Logs:Unique Perspective

Unique Perspective
Dramatis Personae Alma, Ryan
In Absentia	2020-09-11 "I'll -- try to keep you in the loop next time the hornets nest in my brain starts buzzing too loud."
Location <GA> Holland Farm - Hiawassee
Up here in the mountains there's already touch of chill in the morning air, nevermind how early in September it still is. The Holland farm is quiet at this hour, even the animals still quiescent, beneath the hazy-white blanket of fog rolling down the hills and hollows of this sleepy Appalachian town. Alma is out on the veranda, a soft ancient blanket of baby blue wool draped around her shoulders against the damp as she rocks the porch swing slow and rhythmic, sipping on her coffee. Blanket aside, she's casually dressed by her standards, in a gray button-down, black vest and black slacks -- no jacket to cover her harness full of throwing knives -- polished dress boots and a green Tree of Life kippah. The screen door to the farmhouse opens; it dispenses, first, an ancient slow-moving bear of a dog, shaggy and patchwork-furred in black and brown and white all heavily worked through with grey. Behind the lumbering mound of fluff is Ryan, a mug cupped in his own hands. He's freshly showered and freshly shaved, casually dressed in jeans, a soft red zip-up hoodie that reads "Be Kind" in gold letters on the chest, plain black undershirt beneath, fluffy soft slippers on his feet. He stops to one side of the porch swing, looking out first at the view over the hills and, second, down into his still-steaming mug. His mouth opens, works silently for a moment, then closes again. Alma stiffens when the door opens, but does not turn. She takes a slow sip of her coffee, not looking at Ryan, though she extrudes one hand from beneath the blanket and rubs her fingers together to attract the attention of the dog. A smile curves her lips when Skittles comes to her and noses at her (regrettably empty) hand. She compensates with copious scritching around the dog's immense shaggy head. Without looking up from this task, she says, "First time you actually slipped me, you know." This pulls a quiet laugh out of Ryan, breathed soft down towards his cup. "Well, you're just too good at --" he starts, something almost glib in his tone though his words fall away abruptly as his shoulders tense. He closes his eyes, clenches the mug tighter. "I'm sorry." Alma doesn't reply at once. She bends down and presses her forehead to Skittles's massive brow, though she draws back when his tongue darts out. "I keep thinking I ought to have kept a closer eye on you, but you're not a toddler." She finally looks up at him, dark circles beneath her eyes evidence of a rough night or two. "You know I would've gone with you, right?" Ryan nods slowly, stepping forward to lean up against the wooden railing, weight resting down on his elbows. "I know. I mean -- now I know. I just -- I wasn't thinking about it like -- I got a text and I just --" Again he cuts himself off, swallowing hard. "I'm just sorry. Shit's been hectic enough for you without --" He shrugs one shoulder. Lifts his coffee for a slow sip. "Look, it's not my job to judge you," Alma says, soft and exasperated. "But I wasn't losing my mind on account of my job, anyway. We had no idea where --" She breaks off, shaking her head. "I'm just real relieved you're not hurt." She finally does look up at Ryan. "Are you alright, though?" Ryan does actually look over at this, head turning and his eyes slightly wider, brow slightly furrowed, as he looks back at Alma. "You --" He hesitates, turns forward again. Sips, again, at his coffee. "I'm -- not hurt." Alma sighs. "Didn't mean to lecture you. I'm sure you got an earful and more from Jax on the way down." The curve of her smile is thin. "It's just -- I do take my job real serious, but you're also my friend. And I guess I wish you'd talk to me about these things. I can roll with whatever wack idea you come up with, as long as it's not Shabbat, and honestly?" She raises her eyebrows. "If I had to leave your ass in the wind to keep Shabbat? I'd still go with you." "No, it's fine, I just --" There's a faint wash of surprise that comes from Ryan, though his posture doesn't change, shoulders slightly hunched and eyes fixed outward. "I knew I was making your job tough, but I didn't -- think --" He pushes a hard swallow down his throat. Blinks several times. "I'm sorry. I'll -- try to keep you in the loop next time the hornets nest in my brain starts buzzing too loud." Alma's head tilts ever so slightly. "You didn't think I could actually like you, after spending so much time together?" Her surprise is starker than the very faint lift of her eyebrows would suggest. Then a sort of exasperated affection. "You ought to have a little more faith in Luci's matchmaking skills, friend. He wouldn't have picked someone who would hate doing this, no matter how well qualified." "After spending so much time together is exactly when most people don't like me." Ryan's voice is light, the small twitch of his smile a little wry, but the very brief-cold knot of fear that trails his words weighs it down all the same. "Like, if people could just only hang out with the idea of me they picked up from wherever, that'd be better for all of us." His head turns slightly, eyes flicking aside to Alma. "Thank you. For -- still being here." "I like you, not the idea of you." Alma is certain on this point, patient and hopeful. "I'm mad, yeah, but I'm mad because I like you." Though she isn't actually near as angry now as before. "Maybe you're not for everyone, but speaking for just myself? You're an amazing guy, Ryan Black. If you don't believe it coming from whole flocks of Blackbirds, take it from me." Finally, she smiles a proper smile, suffused with warmth. "I've got a pretty unique perspective" Ryan's head bows a little further. His hands tighten against his mug, and he is quiet a long moment. He sips at his coffee, shoulders tighter and his breathing less steady. It matches the feeling that hangs, for a moment, between them, quavery and uncertain, hanging just on the edge of tipping into something heavier but never quite making that push. And then it's gone, cleared away in a deep pull of breath and a small smile offered back to Alma as he pulls himself upright. He takes a step over the large fluffy pile of dog, moving to settle carefully onto the opposite side of the bench swing, one foot resting on the railing and his eyes turned out toward the slowly-dissipating fog.