Distill & Chill (Feb 2016)

[Claire Gallows]

It was an overcast night. So far from the city, the clouds had taken a hard stand where the wind was weak, lined up across the sky like soldiers lined for war. They hung there in the sky, hardly moving and swollen with the threat of snow, like thick, curly wisps of hair illuminated by the impotent threat of the twin moons shining behind them; it left the canvas of sky near black save for the occasional sliver of pale light knifing through. Each precious ray found the surface of the lake as if drawn to it with a purpose, pale illumination glowing on a surface just barely frozen over and boasting the random beauty of cracks that spiderwebbed outward. A delicate grey fog rolled along the shortline, ponderous and speckled with holes where it tried to reach across the lake and was diminished somewhat by the light. Even without the ambient sounds of spring and summer, it was muted sort of beautiful, like an interactive portrait of a simpler stillness. The crickets and the frogs might have ruined it.

It was ironic what is had taken for Cooper to remember how to appreciate it all.

He haunted the lavish cabin as often as he left it empty, leaving precious few clues where he went during his unexplained absences but showing all too many signs of a desire to leave the cottage better than he found it. The Caelums had expensive tastes, or whoever had decorated it had, but as the months of residency had dragged on, the cowboy had chosen to given the gift of leaving his touch upon it. Three weeks in a month out of four (or five), the place was a work in progress. During those briefer times, the renovations beamed in the most rurally beautiful ways. He still wasn't sure how well the manmade still outside the side deck had gone over, but if keeping an eye on the twins when needed didn't occupy the cowboy's attention, his whittling or attempts at making liquor did. It had seemed that the giant man was determined to leave something behind for the world, or so he had told himself more than once, with whatever time remained.

The still made a soft, droning sound every now and then, covering what little ambient sound of his own presence was, and he would have been all but one with the shadows where he say in the oversized wicker deck chair if not for the subtle but consistent red-orange glow of the cigarette's cherry. The still only occupied his attention as necessary, the memorable view of the lake having consumed far more of his attention.

Memories. It was a night to lose himself in them. Cooper wasn't sure yet, tonight, if that was a good thing.

The twins were asleep. The main house was dark save for the ambient glow of a single light in the kitchen, likely kept on over the stove to keep the first floor from being a pitch black labyrinth full of extravagant obstacles ripe for stubbing toes. Claire had a habit of wandering. It was important to keep the toes intact. Upstairs, in the excessively warded quarter of the mammoth manor, Alexander and Averia slumbered soundly while Titan and Chronos watched over them. Watched, was a bit of a stretch, the two dire wolves were likely sleeping too. But it gave Claire enough peace of mind that she could pull herself away from the nursery long enough to do something other than watch them too. The brief interlude of vacation as a whole family was but a glimmer in the rear view and the daily grind was already wearing her into an inescapable rut. So much so that she had completely spaced a certain werebear's birthday a week prior. So when it came to mind, her wandering took her back through the house for one more pass by the nursery, an ear to the door verifying that there was no baby babbling going on (likely only from Alex anyways since Averia had long since decided that she was above talking), before she scooped up a paper wrapped package, tucked it under her arm and ducked out the back door.

The slice of light did little to hold off the dark but she dove in without hesitation. It was exactly two hundred and forty six steps from the manor's back door to the guest cabin's side, an entrance frequented by the cabin's current guest. She had made the trek enough times to have worn thin the terrain between the two. By spring, the landscapers were going to call for her head. This time around, it was covered in a blanket of snow that muted the tromping of partially unlaced boots, put on only because she had no desire to get her feet wet in lesser footwear. For all she complained about the cold, she had only pulled on an oversized black hoodie emblazoned with a bright pink D that seemed almost luminescent in the scant moonlight. It should be a quick trip, there and back on the delivery to a doorstep that she didn't have to worry about anyone touching save for the intended party.

It was the upside to living in the middle of nowhere, away from a city that never slept.

In all of her contemplative introspection, she almost, almost missed him there. But at the last moment she came up short, just shy of the side deck's trio of steps that led up to the raised porch.

"Those things are terrible for you, you know." They were words spoken many a time to smokers in her life, chiding without patronizing, a gentle reminder that she cared enough to say something. She wasn't without her vices so the hypocrisy wasn't lost on her, but that didn't stop her.

There had been plenty of reason to take few things for granted these days. His odd friendship with the pink haired woman wasn't one of them. Cooper figured it had been her sense of honor and gratitude that had resulted in his current residence, a stay that had extended long beyond what he had originally intended; expectations had been for him to be much farther afield by now. And yet here he remained, more a fixture than not despite and being a sporadic presence. For as little as they spoke, Claire had taken him into her trust, if not for confiding for herself (which she hadn't) but for the two little burgeoning bundles of energy who had become as taken with him as he had with they. It had somehow been parlayed into the occasional babysitting gig, which appeared more comical than not if you didn't know any of the parties involved.

It had endeared him to the currently regime, on the periphery if not the center. It had become a friendship that was no less sincere in it's warmth for all the rareness of time for depth of conversation. Sometimes life was like that. The cowboy, for his part, let himself be touched by the situation for what it was.

The crooked smile was barely scene for all the way the shadow clung to him like a second skin, normally too-dark eyes half-ringed in a flicker of silver crescents for a fleeting moment. Closer, he could be seen better in a cliched covering of blue Wrangler denim and heavy red flannel, the old black Stetson tipped back for a rare look at his face in its entirety.

"I've done worse t' muhself, darlin', and it keeps m' hands busy when I can't find nothin' better t' do with 'em. I'll quit sooner than later." It only sounded half ominous but there was something mildly heartening in the delivery. He didn't expect her to tarry; Claire rarely lingered around the place long, but did the gentleman part passably well in the way he pushed one of the nearby chairs out for her in silent offer.

Silent understanding had dictated most of their friendship, a quiet respect for space and for the meaning of family. For all intents and purposes, Cooper Gallows was one of her own at this point, one of a small number permitted into a circle that she would do most anything for. Of course, rarely did she articulate such a thing. After all, Claire and squishy words had never much been friends. Instead her caring manifested in other ways, subtle but still there.

No matter the gifts her blood gave her, she knew he was far more at home in the dark than she was, and there was a certain passing sense of vulnerability as she stood in the open, seen without being able to see him, aware of his presence only by sense without sight. It was there and gone when she took the first step of three, climbing the short incline and up onto the deck. An odd contrast to the cowboy's heartier attire, her own mismatched mash of cotton-polyester layered above yoga pants in the same night shade as the hoodie was all paired with the well worn combat style leather boots that stuck out like a sore thumb among the softer, more casual duds. Soles squeaked on wood, sounding out the march to meet the cowboy as she pulled free the small, rectangular package. When she reached him, she held it out even as she dropped into the offered seat. At the very least she could stay long enough for him to unwrap it.

"We've all done worse. Doesn't make it any better. Happy birthday... a little late."

In the dark, the cigarette's glowing tip dipped, the only indication that the sudden presentation of the box had caused some measure of open-mouthed surprise. The silence lingered for a short time before he reached out to take the package. It was enough to show him in a better light, the small square of soft yellow light from the cottage window illuminating half of his face and giving it a healthy pallor. The smile had softened for her gesture once the initial surprise had faded.

"Do I wanna know how y' managed to figure out when m' birthday was or s' it one'a them Mission Impossible Caelum things?"

Claire dragged one leg over the other and planted a forearm against the stack for round shouldered lean. Few things drew out more mirth than catching someone off guard with something pleasant they didn't think they were going to receive. She was a giver to a fault and even in the dark, her grin was easily seen.

"I know time's a sort of odd thing sometimes, but unless something changed, your birthday's on the same day it was last year." As in, he had been there at least that long. She had lost count by now. It wasn't as though it mattered.

"And m' still tryin' t' figure out how you knew then." The scowl last for as long as it took her smile to widen and it deepened a moment before evaporating completely. The cigarette, nearly spent, was stubbed out in the weight coffee can he discarded butts in to keep the deck tidy, the other hand coming around to join the first as he leaned further forward. Cooper shook the box experimentally, flubbing the guess completely for the sake of bad humor. "M' gonna say... an autographed pair'a panties from Team Dirty Pink's IFL season."

He paused then and then added as an afterthought. "Hope's."

Otherwise it would have been awkward.

"Cordelia." She answered, her grin turning shameless with the admission. The manor's cook had a way of finding out the most sordid details of their lives. What was a birthday? Claire bit back a snicker and nodded. "Damn, you got it first try. I'm told they're freshly used too."

Not really. The paper was basic, a bland brown sealed with two short pieces of tape on either end and one in the middle. No bow, no card, just a neat cursive "CG" in one corner to remind her who it was for. Within, white tissue paper wrapped a thick leatherbound book full of blank parchment. The cover was patterned with stitching that look to have been done by hand, and in the center set a polished oval of onyx, the smooth stone even darker outside.

"M' life is complete," he mumbled and then laughed, thick fingers shredding though the paper effortlessly to reveal the unexpected gift within. Dark brows dipped together curiously, the callused pads of his fingers carefully tracing the designs. Cooper had been especially bad at sharing pieces of himself for longer than was healthy, keeping thoughts and feelings to himself, leaving a wealth of memories and burdens unshared. And yet there it was, a safe zone where he could share without judgement or demand. It was a gift worthy of a man who didn't know himself these days as well as a veritable stranger did. Or sensed. "Wow."

He looked up at her. "This is... It fits. Thanks, Claire. Really."

A few fingers curled a scratch against her cheek and she shrugged a little, a half cocked smile angling her mouth's line in his direction. The reaction was enough, she had done her part. Her guest had always been the stoic sort, and for all he had never pried into the machinations behind her, she could appreciate a need to get things out without entrusting them to another person. People were fallible and secrets were precious. They were key to the smooth transition between the masks she wore so comfortably.

"Something to keep your hands busy maybe." She leaned forward to tap just below the inset onyx. "That's supposed to help drive away unwanted thoughts and bad temper. Terran indigenous Americans claim it's considered a stabilizing stone, especially during times of extreme stress because it prevents loss of energy from the body. But hey, that's just what they say. Rocks, ya know." A lean back pulled her out of his personal space, the smile still easy. The girl had enough crystals of her own that they weren't trivial things, but she spoke with the practiced nonchalance that implied it was only a passing fancy rather than an area of expertise.

"Mother Earth's treasures can have a great bit'a power." A thumb passed over the stone and, for a few short breath, the cowboy's eyes drifted shut. A soft sound rattled in his throat. "M' ma's folk were'a the Sioux people. She even taught me the Lakota tongue." He smiled again and exhaled a half ragged breath before resuming his look at his host. Eye contact was thing be avoided with others, mostly for their benefit, but he met her gaze easily. At times, it was easy to imagine that the depthless dark of his gaze was once a much nicer color.

The journal was placed reverently on one thigh, held gently in place with the cover of one massive hand as the other reached down beside his chair. The flash he produced was a brushed, faded silver encased in a rich red wood, its surface carved by hand with intricate simples. Tribal markings of some sorts. Perhaps words of power. It was offered to her, subtle and companionable. "Y' could've left this here when I was 'round. So keepin' takin' a load off and keep me company fo' a bit. That house up there's too empty or too full'a official people t' be comfortable. View's pretty grand down here."

"We put a lot of stock in crystal back home, through the whole realm even, Lucis and Pulse both." Three years in Rhydin hadn't stolen the definition of the word "home" just yet. Her limited knowledge of the intricacies of Earth's people meant half of what he said was lost on her but she listened just the same, tucking details neatly away for safekeeping. She could pass for aloof so easily that it always made it a surprise when she could recall what others couldn't. Gaze met, she held it only as long as he was comfortable, her own a vibrant shade of aquamarine that remained bright even in the dark, able to pick up the barest glimmers of light for the sake of reflection.

She was still sitting on the edge of the chair when he offered the flask over, ever on the precipice of leaving no matter where she was. Such was a go-go-go life, brought to a screeching halt by an amiable offer and sweetened with alcohol. Claire took it and pulled it up for a sniff. "Could've. Truthfully it's sat on the dining room table for a week and a half, just hadn't remembered to drop it by." Acknowledging just how empty the manor was currently was more than she was willing to give at the moment so instead she compromised and let the slow sink back into the chair fill in the blank. "I can stay for a bit. What've you got going out here anyways?" The outward nudge of her foot gestured vaguely in the still's direction.

They were playing the acceptable game, first with his Earth and then with her Pulse, though he knew less about the latter than she did the former, with Lucis being little more than her husband's stock and trade. The details mattered, at least for as much as the slow building of more mundane familiarity, but they came and time and their importance was relative against the more subtle undertones of what experience gifted. He made an attentive study of her face, the hard lines and the soft as they ebbed and flowed with the changing of her expressions.

"Stay a minute. Stay an hour. Yo' company's always welcome, if'n I'm here t' enjoy it. And if'n I'm not, kick up yo' feet anyway. There's homemade booze and Cheez-its and that view..." He pointed beyond them to the lake before the movement of her foot drew his attention back to her still. A small glimmer of pride quivered his smile at the corners. "Thought I'd try m' hand at makin' m' own booze. Whiskey, bourbon, and honey liquor..." She could smell the last one in the flask. "S' been somethin' constructive t' do t' pass the time."

Little bits. Baby steps. Pieces and parts that made up the whole. She was a study in subtly masqued tension limned with a general world weary fatigue, particularly evident just at the edges of her eyes. Otherwise fair skin was worn smooth like marble as if crafted by a master sculptor at the height of their creative genius, bearing no scars or other discernible lining.

"I'm hardly company most of the time," she scoffed, self deprecation an easy default when it came to grappling with the idea of interacting with other living beings. "But I'll admit that the view is one of my favorites, though you had me at homemade booze."

When he elaborated further, she turned just enough in her seat to give the still a narrow eyed study in the dark, her head tilting when she pulled the flask to her mouth for a short swallow. It wasn't half bad. It almost made her want to hold on to the flask but after the taste burned its way down into her stomach, she passed it back over. "So like moonshine?"

In contrast, the cowboy was the picture of a stone masterpiece abandoned to the ravages of time and circumstance. In the right light, and with a little help, he was still ruggedly handsome beneath the unkempt beard. But there were those who could see beneath the thin veil of the otherworldly mask that he had taken to wearing like a second skin, the pale skin and withdrawn features. One moment a mountain in snug denim and the next a ragged flannel scarecrow, his stare penetrating and haunting when one lingered beneath it long enough. The scars on his flesh remained the same either way, but the wounds to his spirit had been buried far deeper than most could see. Once in a great while someone of special nature could feel them, feel them and care look through the window of his eyes to glean some small answers.

Precious few were brave enough anymore.

"It ain't hard," he advised her, a hypocrite in that he ignored his own advice. "Just take that energy y' showed out and about durin' IFL, apply it t' a few special people who don't want nothin' but yo' presence and good heart, and mean it. Mean it and enjoy it fo' what it is. The little moments mean the most, darlin', and they can be fleetin'. Just soak 'em up." Cooper took the flask back for the amount of time it took to swallow down two nips from its mouth and then offered it back. There was a lot of generosity to catch up on. "Yeah. Somethin' like that. Maybe if'n I perfect the recipe, I can pass it over t' you and yo' people fo' yo' brand. Ghost Bear Booze by Dirty."

The cabin's side deck bore quite the ragtag pair to say the least.

Claire couldn't have explained just where she had found kinship with the man. It was easy to say she was repaying a kindness done so long ago but even that would have been a stretch this far out. Maybe it was more. More than she saw, more than was said, the sort of more that had set her apart from those she held dear. It wasn't that she didn't want to know or even that she didn't want to try but rather she had done so well to craft such a carefully composed facade that venturing out from its protections was a gamble that she wasn't sure she could make. Not right now at least, not so soon after building it back up again.

"That was a whole lot of borrowed energy, I think I'm still paying it back." She chuckled and took the flask, giving it a little swish before the pull. As she lowered it, her thumbs traced the lines and whorls, feeling them out as if it would help her read them in the dark. It didn't help but it kept her fingers busy. For however long her list of "people" was, those she truly felt comfortable simply being with were few and far between. There was always an edge, always expectations, always something that nagged. "Never really thought about making it let alone branding it. There's plenty of breweries and such that do their thing, though I suppose I've not heard of many local distilleries."

So close to an end he could feel, whatever it would ultimately mean, Cooper was content build a collection of memories and moments to armor himself in for the coming of the unknown. What it had equated to was an intimate accruement of motley souls that touched him in ways he likely couldn't explain. There had been problems along the way, good intentions gone awry or beautifully disastrous liaisons that painted him in a worse light that he deserved. It had added to the melancholy mystique he often tried to break with his off-color good humor.

"Then slow it down, darlin'." The words carried the distance between them in a gentle murmur. His head had tilted to one side, the stare unwavering but soft. "The car goin' a hundred miles an hour constantly's gonna run out'a gas fast and y' miss a lot' a the scenery and their opportunities 'long the way."

While he prepared for an end, she was only just beginning. A new start after a close call and the prospect of forever looming over her just enough to shadow everything she did. They were both in odd places, it was no wonder they both found themselves sitting there on the deck late at night in the middle of winter. Thankfully, the swilled 'shine was doing a good job of keeping her warm. Though he stared, her gaze had found the ground amidst a derisive snort.

"Easier said than done, yeah?" He wasn't the first to tell her such things. He likely wouldn't be the last. She dragged a hand down her leg from mid-thigh to knee, heel first before passing backward the way she had came with a digging of nails. "Just have a lot on my plate, that's all. I'll figure a way out to balance it all. I always do."

She may have looked away, but the cowboy's gaze diverted only long enough for him to follow the path of her hand and back before resuming his study of her face. For a moment, he appeared pensive, though maybe she had missed it. "Another suggestion then. Just come down here. Sit on the deck. Drive the booze. Unwind and clear yo' head. Y' wanna talk, I'll listen. Y' wanna listen, I'll talk. M' not here? I'll give you a way t' get in touch. In the end, might not be helpful, but it'll be better than doin' nothin'."

After a few moments, she dragged her attention away from the pool of black that swallowed her feet and ate up the deck, lifting from the shadows to tilt a look sidelong at the mountain of a man. She hadn't counted them out, but at least forty-five seconds passed before she had an answer to that. "I think that's manageable. Maybe... maybe you can show me how things work?"

There was nothing suggestive in her hopeful tone but the way it lifted from her usual baseline was enough to sound odd coming out of her mouth. That said, there were no takesie backsies, so she propped an arm on a knee and her chin on hand while she waited to see if he'd be willing to share the mystical secrets of homebrew.

"Couldn't hurt," he replied with a wan smile. "And I'd be happy t' share whatever y' want here that's appropriate t' the setting. Teach you t' brew and distill, work some wood, or some less fancy brawlin' than that stuff at the DRT gym. Whatever works, darlin'."

"I'm already a pro at working wood." Deadpanned. In the distance someone surely had to have made the rimshot sound for her. Surely. Because ayooooo. The dry delivery slid into something more relaxed, a soft nod inclining her head toward him and his offer. "Probably pass on the brawling but the rest of it sounds peachy. Think I do enough fighting these days, I could use something... different."

"I..." Cooper opened his mouth. Then he shut it. There was a moment of uncertainty where he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or facepalm. Normally his suggestive cheek was deliberate. This time he had opened the door for someone else to walk right through. So smooth, cowboy. In the end, he shook his head and loosed a low, ursine chuckle. "Can arrange t' have somethin' t' give you by mornin' fo' gettin' in touch with me if'n the phone's not workin' the way it should."

The silence that hung in the wake of her poorly delivered joke was broken by her own laugh. Because if no one else was going to laugh, she'd laugh at herself, damn it. Or she was laughing at his reaction. Either way, she was amused. Uncrossing her legs, she leaned forward with a loose cross of her arms against her knees. "No rush or anything, don't feel obligated to go changing things up on my account."

"It'd be a constructive use'a m'time." Cooper shrugged and smiled again, reaching across the distance to reclaim the flask from her hand. Another nip was taken from it before he offered it back companionably. "And you're m' friend. I could do worse things."

"If you say so, I suppose." A short extension of flask wielding arm gave it back but didn't linger for the pass back, instead a flutter of fingers waving off the offer lest she take the whole thing. Her mouth opened briefly like there was more to say but she bit it back behind a grin and a soft laugh at a passing thought as she pushed herself to her feet. "That's true too. I should probably get back to the house, check on the kids."

The flask was drawn back in and nipped from a last time before it disappeared back into the shadows. He shifted the journal on his knee, careful not to drop it on a deck still wet from snow. Like a gentleman, Cooper showed his upbringing by rising with her, like she were a guest in his house and not the other way around. The unintentional innuendos weren't lost on him, but he let it all slide with a mild, crooked grin. "Not a terrible idea. Y' look like you could do with some sleep too. Might be best t' get to it."

Their height difference became even more marked when he rose but she had no issue lifting her chin a little further to slant him a smile, appreciative just the same. The ruffling hand through her hair did little to tame the pink mess that crowned her head but it was mostly done out of habit rather than intentionally.

"Sleep. Heh. Yeah, I'll try that out." By her tone, it said it wasn't likely. Sleep was an elusive sort of thing for her even on the best of days. Claire stepped for the stairs, pausing at the top to angle one more grin in the dark to the cowboy before venturing down into the shin deep snow and the rut that had been worn from cabin to manor and starting the short jaunt back home. "Good talking to you, Cooper. I'll see ya soon."

The rise had tipped the hat forward, bathing the upper half of his face in shadow again, disguising the whatever stare he pinned her with but continuing to display the quality of his smile. The journal was tucked safely under his arm. Her grin was met and match with something similar which was punctuated with a click of his tongue that implied he ever winked. "Either way, get off' m' damned lawn, sweetcheeks. I'll holler at you soon."