don't be fooled by what you leave behind

[thefireofasaint]

So if, hypothetically, Helena and John were wandering the streets, occasionally subtly defacing public property with nearly hidden graffiti -- which of course they would not do because they are upstanding citizens and their parents and guardians respectively are government employees -- drawn with a sharpie, it only stands to reason that it would

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[igneus_aquaque]

Helena looks almost startled by this, like for an instant she's not sure where the hand came from and whether or not it belongs to anyone she actually wants to be touching her.

"Wh--oh. Okay, yeah." But she's obviously distracted, dropping his hand to pull her hood over her head, pulling into herself like a turtle. And she wasn't a big person to begin with, so like this she's approximately the size of three molecules. Two molecules of >:| and one molecule of ;_;.

[thefireofasaint]

Hey, give that back, it was kind of an effort for him to spontaneously do that. John retakes her hand (less firmly!) and starts off in the direction of a gazebo, because he's A Man and this is what A Man does, you know, when The Woman (Girl/Small Group of Girl Molecules) is distressed. And did not bring an umbrella.

"I slept in one of these once," he informs her by way of distraction, presumably referring to the gazebo and not, say, a tree or a squirrel, "but then I got kicked out. By drug dealers."

Such are the narrative jewels he occasionally tosses out. For distraction purposes, okay, but.

[igneus_aquaque]

Given the situation that inspired it, she really doesn't react to the rain too badly, just more like it's sleet than relatively soft water - like it hurts when it hits her jacket between the bench and the gazebo. She seems pretty willing to let him hang onto her hand now, though, and that's a....step in some direction or other.

"You were probably bad for business. With your clean-cut good looks and your well-dressed geniality." Hey, she's going along with it, go her. It's subdued and kind of forced, but she's trying.

[thefireofasaint]

"That's exactly what they said, as I recall." John squeezes her hand and examines some of the already existant graffiti in the gazebo.

"You cold? I think this is the appropriate setting for me to do shit like give you my jacket, or write our initials on the ceiling."

He's a true romantic, that Allerdyce guy.

[igneus_aquaque]

"I am cold." She frowns, drawing her brows together. "Which is fucking stupid because it should be impossible." Hi, Helena is fretful. But this does not mean she will not accept jackets or initial writery.

"Collectively we have like eight thousand initials, you know. You might need the Sistine Chapel or something."

[thefireofasaint]

To his credit, John does not immediately set part of the gazebo on fire. He's grown! And learned! Instead he puts his arm around Helena.

"True. I'd go right for the part where God and Adam are poking fingers." That would be his erudite analysis of Michelangelo's work, yes.

[igneus_aquaque]

Helena snuggles, and she is, notably, cold. Which is not exactly the norm. "That's very male of you. Somehow. Let's just assume I'm right, and also incredibly witty." She shivers, although it's mostly suppressed, because they are totally not talking about anything important right now okay.

[thefireofasaint]

In a family of pyrokinetics, it's a noticeable thing.

"I always assume that." John is fairly toasty, of course, and he does not mind hugging an ice cube, but it's kind of a weird thing. So if he drags out a cigarette he doesn't strictly need and lights up, maybe, yes, it's for the excuse to make a bit of fire. He keeps it cupped in his palm, not too close to Helena to avoid dehydrating her.

"The witty part, that is."

[igneus_aquaque]

She bumps his shoulder with her chin, which as ever is perforatey with affection. Perhaps in the recent months, since there is no one to dispute this, Abe has been fine-tuning her aerators and they are even better at filtering out toxins, but that's still no reason for her to actually encourage her own destruction.

"I kind of wish I could do that sometimes," she informs him randomly. "My mom does it, and you do, and everyone I'm close to." Giant heap of people that that is.

[thefireofasaint]

"Yeah, like we need another chainsmoking pyrokinetic sulking around," John is, however, temporarily amused by the image of a mini-Liz, more than he should be considering he's ... met one. "And somehow ... I dunno. It's like you can't really get close to them, sometimes, because of it. Because you both have it, I mean."

Or, you know, because you're a sullen teenage boy prone to starting fights with your sullen teenage adoptive brother and being awkward around your adoptive sort-of mother.

[igneus_aquaque]

"I don't sulk," says Helena, sulkily. "And I'm never gonna be close to my mom anyway." Oh, someone is in a dour mood. "Because um--we're almost the same, but we're not and in some ways that's worse, I guess. Or not worse, but it makes it harder."

She makes a twingey little face, which he probably can't see, but never mind, It's mostly for show anyway. "Not that smoking would fix that."

[thefireofasaint]

"Hn." The one syllable sound of amusement, courtesy the frequently sulky himself John. "That's wimmin stuff," he tells her straightfaced, pronouncing it exactly like that, "and smoking just lets you hang out without bitching at each other."

[igneus_aquaque]

"No, wimmin stuff would be ...stuff you definitely don't want me to start talking about." At what point in this relationship can she make him buy tampons for her? ....let's never ask that question. "That's just...family stuff. Life stuff."

She looks out past the lines of the gazebo into the rain, making a vague gesture that is clearly about to go somewhere significant, and then totally fails to! Hooray!

[thefireofasaint]

John is evidently unconvinced, because, after all, he and Henry have nothing resembling that problem whatsoever, DO they. Ha. Ha. Speaking of which:

"What about your dad?"

[igneus_aquaque]

"You've met my dad." Presumably a couple times by this point! "How close to him do you think most people are?" She shifts a little so she can put her legs under her and slide forward on the...uh, seat thing in the gazebo, so as to be further away from any rain that might be trying to contact her skin or something. Treacherous bastard rain! ...she really used to like rain. Now it just makes her think of wet hands at her throat and the memory of drowning on dry land.

She swallows and touches the bubbles on her neck. It's something she does often now. Are they still in place? Could they come loose? What if someone grabbed for them? She could run. She would.

"Look, it's not a big deal. I mean--they love me. Just because we don't have friendly chats doesn't mean that."

[thefireofasaint]

"Wasn't about to go all Very Special Episode on you," John grumbles, looking off in the opposite direction. "But that's my point, it's not like Henry and me ..." he pauses, momentarily at a loss for even a hypothetical male bonding situation. "Go fishing, or whatever. Liz and me never did anything but train, so now we can't do anything but train, which is fine, it's fine, whatever."