[Flock of Nightingales] The Tuesday afternoon Nightingale/Hermetic mashup picnic was so far going better than one might expect, given the large number of people from varying backgrounds, the mixing of Sleepers and Awakened, and the potentially volatile combination of some of their personalities. But of course... the day was young yet. While Ashley and Dana chatted by the lagoon and Jarod and Gale busied themselves with strangers at the bridge (talking, flirting, one could only imagine, really,) the rest of the group began to mix and converse. A seemingly unlimited number of wine glasses were extracted from picnic baskets, and various red and white vintages were poured out to all those assembled who were old enough to drink. One thing was certain about the Nightingale family, they had very good taste in wine. Not surprising, really, given the family's average income level and the fact that many of them were fairly heavy drinkers (not that you'd usually know - the worst of it was always kept behind closed doors, as was common with the wealthy elite.)
There was food as well, but Dana had predicted correctly when she'd guessed that the main picnic baskets wouldn't contain anything you could really make a proper meal out of. Still, between her own basket, which had been packed with sandwiches from a local cafe and various delicious-looking pastries, and the large variety of fruits and cheeses and various other fancy snacks that Violet and her friends brought, there was plenty of food for all. Once it had been explained that the newcomers were friends of Jarod - or rather, friends of a friend of Jarod's - Bran, Justine, Adam and eventually Jim and Ashleigh were first tolerated and then welcomed (to various degrees) into the mix. When Justine mentioned that she and Adam were engaged (and scheduled to be married in a couple of months,) this set off a series of questions from a number of the women, who seemed to want to compare notes to Violet's own wedding. There was the usual amount of wedding-centric gossip - what caterers served the best food, which wedding planners they'd heard good and bad things about, whether a certain venue was worth the price. Violet herself, surprisingly, was not very involved in this conversation. She mostly sat quietly and enjoyed her wine, letting her bridesmaids do most of the talking for her.
On the whole, Violet was something of an aloof figure, holding herself with regal grace and perfect posture that was just a bit too formal for the occasion. She spoke now and then, but with less interest and animation than her friends. Unlike Maia (who seemed determined to retain her Dallas roots no matter how many years she spent up North,) her accent was almost nonexistent. Only the way she tended to lengthen her vowels gave any indication that she was from somewhere further South. Aaron, of course, had a fairly noticeable accent, but he spent most of his time on the phone, dealing with what sounded like work issues. His wife gamely ignored him. It was a fair bet that she was used to it by now.
Lauren, Jarod's step-mother, joined the group of women on the largest blanket shortly after Ashley's friends arrived. She was animated and friendly, telling horror stories of her own wedding to Graham years back (which were, of course, the kind of "horror" stories that only very rich people had.) Occasionally she'd glance over at Jarod with what looked like a disapproving grimace, or teasingly goad Violet into being more social, but that was about the worst her mothering tendencies got. For now. Graham remained stretched out in the sun at the far edge of the group, generally ignoring everyone and pretending to be napping.
Finnick was, of course, very popular. Much to poor Ilana's unhappiness, as she didn't particularly care for large groups of people or sharing the things that she cared about with others. Nonetheless she tolerated it, because she was either too nice or too reserved to tell anyone off, but by the time that Dana arrived, she was shooting daggers out of her eyes at Danny, whose boisterous shrieks and giggles hurt her ears, and whose grabby two-year-old hands were causing Finnick to complain vocally and try to hide in her lap. The assistance was welcomed, but she'd had about as much as she could tolerate by that point. Moments later Ilana excused herself quietly and stood up with Finnick in her arms, making a beeline for the first solitary person she could find - Ashley.
Dana didn't particularly care for most of Jarod's family, or Violet's friends, so she hung out with Ashley's group. It was she who was the first to attempt to draw Jim and Ashleigh into the conversation when they sat down, not deterred in the slightest by Jim's imposing and silent nature. (Dana, it would seem, was not the sort to be easily flustered.)
At some point, Jarod managed to disengage from the little diversion that Gale had taken him on, and initially his steps took him toward the place where Ashley sat by the lagoon, but then Ilana sat down and he paused in his trajectory, watching them from a distance. It was a sweet picture, Ilana and Ashley, Finnick and Zane. And somehow he couldn't bring himself to interrupt it, so he changed direction and began to stroll slowly toward the main gathering. He was waylaid once again when Gale caught up and tapped him playfully on the lower back to get his attention. (And anyone watching might find that interesting, that the boy had abandoned a group of pretty girls to chase after him, but perhaps the girls in question had simply dispersed once their primary target of interest had left.)
The boy said something with a playfully antagonistic expression. Jarod laughed. Gale started jogging backwards, then turned and bolted. Jarod paused long enough to remove his shoes and socks, then ran after him.
Back in the group, Maia noticed this and smiled, putting a hand over her mouth and shaking her head in amusement. "Vi, honey, when was the last time you saw our brother go running after someone?"
For the first time that afternoon, Violet uttered a genuine laugh, but she didn't comment.
Maia glanced up at Bran, then, who was seated next to her, and leaned over tap him in the shoulder gently, pressing in as if to whisper something in secrecy. "I think you'd like to take a walk with me." (Awfully presumptuous of her.) "You should ask if I'd like to take one as well."
[Manus Celer Dei] Overwhelming though the chattering women might be for someone who is as quiet as Justine is, this is a better chance than any she's had so far to really enthuse over the coming wedding and talk about it with anyone except her sister. Her wedding party, after all, includes two people who dislike weddings, who never plan to get married themselves. They even declined to do it with each other, out of principle or fear or both.
Adam seems content to listen, though it isn't the dreamy or distracted sort that many people might take in this kind of situation. He's attentive - it's just easy to not pay attention to him. One never quite forgets that he's there, but it's easy to think of him as a friendly enough person, a kind man who just isn't worth much notice.
Bran has been happily mingling for some time. He's in his element; say what one will about what Bran does to people, but he genuinely seems to like them, most of the time. This kind of chatter comes as naturally to him as breathing. He's had a glass of wine in hand for a while now and he's been nursing it at an appropriate pace.
When Maia leans in to him, he grins out of one side of his mouth and leans in to let her whisper in his ear. Then his smile broadens and he moves smoothly to his feet, extending a hand down to her. "Take a walk with me?" He manages to make it sound like a request, and there's sometimes an amusing sort of courtliness in his gestures that isn't entirely intentional. Something gallant without verging into flamboyance.
And, should she allow him, he'll gently help her to her feet. Justine looks over at him and raises her eyebrows, but declines comment.
[Flock of Nightingales] Had Jarod been paying attention at this precise moment, there's a fair bet that he would have shot his sister a look that was less than pleased. But he wasn't paying attention. This was intentional. This facade of normalcy, of family picnics in the park and pleasant chats about weddings... it wasn't honest, and it wasn't him. Not like this, anyway. Not with them. (He almost hadn't come at all, but Violet was still his sister, and this... meant something to her.)
But he was here with his daughter, so for her sake more than anything, he found ways to distract himself. Perhaps Gale's inclusion on the trip hadn't been solely based in practicality. It was probably for the best. One could only imagine what sort of hornet's nest Jarod might be able to stir up with this crowd.
He was busy chasing a twenty year old barefoot across the lawn. And then grabbing him about the waist and, after some struggle, pinning him to the ground. A string of Kentucky-tinted curses drifted toward the picnic blankets, muffled by distance and fading into the background.
Bran asked Maia if she would like to take a walk. She pretended to be surprised, looking up with a feigned (but nonetheless very believable) expression of girlish innocence. For a moment she made him wait, weighing her answer in her head as she touched a finger thoughtfully to her lips. Then she smiled brightly and placed her hand in his own, letting him help her to her feet. "I'd love to."
She was about five inches shorter than he was, but the difference was less than he was used to with Ashley and truthfully... Maia liked tall men. Having to look up at someone had never bothered or intimidated her. Once they were a few yards away from the group, she dropped the innocent act and looked up at Bran with a flash of an expression that, were Ashley present to see it, would have reminded her rather disconcertingly of many of the looks that Jarod had given her. It was sultry flirtation mixed with wry humor, and as they walked, she rolled her hip into his own and let her hand settle for a brief moment on the small of his back. "So Brandon, darling, what exactly is your relationship to my brother? Acquaintance once-removed?"
[Manus Celer Dei] A lesser-known fact about Bran Summers is that before he was with Ashley, he'd never been in anything that could remotely have been called a relationship - and not because he was unsure of himself or awkward around women. His early Awakened years would have put some frat brothers to shame. Justine knew him well back then, and Ashley, who'd been almost painfully shy, had certainly heard a few stories by the time she'd known him well enough to be interested.
He might have settled down in his more recent years - being single again after being with one person for six years will do that to you - but his lifestyle isn't exactly that of a monk. He just quirks a smile as Maia seems to debate, willing to let her play and more than content to play along. "Good," he says easily when he pulls her to her feet, "I'd have been disappointed with less."
It doesn't seem to bother him when she calls him Brandon. On the rare occasion that Bran introduces himself to a Sleeper with his craft name (it makes matters far less complicated here), they often assume that's what it's short for. He prefers it to Robert. Almost no one calls him Robert anymore, outside of his job.
When she bumps into him he swings an arm around, letting his hand rest lightly on her opposite hip without holding her in, without touching too much. "I met him once through Ashley," he says, with a nod back toward where the younger Hermetic is sitting with Ilana and the dogs. He grins, unashamedly. "She's the one who knows him well, the rest of us are mostly just here for the food and good company. It's your sister that's getting married?"
[Flock of Nightingales] Maia hadn't actually known who Ashley even was until this afternoon, but that was hardly unusual. Jarod never talked much about his personal life with any of his family. That she'd met Emily on more than one occasion had been something of a coincidence and something of an indication to how important the Singer had been to him, once. But he'd never really spoken about Emily either. Only when Maia herself initiated the talk, and of course... the responses had been perfunctory at best. When Jarod spoke to his sister about the women and men who he spent time with, it was without names - situational anecdotes (I danced with the hottest girl last night.) Maia was more welcoming of these types of conversations than Violet was. She'd always had a rather acute flair for drama.
Bran asked if it was Violet who was getting married and Maia nodded. "Her fiance owns a seafood company." She didn't say which one, but there was something about the tone and inflection that made it seem as though empire might have been a better word. "Supposedly he met her at a concert - Violet plays for the BSO - and fell in love with her at first sight." She smirked, but it was a playful expression, lacking the icy nihilism that Jarod possessed. "I think he's hideously old and plain-looking." (She said this like her opinion was the only opinion in the world that mattered.) "But it's sweet to see her happy."
Maia was dressed in a pair of black shorts - they ended just past the tops of her thighs, showing off the curves of her legs - flip-flops and a buttoned sleeveless silk shirt in summery yellow. Bran's hand touched the soft fabric when he put his arm around her. When he did this, she leaned into his side a moment, but the contact didn't last long. With a smile, she broke away, trotting ahead so that she could pause and turn back to look him in the eye face-on. They were nearing one of the patches of flowers - bright golden-red tulips that brought out the warm glow of her shirt. "...No one knows Jarod well." She seemed very certain of this, but the correction was offered with light-hearted humor. "But the question is... how well do you know Ashley?"
The wicked gleam in her eyes said that she'd guessed there was a story here. And Maia... she did so love a good story.
[Manus Celer Dei] The flicker in Bran's gray eyes confirms that there's a story there, as though there could be any doubt. It's hidden, partially, by the flare of the sun off of his glasses. Like many things about Bran, wearing glasses was intentional; in bright places it shields the eyes, makes it more difficult to discern precisely what a shift of expression means. It's not much, but it's something, and he's a quick man who often keeps company with other quick, observant people.
Then again maybe that flicker was just at the mention of the BSO, a concert. He knew Ashley for too long not to have that reaction. He knew her when the grief was at its freshest, when she'd alternated between depression and desperate attempts to recover what she'd lost. They'd tried everything. Those are the kinds of memories that scar people even by proxy: Bran knows what it is possible to lose, even if he has not wholly sunk into that loss, even if he didn't feel the full force of it himself. Even if it hasn't broken him (very little could, one imagines.)
"Not that well, anymore. She's my ex," he says, with a sort of unaffected candor. He's wearing a blue and gray striped shirt and a pair of long white shorts, and it and the sunlight seems to make his hair stand out all the more. The tulips seem to catch its golds and reds and reflect it. "We met when she was nineteen and I was twenty-two, so I've known her for a long time. But we didn't talk much for a couple of years, after she moved to Chicago."
He smiles, tucking his hands in his pockets and ambling easily along after Maia. There's a streamlined quality to his movements, something like the way a flame moves, smooth, or the way a beam of light will lance by uninterrupted. "I don't know if too many people can claim to know Ashley well either. Even if they think they do." He quirks another smile, the playful sort, watching the silk of her shirt shimmer with her movements. "Why the interest? Looking out for big brother?"
[Flock of Nightingales] Bran understood what loss was. Ashley more than certainly did. But Maia? She'd been all of four years old when their mother had died. There were flashes of memory - of long black hair and soft brown eyes; of crying out for someone who never came - but these... were distant things, now. Like the way that one remembered a dream. Perhaps that loss had worked its way into her psyche in quieter ways than it had with her elder siblings. Perhaps that was why she hated to be alone; why one of her driving motivations in life was to surround herself with people who loved her (even if that love was more superficial than genuine, sometimes.)
But who are we kidding here? This woman had never known what it was like to really work for anything in her life. She existed on a daycare attendant's wages, yet never wanted for luxuries. She ate out almost every day. Her collection of shoes was large enough to be accurately named an addiction. She drove a high-end Audi (probably the least expensive car in her entire family, but it was still more than many people could afford.) She traveled. A lot. And brought her friends.
What room was there in this life for the kind of loss that Ashley knew?
Maia laughed, and the sound was warm and playful. "He wouldn't take my help if I tried. No, no... just... curious. I'd ask her but... she's over there being all anti-social with my niece." After a pause, she added, "I can never get a handle on Jarod's tastes. Girls, boys, short, tall, hipsters, athletes, students, models..." she smirked and shook her head. "You must hate him."
Because most people, given half a chance, didn't much like Jarod beyond the obvious enjoyment that could be derived from looking at or touching him. And Bran was Ashley's ex. And Ashley had slept with Jarod. Which made the chances of dislike rise to almost-guaranteed territory. Maia didn't sound accusatory though. She didn't sound like she had much of an opinion one way or the other.
"But... more importantly... " and here she fell into step beside him again and brushed some of the hair out of her face so that she could gaze up at Bran from beneath softly decorated eyelids. "What is your opinion of me?"
[Manus Celer Dei] Bran doesn't speak like someone still carrying a torch, even if he does seem to be made of fire and wind; his tones and expressions aren't those of someone watching from afar, wanting something they can't have. However long he and Ashley had been together, they both seem to have moved on, in most ways. Three and a half years is a long time. Even had Maia been accusatory, it likely wouldn't have rankled him terribly.
"Hate is a strong word," he says, gently amused. But he doesn't say one way or another what he thinks of Jarod - because truthfully, he doesn't like Jarod very much at all. He's either too politique or simply too polite to say so to his little sister in the middle of a party of Jarod's relatives. He quiets after a moment and says, "I'd just like to see her happy."
It's meant. It's meant without coming out drenched in martyrdom or simmering resentment. It's also meant without an overabundance of feeling.
Therefore, when Maia steps close to him again his thoughts easily change track. He grins, reaching up to lightly tuck a lock of hair behind her other ear. "You're smart and you're fun," he says. "And you're probably also trouble. You have that look."
[Flock of Nightingales] He'd like to see Ashley happy. For once, Maia didn't weigh in with her opinion. Perhaps because, trouble-prone though she might be, she didn't have any great desire to hurt Jarod. He hated it when she talked about him with other people. She did it anyway, because she was a chatty person, and because his tendency to keep the details of himself locked away behind closed doors had always annoyed her. (And of course, because it was a younger sister's duty to ruffle the feathers of her elder siblings on a regular basis.) But today that stopped at telling the ex-boyfriend of a girl that Jarod may or may not be sleeping with that her brother wasn't the sort of person that girls got to be happy with. Not in the sense that Bran meant, anyway.
He didn't seem very invested though, which was reassuring. It was possible that she may have asked more for her own benefit than Jarod's. (And it was also possible that she was just an extremely nosy person.)
When Bran complimented her, she smiled. She had a bright smile. Sunny and warm, like her personality, and with just a faint edge of wickedness (also like her personality.) "Trouble? I have no idea what you're talking about."
Then she stepped in to him and put a hand out to halt his forward momentum, fingers splayed across his chest. Her fist closed on the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down as she arched onto her toes. She smelled like strawberries and wine.
And if he didn't kiss her soon enough, then she would complete the gesture herself.
[Manus Celer Dei] There are a lot of Hermetics who only really ever take interest - romantic or otherwise - in other Awakened people. Or consors, at the very least. Bran knows Ashley counts herself among them; they used to talk about that, back when they were more honest with each other. That she is has never been difficult for him to wrap his head around: Ashley was the daughter of a man consumed by his Awakened life and a woman who would never even begin to question reality, two people who could not have been worse suited for each other.
He, on the other hand, has no qualms keeping friends and interests both Sleeping and Awake, and he keeps the two well-separated, generally. He's a bit like Kage in that way. Some people get to know Robert Cass, who went to school for chemistry and manages to make a successful living as a contractor in a shitty economy; some people get to know Bran Summers, the not-yet-Adept, named for the Blessed. Never the twain shall meet.
He has the feeling that when he eventually gets back at the picnic Justine is going to sigh and roll her eyes at him, but he doesn't care. He laughs once at what she says, letting her stop him and pull him down with little resistance. As comfortable as he often is with initiation, he doesn't seem put off by this in the slightest. Bran has a way of adjusting himself around people, of making them want what he wants, of yielding or being aggressive as the situation demands. He's rarely exactly the same person, whoever he's with. There were one or two Hermetics, long ago, who questioned his Will because of it. They didn't do that for very long.
He catches her chin beneath his finger, tipping it upward even as she stands on tiptoe. There's nothing that could remotely be termed aggression or forcefulness; he has an easy warmth that never quite verges on true affection (they haven't known each other very long, after all), a sort of security.
His hand slides around to the back of her head and he slides the strands of her hair through his fingers and lets it deepen, and then he pulls away enough to grin and ask, "So how long do you think until your family misses you?"
[Flock of Nightingales] Bran might be surprised if he knew the kind of blood that coursed through this young woman's veins. For a sleeper, she had a remarkably interesting lineage. Perhaps that was why it was difficult to completely discount her and her sister, for all that they contained between them no trace of mystical awakening.
Perhaps, had their lives been different, they might have.
Bran kissed her, and while it was probably safe to say that neither of them heard violin music, it was, without a doubt, a perfectly lovely kiss. Sweet and flirtatious and heady with the expected mix of burgeoning warmth and attraction. It was not the sort of kiss that Jarod would have given, but Maia wasn't her brother - a fact that Bran probably appreciated. That didn't mean she wasn't good at it. She was. (She'd had plenty of practice by now, undoubtedly.)
So how long do you think until your family misses you?
Maia grinned, but she never got a chance to respond. Just then a tall, attractive hispanic man in a Harvard t-shirt knocked into her side as he jumped to catch a frisbee. Maia gave a little shriek and stumbled, but caught herself quickly. She turned on the man with a flash of annoyance. "Are you blind!?" But her anger vanished the moment she looked at his face, and suddenly... she laughed.
"Sorry," he smiled apologetically and glanced at Bran before returning his gaze to Maia. "Clearly we're just destined to run into each other wherever we go."
"Literally." Maia smirked. For a second there, she seemed to forget that Bran existed. But only for a second. "Oh, Bran, I'm sorry. Um... Hugo, Bran. Bran, Hugo." She made the requisite introductions so as not to leave anyone out. "I bumped into him at a club last night."
"Literally," Hugo mimicked with a grin. "Hey, you guys should come hang out with us." At this he indicated a scattered group of college-aged men and women who were milling around a fair distance across the grass.
"Mm, tempting..." Maia smiled playfully. "But I should probably get back to my family before my mom starts giving me the death-glare. But hey... why don't you come have a drink?"
Hugo hesitated a moment, but it was clear that he was interested. With a shrug, he tossed the frisbee back to one of his friends and gave a little wave in their direction, then began to follow as Maia walked back toward their starting point. Bran, of course, could stay with them, or he could remain behind, as he chose. Maia's interest hadn't so much waned as it had broadened to include the both of them.
[Manus Celer Dei] Bran isn't the sort who'd look disappointed. Another young man, younger than him, comes sailing out nowhere and bumps into her and he takes it perfectly in stride. He seems to stay on top of things regardless; perhaps some of this is his personality, and more likely it's something so deeply ingrained into him from his Awakened training that it's force of habit by now. Anyone who were to ever meet Hannibal Caspian Temple would understand immediately. Bran has known him for half his life (the more important half.)
He gives a friendly nod to Hugo and a grin that doesn't carry any especial warmth with it, but no irritation either. "Hey, man," he says, and if he's at all put off by the fact that the girl he was just kissing met this other guy at a club last night - "bumped into" - it doesn't really show. There's no swelling crescendo of romantic music here, no golden fingerprints of destiny, and he doesn't expect there to be.
He falls into step next to Maia and Hugo as they head back to the rest of the group. There's a look toward the two Verbena, who happen to be conversing against a tree nearby, and they've moved - perhaps suspiciously - and though Bran shoots a look Jarod's way, one of marked dislike, he doesn't appear invested enough to go over and confront the other man. Particularly not at a party.
His eyes seek out Ashley, who is still sitting at the tree, and he eases a little when he sees her with Ilana and the dogs. Justine next: still there with Adam. He tucks his hands in his pockets and wanders along after Maia and Hugo, after the brief few seconds it takes to inwardly damn his luck.
[Flock of Nightingales] Bran took the interruption in stride, as was only fitting of a man of his character. Jarod hadn't expected him to react any differently. It wasn't the Hermetic that he'd been trying to manipulate. Jarod... knew his sister well. Maia was a sucker for tall, bronze and boyishly handsome. She was also too much of a flirt to ever turn away an interested party.
Hugo's presence, of course, had been a complete coincidence. Jarod didn't know the man's name, but he'd been out with Maia last night and remembered that she'd danced with him. He'd actually spotted the college kid and his friends long before Bran had asked his sister to take a walk with him, and not thought much of it one way or the other. But then...
He'd been lying in the grass, gazing up at the sky. At some point, Gale's fingertips found their way to his palm, where they traced out lazy circles over his skin. The touch was casually intimate, and Jarod let it pass without comment. Then a familiar laugh brought him out of his thoughts, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position as his eyes followed the sound to its source.
Maia. And Bran.
Jarod's expression took on an irritated cast. He watched as the two of them walked and spoke to each other in warm, flirtatious tones. He watched the way that Maia looked at the red-haired Hermetic.
And then he stood up and jogged over to the guy from the club, and made a casual suggestion.
And so the rest went...
And now, at last, Jarod began to walk back toward the main group. Soon enough he fell in at Bran's side. He didn't look at him when he asked, casually, "enjoying the afternoon?"
[Manus Celer Dei] Bran almost could have forgotten that Jarod was here. He's never been the kind to stick around people he vaguely knows when he's at a party or a gathering; that he knew Jarod by proxy was just a convenient reason for him to be here and mingle, a talking point to introduce himself by. That's how networking works, for the people who are good at it. He doesn't really think of any of these people in conjunction with the man he met at a bar last November.
His red-gold eyebrows shoot up, then, when Jarod makes his way over. As though he's already anticipating trouble. As though he remembers perfectly well that the Verbena had instigated a quarrel between himself and Ashley - or just set things up so they'd instigate with each other, he isn't sure - and he's anticipating more of the same.
"Sure," he says, balling his hands in his pockets as Jarod steps over next to him. His steps don't slow but they widen, the trajectory his foot takes to set down again bowing out and growing longer, and thus he falls a little behind Maia and Hugo. "Your family seem like good people."
He doesn't even say it to ingratiate or because it's the kind of thing you say to someone when meeting their family. He seems to like them, genuinely. Then again, that can be said for Bran and most people. "Your sister's cute," he adds cheerfully - and probably quite purposefully, for it to rankle, knowing him.
His eyes wander over toward Ashley and Jarod's daughter, sitting there beneath the tree. "Surprised you didn't want to catch up with Ashley at all. It's been a while since you've seen each other, hasn't it?"
[Flock of Nightingales] Under normal circumstances, Jarod probably wouldn't have thought to approach Bran in the way that he was doing here. (Then again, maybe he would have. One never knows.) But this was his family. Even if the location itself belonged to the Hermetics (inasmuch as a city belonged to anyone,) there was a certain amount of territoriality that seemed implied by the Verbena's presence. Not in any overbearing or masculinity-conscious way. Merely a kind of... checking in. Of being aware and in control of what was happening around the people he called his kin. Bran may have found it easy to forget about Jarod, but Jarod had most certainly not forgotten about Bran.
The Hermetic fell back a few feet. Maia glanced back just long enough to note her brother's presence, who she offered a subtle and knowing wink, though not because she had any idea that Jarod might have found Hugo for her - she hadn't really thought about it that far. This was just the kind of relationship they had. Unlike Violet, Jarod was usually game for a bit of playful wickedness. He and Maia together could probably cause all sorts of mayhem. Bran got a flash of a smile, but then she threaded her fingers into Hugo's and the two of them picked up the pace and jogged over to flop down the blankets and it seemed that any hope of getting her alone again was probably dashed. Excluding supernatural interference, that is.
Bran mentioned that Jarod's family seemed like good people, and Jarod... laughed. The sound wasn't quite so sharp as Ashley's had been with Dana earlier, but similar meaning was conveyed. It seemed to say: you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.
And then of course, Bran made a comment about Maia. Jarod didn't seem surprised or outwardly annoyed by it. His sister was cute. People had been telling him this for years. Mostly, he didn't care. Maia's life was her own. He ran the tip of his tongue over one of his canines absently as he stared ahead. "That she is." Cute was an understatement really. Both of Jarod's sisters were almost as beautiful as he was.
When Bran asked about Ashley, Jarod paused and swung his eyes over toward the lagoon, where she and Ilana were sitting with the dogs. He seemed to contemplate them for a moment before giving a light shrug. "She's talking to my daughter. I didn't want to interrupt. They seem to like each other."
They did like each other. And this was a fairly unusual occurrence with Ilana, who tended to be suspicious of people she didn't know well. Even Nick had required some time to really win her over. It probably had something to do with the fact that Ashley didn't treat her like a sub-person, the way that many people did with children. It probably also had something to do with Zane. Ilana loved dogs. Something she obviously had not gotten from him.
But there was more to it than that. Jarod liked to keep his life segmented. Private things were not to be dealt with in the presence of his family. The fact that Ashley was even here was cause for some tension. He didn't show it (he usually didn't,) but seeing his family in the same space as almost all of the most important people in his life was more than a little anxiety-inducing for him. He had to keep fighting the natural urge to try and keep them separated from each other. (To keep them safe.) These were things that no one knew about him. Things that he didn't talk about, and likely wouldn't. Certainly not with Bran Summers.
"What about you?" he countered. "Too busy being enticed by wine and company, I guess."
There wasn't any judgment in that though. Not from someone like him. Jarod just lifted one side of his mouth in a small, knowing expression. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold either.
[Manus Celer Dei] Maia threads her fingers through Hugo's and saunters off back to a blanket, and there: opportunity dashed. Bran's chest heaves just a little in a sigh. Perhaps it's all for the better though; he can only imagine what Ashley would have said, and as they near the group again he can feel Justine's eyes on him even if he hasn't looked in her direction yet.
What passes between him and his longtime cabalmate is not jealousy, not resentment or even anger, really. It's the kind of gentle irritation that happens between close siblings, when one does something that the other disapproves of. For all their similarities and their common beliefs and goals, Bran and Justine are very different people. Justine, stable and demure and thoughtful, would never have snuck off with a stranger at a party, let alone the sibling of someone their ex was fucking. Bran imagines the incestuousness of it all would make her head spin even if she were to contemplate it.
He, too, looks over toward the lagoon, his eyes suddenly sharp as he focuses on the little girl there. She certainly looks like Jarod; he had assumed that she was a niece. Not a daughter. "I'm not surprised. Ashley likes kids," he confides, letting his hand slip out of his pocket for a moment so he can brush his fingertips along the top of one of the tulips as he passes. "She didn't mention you had one."
He laughs when Jarod turns the question around. It is a warm sound, but that isn't atypical for him. It is hard to tell whether or not it's merely affected, though, if one happens to be looking. Bran's just that way. "I see her all the time," he says. "Besides, she's feeling pissy. I don't always want to deal with it."
[Flock of Nightingales] [Per+subterfuge - is this a trap?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Manus Celer Dei] [I don't know. Is it?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Flock of Nightingales] Ashley hadn't mentioned Ilana. Jarod found that surprisingly reassuring, given that when he'd asked her not to once, she'd avoided giving him a definitive promise, and his expression flickered for a moment with a touch of fondness. "I wouldn't have mentioned her either. But she's here, so..."
Obviously there wasn't any point in attempting to hide the fact. Not with his family around.
Bran's response to his question was perfectly reasonable, whether or not it was honest. And though Jarod could have pointed out that a good friend would have used that as a reason to stay with her (not the other way around,) he didn't do that. He was getting to be familiar with Ashley's moodiness by now as well. Perhaps he was likewise sick of it. Perhaps he didn't put much thought into the matter one way or another.
Or... perhaps it was something else. He didn't say.
"Mm," is all the sound he made, as he pressed his lips together lightly. It was a noncommittal thing. "It's good Ilana's with her, then. She's much more pleasant company than either of us."
And with that, Jarod smirked and broke away, feeling the thick grass bend under the soles of his bare feet as he walked. It was a grounding thing. Him and the earth, touching with no boundary between.
