still, like a deer that had just been discovered. Did she move? Did she tactfully excuse herself, because now she felt like an ass that had led him on? But she hadn’t, had she? No, no she didn’t. It wasn’t until his hand came up and around her shoulders did she relax. Eyes closed a moment, her possessions that she was still holding dropping quietly to the floor. One hand found his on her shoulder, her intertwining fingers warming up gently to bleed into his cool skin. The other found his and pulled it across her stomach. The silence, welcome. Away from the city, the emptiness seemed fathomless. First distressing, now relaxing. It was a moment of being alone without the jumble of everyone else’s presence. He too, seemed content. A brief minute when the world could stop. If he had been anybody else. When had she started to let things like that stop her? Cheek turned slightly, nuzzling into their intertwined fingers at her shoulder, her hand pulling them down to join the others at her stomach to release and turn. Hands drew up to his chest and she pushed, enough to push the nimble balanced elf backward and off his feet onto to his back on the bed. Like a languid feline, she prowled on top and made quick work of curling up next to him, fingers clutching into his shirt and nose nuzzled under his ear on the side of his neck. Long sigh was quiet, hovering in the silence for a moment. Hoping she wasn’t going to get pushed off. Eyes opened slightly when she wasn’t, fingertips flexing to extend slightly and play with the stubble of his chin. She was giving him every opportunity… and admittedly didn’t want to untangle herself. She thrived on touch, loved it. Always had. Casual. Not so casual. If he’d been anyone else. Ah what the hell. Fingertip reached up and touched the edge of his lower lip, light jade peering through still woven lashes. She leaned up on one elbow and followed up with a gentle peck, the fingertips with a mind of their own tucking locks of unruly tendrils behind her ear, then reaching to do the same to him- lingering on the top of his ear… because she was fascinated with them, and because of what she felt jump through the air when she'd touched them before. “I don’t have to go,” she said quietly. “If you don’t want me to.”
  3. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    Smirk was palpable as she finally managed to lift a smile from his lips that was somewhat what she would deem as genuine. Most things so far, except for utter surprise, had seemed a bit “forced”. Not in the usual way, but almost like he knew that’s where he should smile, so he did. This time, she’d gotten him. The first time it felt that way too. Absolutely not bullshit….. hell of a bite on those things. The smirk grew wider, flickering slightly when she felt a push back of something more melancholy. She was starting to be able to disseminate what was her, what was him, what was the beastie below, and the overall emptiness of the water stretching beyond it. It was like a slow detangle of many tightly knotted threads... and it was starting to worry her. To keep him on the other side of the fence instead of slipping into that melancholy, one last challenge then… fuck his fingers were cold. mmm…..slice is a bit uneven, surgeon getting in in a hurry. “Wait what?” it was her turn to furl her brow as she looked down at the proclaimed ‘hastily done’ scar. Could scars be screwed up? Ugly? Lips pursed slightly almost in offense as she glanced back up at him. Based on location and size its either appendix or gall bladder. Hmmm….. she protested, “it’s an ugly scar? Scars can’t be ugly.” Decent surgeon does gall bladders through three small punctures which means he was either not decent or it was dire. Not typical of gall bladder so I would have to go with appendix. Brow still furled. Mouth opened, then closed. “Cheater.” Expression was playfully sour, relaxing slightly at the flushed warmth in her chest.. The second his thumb moved she jerked suddenly, bubbled laughter lighting up the room. She was so fucking ticklish. Hand caught his to keep it from any more, as he stepped back and went for more booze. She regretted that, quiet breath sucked in. That was… a rush of something she wasn’t expecting. Suspected maybe… she couldn’t think of anything to say. There were so many things she wanted to say but didn't think he could handle... so... “Sorry, super ticklish. Probably should have warned you. You win.” Swallow was soft, dumb thing to say. It was the only thing that came out. Something else… something else. “Your hands are cold,” she said quietly. This was going to be a terrible trip. An awful trip. Dancing around him dancing around her. How the hell did this happen. She knew exactly how it happened, she let it happen. Had she led him on? No. She wanted it to happen. She snatched the bottle from his fingers, soft clunk on the counter. “There wasn’t an ulterior motive to get on this trip. I just want you to know that,” detangling and distancing herself from all the bullshit he dealt with daily. Sigh was soft. Fingers went up and over his ears to tuck disheveled still damp hair behind them…and hell, just to steal a touch if he kicked her out completely. Soft kiss lingered on his cheek, forehead to his before she stepped off to gather up her things for a night on the boat. “You won,” bag was stuffed under her arm. “See you in the morning; you have to do the dishes by the way.”
  4. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    No… She had nothing to say, merely stare. Her mouth opened a few times to make a comment, but closed again when she couldn’t make it form into a coherent sentence. Doesn’t get much more solid than the rock edifice of a mountain. “So is the ground below it,” her words were articulate, suspicious eyes still trying to comprehend why exactly he’d want to be on a sheer vertical rock. Then it was her turn. Smirk was quick at the blush of ears. Bully for her. Ginger three, doc zero… eyes narrowing as the expression on his face that came after was anything but embarrassed. Maybe two and a half, doc point five? She’d give anything to find out what he was thinking. Most of the time he was a completely blank slate, now there was an easy bubbling behind the façade that was never there. She settled back in on the couch, leaning on the arm and both hands on the mug to nurse the swanky booze like hot chocolate. He had her undivided attention, toes wiggling a moment. The scar on my ass will just need to stay a mystery for now. Lets just say me and a painted wolf had a disagreement. The brilliant laugh was immediate, a small pillow tossed at him for emphasis. “Not fair, I call bullshit!” she quipped, sipping from the mug, eyes over it daring him. He seemed confused for a moment about her healing comment. After all the hell they’d gone through less than a week ago, it did bother her to see an injury of any kind. Pure luck or something any of them had gotten out alive. Eh…. hardly serious…. besides… supposedly ladies like scars or something like that right? She noted the complete drain of his drink after the almost disbelieving quirk he’d given her. “Depends where the scars are... No really, about the healing thing,” she pursed her lips, brow coming down. “I brought your fever down in the hospital. You probably don’t remember. Not entirely sure exactly what it is... some sort of weird current, electrical... never mind,” voice was quiet, fingers tapping on her mug, expression perking back up. “Okay, if I can’t see the ass then I get the last one.” Was she goading him a bit? Yessss? Smirk was mischievous. She leaned up on her knees and lifted her shirt to show an almost identical stomach scar on the opposite side of her pizza burn. “Guess. For the win. Winner gets... the rest of the bottle, and the bed.”
  5. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    ……..crazy-ass free climbing…… “Shut. Up. You do not. How the hell don’t you fall? Aren’t you afraid you’re going to fall?” Eyes were huge as the glass paused on its way to her lips. The thought terrified her. There were few things that rattled the near hippie-child, heights was one of them. Other than losing her brother and the Order, it was a significant fear. She quickly tipped back the remainder of liquid courage in her cup and replenished it just as quickly. “Could never do that in a million years, climbing I mean. My feet are on the ground.” she glanced toward the boat, “or at the very least something solid.” There was no elaboration as to why. It seemed now they were in a battle of wits, or scars. One-uppance. The more the alcohol flowed, the easier it got. Of course, she was always at ease, but being able to be that way around him because he was starting to relax was welcome. He’d unwind yet. Speared by a swordfish diving of the coast of Tanzania…. Tip went between the two ribs, nearly punctured my lung…. She really wanted to see the one in his side, but he was on the other side of the room and most likely would die of flaming red ears if she shimmied up his shirt to see… which she would have done with anyone else. Wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t the only doctor for over three hundred miles…. The outright laugh was melodic. This was her element. Eating good -however basic- food, a good drink, good conversation. Still she found herself holding back because she was afraid of the offense. “Sorry, funny but not funny... Of course the monk isn’t going to show me the ribs. That’s cheating.” She pointed her spoon at him, serious, but a teasing serious as she laughed particularly to herself. Spoon went into the bowl and she shimmied up her sleeve, a pale burn line visible on the inside of her forearm. The bowl balanced on the arm of the couch and she lifted her shirt to expose her navel, an identical one vertically across it. “Taking a pizza out of the oven while I was naked.” She smirked and dropped her shirt. “Ruined the pizza when I dropped it. Figured after that I needed to learn to cook instead of forgetting about frozen stuff and setting off fire alarms. The naked part is another story altogether” Smile was surly. She got up and rinsed her bowl, cup coming along with her as she started to clean up the kitchen. The conversation was becoming easier, lubricated a bit of course by the ‘the good stuff’. She rinsed that out in the sink as well, filling her empty cup with water and downing it in one gulp. Not a lightweight by any means, but she couldn’t seem to heal herself like she could others. It would've come in handy, especially with a possible impending hangover. Satisfied things were neat, she leaned on the counter with her elbows, licking what was left on the spoon she'd used and pondering if she was still hungry. "C'mon Doc,what else ya got? If you drop your pants and show me one on your ass I'm gonna die." Would she have said that to anyone else? Yes. Absolutely. She needed to stop filtering. He was stuck with her, he was going to have to deal. "Better take care of that on your cheek though, might scar," she paused a few moments. "Don't tell this to many people, but I can fix that. Not great at it yet, superficial stuff... just, think there's something more under my fingers. I can feel it, just not sure what to do with it yet."
  6. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    Like Akpeteshie…. local brew in Ghana. Eyes widened slightly, that’s what that shit was… she decided against divulging she may or may not have been involved in some interesting drinking contests, or whatever came after with Bo’s security detail. Somehow she didn’t think the slightly uptight doc was ready to hear that from her… but the smile, the ease at which someone so tightly wound opened the bottle to pour, she couldn’t tell if it was his anxiousness to delve into complete oblivion since she knew he was a drinker- or he was just finally in his element. Brow quirked at the cup. She picked it up and took a ‘probably more than was good for anyone’ swallow. Head tilted back for a moment, the long sigh that came with it followed by a relaxed stretching of her neck in each direction. “…the good stuff…” she murmured. I was the cook as well…. Still lost in grief. Outward, not really, but his entire personality pre-boat revolved around some inherent need to atone for sins that happened almost a decade ago. She couldn’t even fathom what kind of weight that could bring down on a person, she would have gone completely mad a long time ago. Smirk was slight as she chewed and watched the blink, smirk came with a bit of a snort too. She wasn’t making fun of him being stilted to silence… she wasn’t. Aw hell, she thought it was funny as hell. The throat clearing, the vacating her area Every time I get off for a week or more… I sail down to the island….. if I only have a few days… I head to the mountains to rock climb….. just like to get…away…. …..and fix old motorcycles when I only have a day off…… Frown turned to a quirk. She knew most of that. Mug was polished off, resettling to tuck her feet underneath her and dig-in to her food. If it had been anyone else, anyone… she would have said that he’d seen her naked so she expected more secrets. He wasn’t. He was the doc nobody touched. Cripes, she still didn’t even know if he would chuck her off the boat half way there. She knew the answer was no, but still… “I know about the motorcycles, not fair. Rock climb? Are you a roper or one of those crazy-ass free climbers?” Inquiring minds wanted to know. “Something daredevil… something daredevil… fell in the water off a sailboat once near Madagascar, actually tangled with a great white trying to get back on the boat.” She pulled up her pantleg, the dark patch of skin on the side of her ankle from a wrong way kick against a giant death machine. Maybe that was why the whale was unnerving her so much. Maybe that was why this trip was unnerving her slightly… But yah, it was going there. The old scar game…
  7. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    The cooking slop could rot her gut.... Lips curled into a lopsided smile as she put on some final touches. It would go great with French bread or a flatbread of some kind. It was a little too flavorful for French, reminded her more of the Ethiopian cuisine she loved to cook and sit around a table and eat with good friends. Their experiences... probably incredibly different. "Most likely not... my studies took me to different places with much different drinking habits. I was staying with a Russian art restoration project once, the vodka alone was blitzing... someone had gotten ahold of some Appalachian moonshine." She coughed slightly and made two bowls. His teasing was noted. Odd duck. It had to be the hospital that made him so uptight. Then why be there? Sense of duty to the world? Hm. "I remember very little, but I do remember... my friends didn't." Smile was surly as she handed him his food and flopped in the corner of the couch. Legs folded under her. "Of course it's good," she pointed at the evil genius mug before taking a bite. "I was the cook in the family. Bo can make peanut butter on a spoon and that's about it. Parents were always away. Business I guess." Lips quirked as she chewed. She loved her parents dearly, but it was what it was. The twins were sort of perfect little accessories. "So what else do you do besides sail ships and save lives? I tell you something, you tell me something. You know I'm an artist, and professional world traveller. I know Aikido and was lost in the Paris catacombs for a day." Drinking, good food, and hopefully good conversation... it was definitely shaping up on her end. She was going to coax a laugh out of the good doc. Yes she was.
  8. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    There wasn't much... but she was used to working with less. Rations, cans, even things that were gathered locally with the help of people that didn't even speak a language she knew. She'd learned to cook by smell, taste and even in rare cases the consistency of things when they heated up. She blinked up at his comment. So he was going to be social. "Spent a lot of time with Bo in places that didn't have take-out. Or proper nutrition, or clean water." She stirred for a moment. "Can make anything out of anything." Pale greens watched the unearthing of better booze.... scooping something into a small bowl for a taste after sticking a fork in it, holding it out to him. She licked her other thumb, offering the bowl with insistence. "If you don't like it the rum is what I get, if you do.. I get a tumbler of that.."
  9. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    Her hand was snatched back within her proximity as he stood, worried she had done something wrong, or been trying to help too much, or read the cues wrong and he wanted to be alone and save face after his slip up... or because she shrugged off his help... which she really didn't, it was just... Sigh soft She didn't know. Lips pursed slightly at the odd reaction, then the step back, almost folding her hands behind her to make him more at ease. First he was shy and apologetic, then no problem drying her hair, now weirdly stand-off ish when she took a step forward. He was like a puppy. A cute, sly, goofy, feral little puppy that licked your hand but fled when you paid attention. This was not the Doc she knew. Hand found his for a second and squeezed. "You're an odd duck Asher," fell from her lips as the quirked expression turned carefree and she hopped up the steps two at a time. She wanted to help in a way she knew how, he got all weird. It was probably still the boob thing. Americans and a woman's chest.... she would never get it. Opening cabinets she found enough to get started on something edible in the skeleton kitchen and... Ooo The bottle was snatched and sniffed before she had a chance to second guess, a small glance cast over her shoulder to make sure nobody was peeking this time before taking a swig and putting it back into the cabinet. Sweet jesus. Cough was light... unlike her lightweight brother, she could drink like a fish. But... it wasn't hers to drink, humming softly to herself as she sucked the lingering taste from her lower lip and started to fill the small loft with the scent of food, bare toes wiggling as she moved through the motions like a pro... Food, light conversation, then sleep. Maybe a better handle on her odd duck.
  10. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    No... no no no. The pause was distant, the distance created physical space, and then he was gone into the cold. Damn. HE was going to catch a death. Hands both plopped onto the sketchpad with a sigh and whiff of air that blew a frizzy curl from in front of her eyes. Well, she could help with that at least. Paper and pencil set aside she followed him out the door and paused while he lit the first stove. Hands disappeared beneath her cuffs as her arms cross, tapping into something she rarely called on out of purpose. First it was the air around her, billowing downward to take the chill off. Quiet footsteps moved down the stairs and followed him on his trek. "Nothing to be sorry for." Hand tentatively rested on his shoulder while he worked. Did she trust herself to do this? Yes. Yes, Ardal had helped her control it. She could control it. "Didn't say I didn't like it, can always use some help taming the curly mop." The heat was gentle, enough to take the shiver off his shoulders as she warmed the room to give the stoves a head start. Fingers lifted from his shoulder and curled into their overly long cuffs. "I'm going to fix something to eat," bare toes wiggled slightly in the now tolerable -albeit still chilly- temperature. "Come up when you're done."
  11. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    Sigh was thin, he hadn't caught her. That would have been, uncomfortable. Not as uncomfortable as he was at "his transgression" probably, but she'd been forgiving. He just hadn't seen her wandering eyes... dismissal of her apology leading to more than she anticipated. Fingers continued their sketches, almost afraid if they stopped moving he'd ponder why, she didn't want to interrupt him. She had that effect on people, she listened.... they talked. Hearing him speak more than one or two short phrases was odd, she was riveted, hands moving across the paper in scribbling motions to create shadows and light. They finally stopped, watching him tend the stove. She could help... she could, but she let him keep busy. She couldn't say she understood, but she could feel it, thick in her throat; enough to swallow the thick lump. Tight. "Maree is my pseudonym," she smiled briefly as her pencil stopped a moment. "Most people can't pronounce Maree'Anca so I just let them.. reminds me of someone I lost too." Her daredevil days were for another time. Probably would have married the guy if he had come back from his excursion to the Alps. It was nowhere near his reasoning, but something to relate and keep the conversation from becoming dark. He seemed to be comfortable with the short amount of sharing, she didn't want to push it. "Memories are yours to keep, they're something nobody can take from you. You like Asher, then it's Asher. No need to rationalize... it's what you want it to be." Voice was quiet, breath had stopped, the feel of a towel squeezing out her curls bringing goosebumps across her shoulders. Few things more pleasurable than having hair played with... and with curly hair it was even more sensitive. Stay? Because of ice? "I can.. I can probably fix that." She swallowed slightly, she wasn't really sure how far her abilities could go, but it seemed like she had to say something. "...never done anything like that before, but... I probably could if you don't want to be stuck here." She had stopped breathing, letting out a long sigh, eyes fluttered, fingers stopped on the sketchpad. Water, the view from her perch on the boat, the half finished sketch still able to tell the story of the road so far. His fingers were caught gently. "I'm my own heater," she said quietly. "You don't have to do that, unless you want to." Smile was slight, over the shoulder, then attention back to her sketch. The same tight lump in her throat, guilty, fingers on the pencil but unmoving. Just... afraid to say.. do the wrong thing, Gertrude creeping into her thoughts. The woman was going to kill her.
  12. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    He seemed confused by her confession, but.. not the least bit unsettled when it began to sink in. Bully for her she supposed. The spinning emotions felt so tangled, the beast downstairs, his confused discomfort that she was starting to realize might be as much hers as his. Trying to pull everything apart felt like separating magnets. Things were there, she could feel them, but finding where one ended and the other began was exhausting and terrifying at the same time. Then defensive... the clutz comment. It was anger, just a defensive charm that was becoming easier to pinpoint and push away from her. True curiosity met with half answers and nonchalance. Pediatric surgeon. He didnt save her. He was now distant, and she... ...frown wrinkled her forehead, slide of eyes through the curtain of curls almost stopping her breath. That.. weird... the... Damn... she knew why the nurse posse always tried to peek into the shower. Blink was profound at his Gertrude comment, she'd been watching him nearly the entire time. Watching him get dressed. Jesus. Shit. She turned her back to him again with a snap and sat back quickly... settling her crossed legs under her and beginning to furiously scribble on her sketchpad. Shit... shit.. SHIT "Sorry.." It came out as a quiet squeak, the flutter was her. The flutter was her... and him.. and her.. mouth opened and closed a few times before gnawing on her lip. What the fuck was going on here. Pencil was stuck between her teeth as she braided and unbraided her hair several times. She played with things when she was nervous... normally a walk or something, a sequester in her studio... but there was only here, or the boat. He was taking the boat, and she couldn't force him out of here. Frustrated fingers gave up halfway through the plait and just left it. .. staring at her sketch pad. This whole thing was such a bad idea. Before, a vacation... now, a dance with someone that she was going to need to avoid because SHE had become part of the nurse gang, hadn't she??? There were probably going to be some choice words... get lost, fuck off. Worse, the silent treatment. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking..." bullshit...
  13. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    Where had her empathy gone? Before this entire mess, she had the innate ability to put people at ease, free, easy going, no worries, an artist. Everything had beauty and meaning. She still thought that.. but, eloquence. Eloquence had escaped her. In her attempt to clear the air, she’d realized the air perhaps didn’t want to be cleared. Then why, so brazenly, were things in front of her face that she’d never noticed before… Eloquence. Sigh was soft, a crinkled look up at his confusion, almost ready to take a step back as he stepped forward. Turn it off. Turn it off. Brows lowered, SHE was numb. New York was a constant hum, and she had shielded herself against it. Out here. Jesus. It wasn’t her, it was him, and it was a flood. She managed the eloquence for what it was worth, and it only made things worse. It was him… unable to resist the urge to brush the skin of her forearm to see if the peppering sensation would go away. She needed to get some distance, and he caught her, and it caught her breath. Eyes tracked to his hand, urging it to let go, unable to do so because… just because…. it was complicated. I sleep… in the boat… because I prefer it. The sway feels more natural at times than a motionless bed. She nodded, eyes still on the back of his hand, very aware goosebumps had flared up that arm. He moved closer, she stopped breathing. She nodded, a springy curl quickly tucked behind her ear by her freehand. Ten years ago…. When his thumb touched the smaller ring, she sucked in a silent, stilted breath. …that I um….. lost her…………. ten years ago. “I know.” The tightness in her throat had almost completely closed off her airway, the pale green that finally flicked up to him was riddled with moisture on the lashes. “I can feel it,” words were strained. “Ten years like yesterday.” Free hand reached up to whisk away the droplets bubbling at the inside corners of her eyes. Threatening to spill over, a taught lower lip caught from trembling. Jesus her chest hurt… it was him. “Sorry,” she sniffled and half smiled, wiping the back of her hand over the tip of her nose to catch a droplet and dry it on the front of her thigh. “Comes with the territory, just a lot more tuned in without the background ‘noise’ of a million other people. You’ve always had this… wall. Hard to read.” Sniffling again, her chest rose and fell calmly with a small ‘whew’ on her lips, half smile on her lips to give a bit of perk that it was okay. There was so much guilt. It was crushing. His jerk to catch the towel made her flinch, a melodic ping made her blink, two infinity shapes making the sound of a flipped coin spinning in the air as the rings twinkled downward again. Reflexes reached out to catch them, no idea why, almost knocking heads with him as he fought to reclaim his towel, letting them go to slap a palm on his chest to keep from knocking herself out… or at the very lease a good lump. “You cannot possibly be this much of a clutz,” she hissed quietly, eyes slightly cross-eyed from the close vantage point, breathing finally as she leaned back to give him his space and dignity, and herself some air. Several smooth strides moved silently to the stove and pulled one of her now warm and dry towels down and tossed it to him, offering his bag at his feet before slouching into the couch with her back to him. “You should tell me about her,” she pulled at a stray piece of yarn on her cuff, voice quiet as she tucked her legs under her, looking relaxed… doing a good job of faking it. “Was she a doctor?” Was she poking the bear? She didn’t know… she just had to shift the guilt that was seething from him in waves and making her nauseous. Maybe on purpose, maybe not… head turned slightly, a sprout of drying curls the only veil between a really fucking good view and being discovered. “You can tell me it’s none of my business, that’s fair,” voice was so quiet, sniffle again soft, reaching to tug down the tattered cuffs of her jeans. “I can’t read minds, my mojo doesn’t work that way… …but I’m absolutely sure, whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.” For once, she was incredibly… awkward. Lower lip was chewed. "If Gertrude knew I was sitting here with you in a towel she would kick my ass," she leaned over and grabbed her messenger bag, settling back in and sliding out one of her sketch pads before it flopped back to the floor. Soft humor... always made things lighter.
  14. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    She couldn’t shake it off. The distance, the weight lifted to carefree and now the taught skittering that was buzzing against her skin like a stiff breeze. If her own thoughts didn’t drive her mad, his shifting moods were going to. Was he afraid of her? Of course he was freaked out about walking in on her. Fuck. Who cared. She wasn’t American. American’s had this weird hang up about their bodies always being about sex. They were just bodies. No….. no… but swearing in any language has a… cadence… a rhythm….so…. you know…… “Touche’” she admitted. He was right after all. I um…. got a shower on the boat can use….really just….. you can enjoy it all here… you know…. to yourself…. I mean… She was going to drag him in there if she had to. Seriously, she would be fucked if he got sick. There was no way she could sail that thing on her own. Ya…. I guess I could…. you know…. and then… get out of your way and all…. I mean…. water's already hot… “It’s your water, I’m good.” There it was again. Jesus. Sitting near the stove she finger combs the curls, squeezing the water out of them with the towel as she heard him climb in behind her. Hair was put into a long plait, feeling… the nothingness. Someday she would be able to put it into words. He had fallen asleep or was incredibly close to it. Soft footsteps back to the bathroom to reach in and fish his jeans out, the closed door enveloping the entire room in a fog of steam. There was no intention of turn-about fair play. None at all. The man had to be able to take a shower in peace, that’s what the whole deal at the hospital was about and she wasn’t about to delve into the same level as the rest of… Eyes blinked at the shimmer that caught her eye, the soft twinkle as water turned metal into chimes bringing a pursed frown to her features as she stole out and closed the door quietly. What a complete ass she was. Strides were gentle, moving like she was back at her job. Silent. Unseen. A teeshirt covered with a deep grey Irish sweater; it was warmer than hell but worn to the threads and she loved it. Jeans with tattered cuffs. Stepping out she wrung his jeans out, finding a place to hang them and her towels, leaving him to his loft. Her skin was so warm now her cheeks seemed to steam, they had to steam; the bite against the chill outside of the loft was sobering. She had no right to be here. She was an intruder. Silent bare feet made their way down the steps and hopped effortlessly onto the boat, the shadow beneath it stirring slightly, small laps of water against the hull a welcome white noise as she sat on the side with her feet dangling over the edge. Hands slid under her thighs, watching the shadow. Mist rolled off everything. It must have been her, water on the boat around her drying, the top of the water on her side gently starting to waft a light fog. Was she angry? Yes. At herself. Feet slowly swung back and forth, the water far below moving with the motion. She was bleeding out again. The math all added up now, and that made her a third wheel. Christ. She was so fucking selfish sometimes. She should drop herself into the water. She heard the door open upstairs, staying put. Eyes traced the tiny ripples, making more, she rarely used her telekinetic abilities. They scared her… right now though, the focus Ardal had taught her made thoughts more rational, and the guilt a little lighter. Lip was chewed furiously, forehead relaxing slightly when the small burst of air and water sprinkled the surface. Lifting her feet, she stretched her toes and let go of her pull on the water, the swirls lost to thoughts that she needed to paint her toenails again. She would apologize. Grab him clothes and apologize. Pushing to her feet, she disappeared below deck and grabbed his bug-out bag, hopping back up the steps. She relinquished the bag to the couch and stuffed her hands into her back pockets. She didn’t trust them. “Look,” she started. “I’m sorry, I made some connections... I had no idea, have no right to be here. This is your space. I can crash here until you come back up from the south alone.” It was her turn to find a spot on the floor and rub the back of her neck a moment. “The boat, your delirium at the hospital. Sam, was your wife,” she nodded softly toward the rings on his necklace. It was now a bit painfully obvious she’d made the connection. Where most she knew would be demanding they be removed, she found herself admiring them. Was she jealous? Yes. She’d never had anything like it. A lot of men, yes, one she would marry? Hell no. Her smile was incredibly soft, nodding slightly as she came close enough to pick up his hand and close his fingers around the rings. He didn’t need to answer. “The loss is so much deeper. A spouse is someone you choose, not something you're born into without choice. There is no sorrow like it. I'm starting to understand you a bit. But... .don’t let this,” she gripped the closed hand a moment, realizing how warm she was if he still felt cool to her, “make this numb.” finger tapped his forehead once. The smile was understanding as she sought out her bag, “Life is still out there, and doesn't require you to forget in order to still love it. You relax up here, I’ll sleep in the boat. I’m my own space heater. Don't sweat the shower thing. I'm European, I've been to topless beaches. A lot. Doesn't always end well for gingers. Learned that lesson the hard way.”
  15. Maree'Anca Marin

    Fucking Out of Here.....

    It tickled the back of her neck. With as much as she was trying to get rid of any and all somethings permeating into her bruised psyche, lack of buzz from a million people around her in the concrete jungle only amplified whatever floated from her companion… even from the big gray hitchhiker beneath the waves. Animals did have personalities, not necessarily thoughts, but intentions. An empath could feel those things whether they were “in English” or not. She felt the peculiarity in his mood, which was why she opted for the loft. He could stay on his boat with whatever ghosts were making him oddly not as carefree as he was when out in what most would consider certain insanity. "No worries… I got it down here. Just need to… you know… put the boat to bed….so to speak. oh… hot water might take a bit…. got solar panels running an instant tankless but hasn’t been on for a while so…. ya… let me know if it doesn’t warm up." It did and she loved it, though almost scalding, but he wouldn’t shut up. Not physically… his unsettled vibe peppering her skin was almost as heavy as the hot water. Sigh was almost a huff, brushing the soap off her skin that had lit up with the root pattern burns from several days before. It would be short, she was being a hot water hog and she could warm up on her own, brain snapped to attention by a zing of panic from below. Shit, what now… Smack of the door brought an embered reaction up her spine like crackling flames, brow quirking at him when she realized why he was there. "WHAT'S WRONG? YOU OK?!?" It stayed quirked as he freaked and turned, reaching to turn off the water and sweeping the mass of hair over her shoulder to twist out a waterfall of droplets. "So sorry.. I…I heard you swearing… worried that… you know…something….. damn… sorry." She pulled a towel and fluffed it around her, stepping out with the soft pad of bare feet. “You speak Czech?” hummed quietly after his nearly inaudible sorry came from the other side of the closed door. He was completely freaking his shit. “That’s a bit disconcerting. I’ll watch my language from now on.” Hair was squeezed again as she wrapped a towel around that too and gathered up her wet clothes. “Get in there before your freeze.” She should have been embarrassed, but that was something she’d never been at odds with. All over the world, people viewed themselves differently; she just didn’t think modesty was worth worrying about. He on the other hand seemed to be having a heart attack, and it was her nature to put people at ease. She simply was always at ease, or tried to be within the confines of her unwanted power. “Get in there now Asher, while the water is still hot,” voice was quietly terse. “I can’t sail that thing myself if you catch pneumonia... and my toes are itching for some sandy beaches to walk in.” On cue, toe reached over to push the bathroom door open a crack for him. She stepped aside and started draping her clothes to dry near the stove, ignoring the fact he was half naked, turning her back to give him a moment to collect himself. Jesus, they were just tits. Given the color of his ears, if she said something it looked like he would probably die more of embarrassment than freezing to death.


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