[OPEN] RV Park Party

[eirs]

WHO: Any and all OUTSIDER personnel that wants in and their respective campervan companions. Or maybe you wandered out away from your group and found this commune.
WHAT: The gang parking together at night to swap information about the things they've found in their investigations, night watches around a fire, ghost stories......? General tomfoolery in the desert where there's no one else for miles. Cooking their hunts in successes and mishaps?
WHERE: The Mojave Desert
WHEN: Mid to Late May
WARNINGS: Will be updated or tagged in the thread as needed!

Comments

[gimu]

[ habit nearly has him shuffling closer to preserve the warmth in them, but he stops himself at just a shift of his hand forward, palm rough over the blanket. tired once more of holding his head up, he lets it tip to lay heavily aside, temple on the ground and cheek smushed into his shoulder. ]

I don't know, either.

[ it's easy to just let the words, the admittance tumble its way out. this close, her sharp ears can pick up his quiet tenor, how his breath rumbles in his chest. this close, he can almost pick out the flecks of colour in her eyes in the dark. ]

Do I have to want something? [ a beat. ] Do you want me to ask of you? Will it make it easier to understand?

[picky]

[ There's a little prick of guilt that makes her eyes focus on his large, rough hand between them. She's been asking him questions about expectations, like there's some rubric to this that everyone else but her was given. Choso asks her, in more words than this: what does she want to do? What does she hope would happen?

Her lower lip puts upward a little in thought, her eyes still trained on his hand.

The desert night is getting cooler. Finally, she maneuvers closer to him like he hadn't done. Cheeks still dark, she takes his hand in hers and, instead of holding it, she nervously leads it to her side. He's already touched her waist before. What's one more time? (Except it makes her blood rush under her skin, but let's not pay attention to that.)

Her head stays ducked down. She hears that rasping breath and wonders if his heart beats. ]

I- [ Her voice cracks a little. She swallows it away. ] I think this is what I want. Is that okay?

rises from the sea of time like a weirdly-shaped kelp

[gimu]

[ a fact: the first thing choso remembers in all his strange existence is the sound of his own heart, thudding a relentless, unflagging beat through and despite the improbable circumstances surrounding his creation.

also a fact: as Marcille moves his hand to lay it on her instead, his heart does a funny thing that he does not remember it ever doing before; it stutters. as if it has stumbled mid-stride, its steady beat hiccups as a prelude to its quickened pace.

there is a sharp prickle high up in his nasal cavity. ]

Yes. [ it's almost breathless, this. a strange, relieved little thing uncurls somewhere between his ribs.

with the sort of cautious movements of a cat testing its newfound power, choso slides his fingers over the curve of her waist just enough to dip to her back, enough to nudge gently, to coax this tiny, cold thing closer. ]

This is what I want. Is that okay?

[picky]

[ something in her stomach flares the second his large hand splays over his back. her waist arches towards him, her knee slipping comfortably between both of his. she's slept by people before—her mother, falin, chilchuck, izutsumi. she has no fear of cuddling or hugging. not until now, when the gesture carries weight for her. this is what i want.

she hesitates. then she circles one arm around his back, the other folded between them, and sets her forehead against his chest. it's warm. a heart is beating in there somewhere. she closes her eyes. ]

Of course it is. ...I'm just going to stay here for a bit.

[ they don't have to talk or anything. she might fall asleep eventually, but the moment choso moves, she'll wake up and excuse herself quickly before anything else can happen. for now, if he lets her stay, she's content with just being closer. ]

[gimu]

Okay.

[ they don’t have to say a thing because choso’s throat has a funny little knot in it, his nose stinging way up high in his sinuses. when Marcille shuffles right up close to him, something small and warm and bright unfurls in his chest like a bloom, and he can do nothing but curl his big arm around her and adjust to keep his giant leg from crushing hers, for fear that any other motion may pop this bubble, or break the surface tension on what feels like forty litres of tears building up behind his face.

if he cries on her now, she may just bury herself in the sands like a desert gerbil. ]

This is perfect.

[ and it is, isn’t it? the sky spins vast and unknowable above, but here with Marcille tucked up against him it ceases to exist, it ceases to matter entirely. the deep and cooling dark of the desert night goes forgotten because he can smell the product she uses for her hair, the ghost of food and rations from hours ago, and it settles him in a way only yuji has truly managed to do since.

for the moment, choso is comfortable. choso is good, and as he curls in to tuck his face in the space between the blanket and her head, he cannot help but sigh out low and contented.

choso is just fine, tonight. ]