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The smile that crosses Wrench's face may be brief, but it's earnest. He settles his expression when the moment passes and gives her a cursory nod until he can clear his hands of the knife he's been using to scrape at a small bone. He cleans the blade on the grass and stuffs it back into his waistband before offering her a more intentional hey.

Most people in Solvunn have been more patient with him than he might have expected, but Wanda has gone beyond that. In the short time he's been here, she's sat with him and taken care to explain her thoughts and give him background on what's happened in the commune. Even when they have had to make heavy use of her telepathy for their own mutual understanding, she's been patient and respectful. Wrench might not know it if she ever saw more in his mind than what he thinks he's let her, but if she's caught a glimpse of anything that he hasn't wanted her to, she's never given him any indication of it.

The offer perks him up immediately. There are plenty of uses for honey -- more medical than culinary, even -- and he doesn't have the knowledge or the skills to brave collecting or processing it. But as quickly as he shows interest, Wrench tempers himself again.

Trade? His hands mimic an exchange of objects. What do you need?

Wanda blinks several times as he signs back at her, her eyes remaining fixed on his gestures, brow furrowing—this really is like learning another language. Once she puts together the words in her head, she shakes it.

Another lesson.

The shake of her head was to signify that she didn't want to exchange it for an object, per se, but rather for the abstract concept of another class.

I need to practice more. That's what she intends to say, but her signing falls a little short, like she's not confident enough about it. The main gist is there, though. Reaching into the basket, she grabs hold of the jar of honey, and hands it over. Claire has more.

Names was one of the first things she had asked to learn, especially of those here in Solvunn.

Wanda's offer hardly feels like an exchange. Either direction he considers it from, Wrench thinks he stands to gain from it. He's found -- maybe to his own surprise -- that the lessons he's offered a few of Solvunn's summoned have been received eagerly. Even more than that, it hasn't been difficult for Wrench to teach a few phrases in passing, or to sit with someone as they learn even more proactively. He's actually liked it. The time he's spent has given him people to talk with, and being able to share his language with them has made him feel more connected than he's felt since he can remember.

Honey and ASL lessons both serve him well. Seeing Claire's name on Wanda's hands makes him smile to himself. Surely the woman who's processed the honey knows all about its medicinal benefits, well beyond anything she might just be putting in her tea. Now he knows that he could go to Claire if he ever were to need it, but privately Wrench thinks that it's good to have a jar on hand in case she's the one in need of patching up.

Thank you, he signs when he takes the jar from Wanda. He knows he could supplement telepathically, but for now he sticks to reinforcing what he thinks she already knows. His signing is slow and deliberate. You're doing a good job. You understand a lot.

The clearing where he's been working is littered with the remnants of a few small animals Wrench has mostly finished butchering. By the remaining pelts, they look to be about the size of rabbits. He stands like he might be able to mask his work by getting a little further away from it. I will teach you more. I enjoy that.

There's a bit of a huff as she sees him waffling with the idea that what she asks is not something he'd want to exchange—not because he doesn't want her to learn, but because he doesn't think it's fair, or something. She's attentive, though, as Wrench signs again. Wanda can tell that he is making it easy for her to understand, taking care of his vocabulary, but there's a bit of a pleased look to her when he tells her that she's doing a good job.

She copies his gestures to sign I enjoy it, too.

Though Wanda only needs to lean to the side a bit to be able to see what he's trying to—poorly—hide. She steps around him, then, towards his little workspace area. He can only see her back now, but Wanda doesn't say anything. It just pleases her to see that he's adapting well.

That his being unable to hear doesn't put him at a disadvantage in how dangerous Solvunn can, at times, be. Turning again, she curls her hands into fists, like she's bracing herself for a longer string of words to sign.

I went to school until I was ten. I like learning. Be honest with me. Not easy on mistakes.

While she is uncertain how to sign certain things, she is doing her best to try and circumvent the lack of vocabulary—or simply words she may have forgotten. Is it any surprise, though, that she sends him a message through her telepathy?

Just a small break. You've been busy.

Edited 2023-11-09 21:37 (UTC)

Maybe it's just his guilt that's made Wrench want to hide his work. He doesn't think she'll read into his thoughts and try to uncover the meaning behind what he's doing here. For all intents and purposes, that seems evident. The hunting might not be necessary for him, of course, but someone in Solvunn's going to do it. If he bartered for his meals he might be a few more steps removed from the brutality of the killing, but it won't change what's necessary. And even if he has taken more than he knows he needs, it's clear he's also taken pains not to waste any.

When Wanda turns back around, he's glad she doesn't ask him about it. Wrench's shoulders relax, and he finds himself distracted by another little bit of information that reveals something fascinating about her. Ten? he confirms, first by signing it properly, then holding up both hands with all of his fingers splayed. That's young. O-K, O-K. I'll tell you the truth. I promise.

And then he finds his mind full again. It's such an imperceptible shift. Wrench knows Wanda could have been in there a long time before she said anything, but he doesn't know the mechanics of how. It doesn't feel the same when he thinks back at her. He's sure she's the one reaching in, not him.

First winter in Solvunn. I don't know what to expect, but thought I should be prepared.

Oh.

That makes a whole lot of sense—preparing for winter, that is, especially one that he isn't familiar with what kind of shape it'll take. Would he be expecting snow, if he is American? Freezing temperatures? It wouldn't be too crazy to think about.

You could have asked.

She throws at him, but she shrugs amicably before he can think her words carry any traction of annoyance in them. As she sends more words his way, she signs a couple of the nouns.

Lots of rain. It does get cold, but not like northern winters. You won't want to be soaked through by the rain at night, though. I'm sure you'll get sick if you do.

Glancing about, Wanda finds a stump to sit on, hands on her knees.

I do miss the snow. I come from a country with snowy winters. Cold ones, too. We were surrounded by mountains, so all that cold wind would roll down into the country.

The following, she does sign.

Where are you from exactly? Also snow winter?

Annoyance might seem a likely response to such an obvious suggestion, but there's a flash of something else instead. In the moment before Wanda continues on, Wrench's brain lights with a sense of realization. For the barest second, it seems like he's never considered that before. Just asking. Initiating a conversation with someone over something as easy and trivial as the weather. It's just not in Wrench's nature to even consider that a possibility.

But he's attentive as she explains, and glad to her for offering. Grateful, even. It changes things. He doesn't have a structure yet that's built to withstand much rain, particularly if it comes with a drop in temperature. Wrench needs to consider better ways to store his meager possessions if he can't count on a bed of snow to act as a cold chest and might need to contain with the way rainfall can carve into mud and wash things out. He needs real shelter, of course, but different from the one he was planning.

Her question gives him a chance to use his hands first, so that she can practice. He fingerspells his answer deliberately before following it up with more telepathically: M-I-N-N-E-S-O-T-A.

Spent time around the Canadian border. Lots of snow. Plenty of frozen lakes to ice fish. I don't know if I miss it. Different experiences are kind of nice, I guess.

Clearly he hasn't had many of those.

He spells out the word, making Wanda realize that she isn't too certain where Minnesota is within the United States, and it shows on her face. With a light frown, she wonders if it is close to Canada, then, as he mentions? So— up north, with cold winters.

I think I'm just a little homesick.

It's easy enough to miss something that can never be anymore; missing home is just a general state for her, not having one place to call home. Solvunn is the closest it gets, now, and it's probably why it's so easy for Wanda to grow comfortable here—because there is nothing to return to, if she were to return to her world.

Maybe that's why she thinks it'd be nice to have snow. It'd remind her of the feeling of Sokovia a little more.

Apparently we're getting winds from the north, where Thorne is. That's why it gets colder here. Not cold enough to freeze the lakes, though.

So, no ice fishing.

Wanda lifts her hands now, signing a question she's had in mind for a while. What is your job? Simplified, since she can't ask him what he does for a living with her current ASL knowledge.

Homesick. It's not the first time he's encountered the word -- both from his fellow summoned and long before he was ever brought here -- but Wrench realizes again he's not sure he's ever felt it. Would he know that pang if he ever had? Home isn't a word with much meaning to the man. What it conjures in his mind is something more nebulous. Not a place at all. Maybe there's a feeling there of a time he felt truly at peace, but that too is fleeting. It's hard for Wrench to even want to remember, so he pushes it away.

Don't most people just recreate their homes in their Horizon?

Maybe it's what he's done too, in a manner of speaking. Wrench doesn't think about his domain like that, but it's still new to him. The place he's creating feels idealized, but maybe most wouldn't even notice much difference between it and Solvunn.

This time when she signs he does cross his arms. Without meaning to, Wrench's posture goes momentarily on the defensive. It makes sense that she'd ask; maybe he's curious about the same thing. But no answer he can think of feels quite right. He could say he does nothing, and that would be mostly true. He's not a proud man, but something stops him. So he offers instead:

I fix things. Fix. That little meddling motion that brushes his clenched fingers together, like building something or setting something right. It's a generous explanation, but he doesn't hate it.

Wanda can tell that he struggles with her question, and the answer that he gives her is... not quite truthful, but it's not entirely a lie. She can tell, from his posture, but more so than anything else—as he may have already suspected every time she delves into his head to communicate with him—she can just feel it oozing from his thoughts and emotions.

She looks around, at his little workspace.

Fix, huh...

Not a job. She signs, lightly, but doesn't push. Even if there is something hedging towards friendship between them, there's still a need of equitable give-and-take for Wrench to feel comfortable with sharing more with her. I never had a job. My brother steal— How do you sign past tense for it? —things. We try to help people.

She makes a motion, as if to say, 'before'. Not now, not anymore.

My country was caught in a civil war since I was ten. That's why I stopped going to school. Most places got bombed, or there was just a lot of shootouts happening out in the city, at all times. I don't have a home to recreate.

It is a job, Wrench signs back immediately. There's a defensive spark in those words. He manages to keep the emotion off his face, but it's there in his mind like a shield. Like he might be able to needle Wanda into agreement if he bickers with her just enough. Tell a handyman that he doesn't have a real job and see where that gets you.

Is that what he wants to consider himself? A handyman? Maybe here in Solvunn where work is plentiful and easy. Wrench is just as happy to mend a fence or lay a foundation for a home as he is to skin animals and process their pelts. True that he's mostly done all of what surrounds them for his own benefit so far, but that's good, right? It means he's not taking from anyone else.

He's glad when Wanda shifts the focus back around, though the words she conjures leave plenty for him to wonder after. He wants to push at her a little bit in return. Her brother steals, but never her? It edges the corner of his lips into a faint smile to think about her staying innocent in all of it.

But the smile fades away quickly when she shares more telepathically.

Maybe I'll make snow in my Horizon. We can introduce some of the summoned to sledding.

How did you get out? Did you leave your country in the end?

In some regard, Wanda feels like she knows what that smile is about, but she's got no real anchor to prove that she knows. Letting it slide, with a shrug and a wave, leaning back enough on her fashioned seat to stretch out her legs, she focuses on her ongoing conversation.

You're going to be unfairly good at sledding, is what you're saying.

There it goes, the ebb and flow of the conversation, traipsing over instances of her past that she knows she can't exactly avoid. Not when she's trying this whole give-and-take approach.

I got out, but my brother didn't.

He was shot and killed.

The draw of air as she exhales it, loudly (in the motion of her shoulders), shows two things: that this happened a long time ago, so while her pain is still visible, she can steel herself well; the second being that this might be a slightly 'clean' version of what happened.

Her hands wrap onto each other, over her lap.

The capital was under attack. We worked to save others and get them out before it crashed onto the rest of the country. The American government took me in, but I wanted to bury Pietro with our parents.

Their psychic connection doesn't need to go any further than words alone; Wrench can still feel that agony. If loss gets easier with time, he's never found enough distance from his own to feel the promised comfort. In Wrench's experience, grief simply transforms. It changes shape within a person. The edges might smooth out as it finds a comfortable place to take root, but then it's just a part of its host forever. There's no sense in even trying to extricate it.

Maybe Wanda can feel that Wrench relates to this story in his own way. It's very different -- she and her brother were acting as heroes, where that's the opposite of what anyone might every consider him -- but the particulars feel so similar. The sudden loss, the guilt at being the one to survive where someone else didn't... He gets that all too well.

Were you able to do that? Bury him like you hoped to?

Wanda signs a yes to the question. It is the very least she could have done for Pietro—just another victim of the war that took many lives in Sokovia, the country now undone and left to become fragmented parts of the countries around it. The place she can call home, officially—if she ever were to return there—is the memorial for those lost that sits in the middle of where Novi Grad once was.

There is an inkling, though, as she told him her story that Wanda felt resonated with her words. A feeling, a sentiment, but it wasn't sympathy born out of just imagining her pain.

And you?

She leaves it as an open question. To learn more about him? Perhaps. He is free to share whatever he wants, without feeling like she's pressing him to do so.

Even before the thought has fully formed in his mind, Wrench is shaking his head. He’s not sure what Wanda is asking — or if she’s even certain of the particulars herself - but he has an answer for her. It comes so quickly that he regrets it almost instantly, and for a moment something in him tenses up. It’s as if he’s trying to push against the boundaries of their connection. Like he might want to shove her out of his mind completely, though something tells him he’s not strong enough for that.

I never got to bury anyone I lost.

It’s not like him to express much resentment. Wrench might argue or disagree, but he doesn’t sulk or self-pity. This feels different, though. The emotions feel very old, and yet still very raw. It’s like he’s tried to hide them, rather than addressing them, and he doesn’t know what to do with them now.

Maybe there’s no real closure. You just keep moving.

Closure is something made up to make us feel like everything means something in the end.

For although her losses has been such that she could bury them and say goodbye, they never healed the wound left behind. It'd only heal if someone new was there to nurture her, but— it seems she isn't allowed to keep that happiness, fleeting in nature.

Wanda feels him trying to hedge away from their telepathic bond, so she just raises her hands, an I'm letting up gesture, and Wrench will feel a new wave of utter silence take over his mind. She's not there, and will not be there, until he reaches out again.

Instead, she attempts to sign to the best of her ability: Do you feel okay here? ('Comfortable' is the word she is looking for.) You can rest?

It really feels like she's translating directly from another language. Hopefully the sentiment is understood, that hopefully despite every unknown in this world, Wrench can find enough space to stop from 'just keep moving'.

Open | November

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