( open ) there's a road that follows to a home

[cadeuces]

Who: Angela & you!
When: The month of February and onward
Where: Region 2 farmlands, at her cottage
What: A permanent downtime log for house shenanigans!
Warnings: None, but I will update if anything comes along!

[ Angela's work schedule is a fairly clear-cut thing on the best of days. Three days working in Kauto's hospital, three days up on Chioni, and then two days off. Around the time of planet discovery and the initial burst of travels, she hovers around the Ingress Complex to assist any who may return injured, and she's otherwise on call across all three if emergencies required her skills. To say she isn't home terribly often is a fair enough assessment, but she still had plenty of downtime every evening, considering the longer days.

There's a key in the base of the lantern beside her front door, but not everyone knows about it— not even a handful from her own world. Those who do, however, know they have a free pass to her home whether she's there or no. A spare bed to crawl into, a couch to wait on, access to her stash of medical supplies (but seriously just call her for help). A kitchen to rummage through, now often with fresh-baked bread and a steady offering of apples off her trees on hand, as well as any leftovers in the fridge.

Eiger still accompanies her to work as a resident therapy dog, but he could be found around the property when she works her shifts on Chioni, access out the back door through the flap when he no longer feels like awaiting her return at the front. The cottage itself is on a hill and the back extends out on a bridge as an elongated sunroom, stretching out over the creek running through her property. The back door itself leads one to a winding path down through the copse of trees preceding her quaint little orchard of apple and walnut trees, surrounding a gazebo set up with a fire pit and the basics for cooking in warmer weather, hammock piled high in furs leftover from the Midway Hub's game— if anyone chose to visit and didn't have access to her house, this would be the ideal place to camp. (Just make sure to message her so she knows you're there! She'll come around once she's home to let you in.)

If she's home and not in the house, one would undoubtedly find her in that hammock with her work, fire crackling at hand and her cup of coffee long-since cold, Eiger curled up behind her legs. It's not the largest of places, but it's home, and there's blankets on near every surface— even the chairs in the kitchen. The creek is a relaxing babble, the creak of the water wheel partially powering her home, and if she's home, there's always a fire going if it's cold out and coffee going. ]



( ooc: This will be a permanent post for house stuff! I'll be posting monthly headers and any prompts relating to events or going-ons within to link from my toplevels, but I am 100% open to casual plotting or visits; just hit me up at clegane or on discord (gauche#5968) and we can work something out! ♥ )


february ● march ● april ● may ● june ● july ● august

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[cadeuces]

[ It's another quiet moment between them in the ongoing litany of their friendship, Ahab so easily taking to her tactility and offering his own in easy affections she didn't know she'd needed so badly until she had them. There to stay, his warmth at her back, his arm across her stomach to hold her steady on his legs. When was the last time she'd had this closeness with... anyone?

Her current company knows how painful it is not to remember. Minds as sharp as theirs didn't take so kindly to blurred scenery and gaps in the road. A handful of hugs. The moment she'd found out 76 was Jack and he'd clung to her. She had a bad habit of letting others have their fill but never taking her own— and then there's Ahab, who offers her what she offers others, what she's offered him time and again. That bit of selfishness that doesn't pull away after an appropriate amount of time. He's always too good to her.

In the midst of soaking her in, her fingers splay about the shrapnel in his brow and settle carefully, nails sifting through his hair with the rhythmic curl of her fingers that falls somewhere between their breathing patterns. Nearly synchronized.

It's his laugh that really leaves her relaxing into him, inch by inch, sinking deeper as time ticks by until she's fitted against him near-perfectly. Her teeth flash just to hear it, smiling a little wider every time. He's starting to grow into it— that easier laugh.

"I can work with that", like her trust was an unwieldy tool in his arsenal to learn. It leaves her huffing her amusement and shaking her head slowly, nuzzling against him with the motion as his hand slips from her waist to pat her knee, the heat of his arm sinking right through her leggings. ]

...I am, yes. Thank you for listening.

[ For being here. For insisting so gently. For staying close enough to feel his heartbeat at her back, knowing the touch at her knee aligned with it. her head rests against his as she puts the finishing touches on reconnected wires, having cleaned out the interior of the arm and weeded out no small portion of dead wiring. She fixes the carbon sleeve back in place to protect the innards again, carefully adjusting the tight weave to fix gaps where stray bits of shrapnel or otherwise had punctured through and let in desert sand. Connections all clean and tightened properly, and now to clean up and oil the joints. A far quicker process as she begins piecing off the casings of each digit.

If only she had better words to convey how much this all meant to her. There are little ways he'll understand it even without being spoken aloud, she's sure, especially in the gentle rise of her shoulder that her head tips into, a pale imitation of a hug, but it was still nice to hear it straight sometimes. Instead: ]

Will you stay a little longer?

[ Once she's finished. ]

[alterplex]

[ This is how it works between them, this tandem two-person operation. While Angela Ziegler is hard at work rewiring an inextricable part of Venom Snake, Venom Snake makes sure that Angela Ziegler assigns time to readjust and center herself. Like a sniper with his spotter, or a medic with her assistant. They know what works.

He gives her a point of focus on her knee, fingers curled inwards with enough pressure to let her know that he's steady, that he hears her. When she reciprocates with her own touch, airy and affable, he relents his half-grip and smooths his thumb over her leggings to soothe the unevenness he'd left under his palm.

It's easy. Simple and uncomplicated, but important.

Venom is a rattlesnake that employs his warnings far more often than he uses his fangs; venomous snakes are often the most shy, and often the most territorial. Give him a family to protect, and he'll run himself ragged.

So he coils around Angela when she fits up against him, covers the smaller body to bolster the virtue of her trust. ]

Don't thank me. [ Despite his words, his voice is warm. ] Thank your patriot for being alive.

[ He's sure that 76 will make it up to her. They have the time to do it.

That said: ] Yeah. I'll stay.

[cadeuces]

[ They would never be anything but steady for one another when it's needed— that's just how their friendship has shaken out. Nearly a year, now— it's hard to imagine so much time has flown by, but on the same hand it feels like eons; like they've known one another for decades. The understanding came quickly and easily, slotting right into one another's lives like they'd been there all along. She couldn't ask for more in a friend.

Even without the touch at her knee, she knows. Her nails slip back out of his hair and along the shrapnel cool to the touch mere millimeters from his skin, feeling the squeeze at her knee give way to the smoothing of rough fingertips. Callouses scraping over cotton, audible and pleasant even as she feels the snags nearly tickling her leg.

It is important, and easy and uncomplicated. If only life would follow this example in this moment. Just as important as the way he curls around her, a warm shield to protect her from who knows what in this world, his weight pleasant and knowing she could be in no better hands. It shouldn't be this easy, but here they were. Fitting perfectly and coiled together, strengthening one another to stand tall so far from home and comfort. Creating their own. ]

I already have; he didn't take to it so well, I'm afraid. All I can do is hope it'll grow on him. But I can thank you, too. For everything. Your company's always a relief, Ahab.

[ For this, and all facets it has entailed; it was no easy task to admitting to being lonely when surrounded by one's 'family', yet in this moment, for these troubles, she'd been alone. Roundabout it may be, it was still sincere— her thanks and her admittance. She's picked the plating off of one digit, flushed and re-lubricated the joint, fitted it back together— and onto the next, and the next, the mindless monotony of it drawing her in. Once she'd figured out the first, the rest go easily, old grease wiped away on a clean cloth to gather all filaments and granules of dirt and sand and grime up until it comes away clean. There's resistance in moving the digits without power behind it, but it still moves far more silently and smoother than before. No clicking. (Not yet, at least.)

His acquiescence is met with another smile, something relieved as the last scrap of tension leaves her body, relaxed against him in full and legs curling up beneath her workspace in her lap to tuck her toes in the depths of the couch. She doesn't reply aloud; didn't need to, likely. He'd know she's thankful for it. Eventually, however, that silence and warmth and his easy hold on her gets the better of her.

It was only two fingers left to do, but busy hands slow and go limp, her weight easing further— she's fallen asleep in the curl of his body around hers.

She'll find the time to be properly embarrassed later, certainly. ]

[alterplex]

[ Sometimes it's easy to be embroiled in the world that a found family creates, to have that be the sum and total of everything that comprises one's conscious. Angela, being a fountain of empathy, no doubt has built her years around the people she considers dear to her; when those cornerstones fracture (as they often do), she's bound to feel the stress along those cracks.

So Venom uses his third-party status to his utmost. No preconceptions or pre-packed stipulations, no shared past to color the decisions he makes now, in the present. To him, Angela is a companion whose work has stilled to accommodate her fatigue— there's no judgment call there, aside from the gentle relief that sits warmly in his subconscious.

She's finally getting some well-deserved rest.

Carefully, Venom picks the heavy prosthesis from between Angela's relaxed palms to set it aside, to free her for ginger maneuvering across his lap. He assumes her in a strategic position with her head at his chest and her legs up and across the couch, laid out where he can put his palm on her waist, anchoring her in place.

(Maybe this is how he felt, back when his affiliation was one word apart from Médecins Sans Frontières. Maybe this is still him, a medic at heart when everything else has burned and been left for dead.)

His breathing is steady and his expression is open, warm in a way he wouldn't be able to identify. Sifting his fingers through her hair, Venom sits back and hopes that Angela's dreams treat her well. ]

[cadeuces]

[ Ahab is one of very few who would feel so fondly for her sleep, glancing right over the inconvenience to himself and focusing instead on gladness on her behalf. He's far more empathetic than he knows, as well— likely the reason they've grown so close, the hidden secret of what they actually shared in common beyond a military background. (And the even more hidden secret combat medic profession.)

It's a testament to her relaxation and trust in Ahab that she doesn't so much as stir when he shifts her, gentle and careful and terribly precise as he works his prosthetic from her hands and lets her sink between splayed legs and slide across his front, bone-limp and pliant to fit right against him as her shoulders give into the turn, nearly front-to-front. Once he's steadied her, she stays, ever the easy sleeper. No tossing and turning, no splaying, no muttering. His heartbeat strong in one ear keeps her floating along, the ebb and flow of her dreams matching his tempo for a change, his breathing anchoring her when so often it's the opposite.

Skin to skin, body warm and strong beneath her weight and fingers lifting from her waist to thread through her hair, pale gold parting to a nimble touch that only casts her out further from the shore. All these things combined keep her dozing for over an hour, well beyond a power nap and far, far more restful. Ask her another time, even months from now, and it'll still probably be the best sleep she's had in recent memory.

Having a living, breathing companion beside you makes all the difference, really.

But eventually she does stir, and it's nothing he's done. Instincts overridden, but not for long— slow and shallow breathing picks up, her lashes flutter against his skin, and eventually her eyes crack open. It's a long bleary moment as she turns her cheek in against him, senses filled with him, his scent and the beat of his heart and his warmth, his touch having since stilled in her hair and arm anchored about her shoulders, and she very nearly gives into the primal tug deep down that lulls her back to sleep.

It's fine, this is comfortable, familiar. "You're in good hands." A truth that blankets her and tries to soothe her back down. Except she isn't used to these things, nice though they may be. As if someone'd snapped their fingers, she goes rigid and sucks in a quiet breath, one arm anchoring her as her hand sinks into the cushion of the couch, trying to peel away from him as carefully as possible.

Lest she disturb him, if he's fallen asleep. No small part of her is mortified, quite frankly, even as she knows he wouldn't mind mind. Because it all comes back as she's reeled back to shore, back within the range of the waves crashing at the sand, threatening her with that very same rude awakening. She'd fallen asleep on him. Right in his lap, with him curled around her. No wonder. ]