Jack was damn near freezing her nuts off. It was too fucking cold for it to not be winter, and yet there was something in the air. Something in the air that said the worst was yet to come. From the west, a cutting wind that seemed like it wanted to rip straight through her ribcage. Straight through her and into her very soul-- what the fuck. With night falling ever-earlier these days, she wasn't about to take any chances. Jack needed to find shelter, and fast. The crypt seemed to call to her, equal parts dank and inviting. Better than nothing. Better than being outside in whatever early winter storm was blowing in. Without a second thought, she pushed forward and into the shallow, winding darkness that spread before her. Gaze bright and eyes wide, Jack huddled in what appeared to be a relatively safe corner, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god

Life had been uncharacteristically quiet as he approached his twilight years. The cold was welcome after his time in Auster, and his thick coat grew in just as plush as it had in his youth as winter approached. However, the cosmic titan didn't have quite as much energy to engage in the mischief that he'd wrought in his earlier years. Instead, he spent much of his time crafting, gathering herbs, and hunting. Returning to his insular, introverted nature. For the time being, he was preparing to weather what would likely be the first storm of winter. A nasty one, it seemed. The season hadn't yet changed, but the winds were picking up around the mountains. Howling over the cave entrance like the hounds of war. With meat stashed in cairns in higher caves, and wood set aside for a fire when the nights grew too frigid, he was all but ready. The dark didn't frighten him, and the crypt was home to animals far too small to pose a threat. It was as he was stoking the coals that he caught the sounds of muttering. Someone complaining about the bitter cold, by the sound of things. The giant didn't bother to stifle his snickering, even as the quiet, barely audible voice was quiet again. Not his problem, as long as they kept to themselves. Ivory marked paws adjusted the furs that he'd scattered about his little hideaway, spreading out the thick wool of a sheep atop the thick pelt of a mountain goat he'd managed to take down before the autumn had gotten too cold. "Careful not to stray too close to the entrance, you'll freeze to death in your sleep." deep baritone vocals rumbled, though he hardly raised his voice. Sound carried remarkably well in these tunnels, and he was certain the stranger would hear him. ""

A nasty storm, a nasty attitude. Jack wasn't having any of it. She absolutely was not having any of that, thank you. Cold. Too much cold. Her shoulders hunched up under the winter coat that had finally bothered to come in. It left her silhouette looking more bulky, more masculine than it was-- even typically. It kept Jack safe. It kept Jack safer, at least until she opened her mouth. That mouth would get her into trouble over and over, but that was fine. Maybe it was good trouble. It was probably bad trouble, but who was even counting? A voice. At the sound of the voice, Jack's hackles went up. She puffed up, trying to take up more space within herself. Where was the source of the sound? How far back did the tunnel go? For a moment, Jack thought she'd make a run for it. Make a break for it. Abscond. Another stiff breeze rattled through the open portion of the passageway. She thought better of leaving. The voice was right. If she didn't want to freeze, she needed to stay here for the night. Fuck. "Don't feel like scraping a frozen corpse off your doorstep orrrr," her tone was ambiguous. Maybe she was kidding, maybe she wasn't. Not even Jack knew. Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god

There was a long pause before a response followed up his warning. A feminine voice, for sure. This time, the fae had raised her voice enough that he could be certain. Years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to put the moves on. Now? Well, he'd have to get a look at her before he made any decisions on that front. Another snicker from him in response, and he shook out his fluffy coat. The bed looked comfortable enough. It would be fine. "Not quite cold enough for your fur to stick to the stone, I'd just have to roll you out of the way tomorrow morning." he replied, opting for the usual deadpan tone. Plush banner swept over his heels as he abandoned his absentminded tidying and went to his meagre stores. The sun would be setting soon, it meant he could allow himself a drink or two before his meal. Hardly a skilled brewer, the mead he had been fermenting over the past few seasons was passable. A typical alcoholic marauder, he wasn't exactly picky with his booze. Popping the stopper from the neck of the bottle with pearly white fangs, the giant settled himself before the flickering flames with a quiet sigh. Certainly wasn't a barely contained grunt as his aging joints creaked in protest, absolutely not. "You much of a drinker, stranger?" he rumbled absently, taking a short swig as he wrapped his tail around his haunches and leaned on one elbow. The flames were modest, but he didn't need a roaring blaze to heat the little alcove off of the main tunnel. "I'm sure I could spare a bottle to get you through the night.." rich vocals trailed off at the end of the sentence, leaving the invitation open. It would certainly keep her from turning into a popsicle overnight, at the very least. ""

The banter, at least, was enough to warm Jack's cold heart. She smirked to herself, a brassy chuckle ripping through her throat and ribcage. It was more interaction than she'd had with anyone in... how long? How long had it really been? Dangerous company was better than no company, at least things would be interesting. But there was what seemed to be a shred of kindness here, too. The mutual understanding that came with freezing cold winters, and whatever else there was to come. Jack shuffled to her feet at the promise of booze, drawing cautiously nearer to what she now recognized was the crackling of a fire. A fire, and a beast that settled beside it. Gaudy brute that he was, bigger than her, likely stronger but she wouldn't venture tougher. Never would Jack actually venture that anyone was tougher than she. Boldly, carefully, she stepped into the warm light that the little blaze cast about. Her shadow was larger, longer in every way than she. "A drinker by vocation and avocation," a bit of a wild grin, and the fire casting a flickering light in her eyes. Jack could be warmth, for now. "Kind, but I can't offer you anything more than my company in return." Not one to turn down a free drink, but when you're alone, how much is really free? Still, Jack saunters closer, drawing near to the warmth of the fire. A moth to flame. Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god

click, click, click, click, of thick claws against cold stone, echoing down the hall and bouncing off the walls of his little alcove. He could hear the last traces of her rich laugh as she stepped into the light. Plain in pelage and sturdily built, not unlike the wolves that roamed his homeland. Pretty waifs didn't weather northern cold all that well. The dame wore the dun coat well, treated it as an accent to the marvel of her bravado and charm. He could see it in the tilt of her lips as she grinned at him and drawled lazily about drinking. A woman after his own heart, just a few years too late for him to really do anything about it. The corner of his inky maw tipped up in a tiny, lopsided smile. One massive paw lifted to beckon her closer, noting the tension in her shoulders as she held fast in the entrance to the cavern. "I won't bite if you won't," the words offered like upturned palms, a supplication to ease the nerves. As he rolled slowly to his paws, he left the opened bottle where it had previously nestled between his wrists. "Help yourself to that one, if you'd like. I'll get a new bottle." he rumbled, the wry grin already faded away as he turned his back on the golden fae and rifled through his belongings. Rightfully wary, she mentioned a lack of favours to return for his hospitality. Burly shoulders rippled with a half-hearted shrug. "I've been a nomad for most of my life, I don't expect riches." he assured her in a rough voice, lifting his magenta gaze from the pile of bottles and jars as he reemerged with a fresh bottle of mead. "Perhaps you'll return the favour in the future." he added, this time offering another small grin that flashed bright fangs for just a moment. This time he grabbed a well used sheepskin from the back of the cave to lay on as he settled back down beside the fire, bunching it between his elbows as he rested on his hip and elbow. Belly bared to the gentle flicker of flames, he let out a soft sigh. A practiced gaze flicked over to the fae, whether she'd chosen to sit or stand. Appraising her, and the way she held herself. "You don't spend much time in the north during winter, do you?" the words left his dark maw with all the characteristics of a question, but it wasn't really. He could see it in the wrinkle of her brow and the way she was holding herself braced against the breeze that might waft in. ""

Pretty doesn't serve when you're like Jack. She didn't need to be pretty. Jack was smart, charming, and debonair. It was all she needed, and she could only be as much as she was. Something like that. She relaxed easily into the company, settling down within reach of the bottle. This wasn't so bad, at least with the assurances that hung between them. "That's a deal I'll take." She's calm, placid even. Deceptively so, and happy to feel the warmth of the booze on her bones. It would chase some of the chill off for now. Carefully, she settled down inside what felt like a reasonable proximity. "Nah, I got caught out exploring." It's enough of an explanation for now. "You don't seem bothered by the cold," it's a gruff but maybe curious observation. Her tail thumped softly at her haunches as she took a long sip of the mead. Not bad, not bad at all. "Name's Jack O'Malley." Right, only seemed right that she offer that much information. Something of herself, a rare offering. The fire and the alcohol does wonders for her nerves. Aches that had gathered in her travels, those too started to wane. It was a good turn to what could have been a disastrous evening. "Did you make this yourself?" Small talk was dogshit, but her curiosity is genuine. Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god

Keen gaze tracked the ever melting tension as it left her shoulders, and when she lightly beat her tail against the ground he did the same unconsciously. The fae admitted that she'd gotten caught in the brewing storm while out exploring the region. He hummed in understanding, bobbing his head lightly. He uncorked the bottle and spat the cork into the corner where he'd gotten the bottle from, to retrieve later when he needed it. He was finishing this bottle, no question. She made an observation of her own, that the cold wasn't really an issue for him. He chuckled lightly, gaze drifting towards the entrance unconsciously. "I grew up in the northern reaches of my homeland, as did my mother and father before me. Can't handle the warm weather for long." he admitted with a small shrug, crimson gaze returning to the dun coloured fae again. She introduced herself, and he dipped his chin in the polite greeting that had been ingrained into his brain after all of these years. "Deion Aeris. Pleasure to meet you, Jack O'Malley." he rumbled, flashing his teeth in a little grin again. Before the silence could grow too large, she spoke up again. This time, the query rang genuine. He snorted, unable to hide the very real smile that pulled at his dark lips. Charcoal tongue slipped from his maw and swept over his whiskers bashfully. "Trying my hand at the craft," the titan began, taking another pull from the bottle between his paws. "got sick of trading an arm and a left testicle for the good stuff every few weeks. I'm just trying to get drunk by myself, anyways. Don't need the good stuff for that." the admission was joined by a rumbling laugh for just a few moments, before he quieted down again and took another drink. Fuck, he hadn't spoken this much in... months. At least. Already he could feel the hoarseness rattling in his chest and grating his throat. At least the mead dulled it, more and more with each drink. "Only tastes like shit for the first half of the bottle, then it doesn't matter. Right?" the cosmic male flashed her a quick wink and took another drink for emphasis. ""

They'd both be finishing their drinks, there was no doubt about that. Something in her bones just... yeah, she knew. With each sip there was less tension in her bones, Jack becoming more comfortable within the environment. Though it was a crypt, there was a certain amount of warmth. Yes a strange warmth. The alcoholic warmth that seemed to take her over as the booze soaked her system. Maybe she was smiling more than usual. Maybe she was more relaxed than usual. The northern reaches, that made sense. "All these years and you've never frozen your nuts off?" A sly, mischievous grin. "Pleasure is mine," maybe it wouldn't hurt to be at least a bit charming. Just Jack things, of course. The laughter between them is equal parts brass and something else. Kindred spirits, maybe. Spirits in more ways than one. Maybe if Jack ever stayed in one place, sorted her shit out, she'd find a way to put together the good stuff. It was an awful lotta work, likely one of the reasons it was so expensive. There was something to be said about getting smashed on your own shit-- or a friend's. Even if it was a friend that she'd just shaped out of a stranger. "Blame the uh, bad apple crop this year 'er something," a wink, and a glimmer in her brilliant blue eyes. Jack relaxed, sinking onto the hide around her. Actually relaxing, well for the first time in hell if she knew how long. "Even if it is pretty fucken good," not playing the flattery game, simply and genuinely enjoying herself. It had been far too long since she'd taken a break from the just surviving thing. Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god

A rumbling laugh tumbled from his inky lips at her comment about the cold and his nuts, and he waved the notion away with an ivory dipped paw to acquiesce. It was certainly some kind of miracle, wasn't it? Even better yet, she was quick to excuse any quality issues with his brew on the premise of bad crops. Rather than argue the point, citing the unusually long autumn in many parts of the continents and the mild seasons, he bobbed his head in agreement. As his ruddy gaze was cast once more her way, he could see the way her limbs had loosened to collapse against the fur she'd commandeered. The subtle glaze over her otherwise bright baby blues. Despite the ever growing intoxication, they looked as sharp as a blade. One more casual compliment, tossed in his direction with the affable disregard of a liesmith. He tipped the bottle in his grasp towards her in thanks, and let the last dregs flow down his throat. As he hauled his bulk back onto his paws, he felt just the slightest bit unsteady. Always a good sign. Off he trundled in search of another bottle of mead, or wine. He wasn't too picky now that he had finished the first round. Wine actually sounded really nice. Wasn't there a bottle of the stuff he'd traded all those salves for? Grumbling wordlessly to himself, the titan rattled baskets and shoved aside hides in his pile of disorganized belongings. They were only getting more and more chaotic as he rifled through the mess, disregarding his earlier intentions of keeping things orderly for quick access. Alabaster tipped banner swept across his hocks with increasing frenzy until he finally came up with what he was looking for. The bottle was dusty by now, saved for a fun occasion where he could justify getting trashed. Possibly sappy. Wine did strange things to the brain that mead, ale, and whiskey did not. He might cry about his dead mother for the first time in years, who could say? Carefully, the giant set his prize aside and plucked a cloth wrapped haunch of salted goat from the back of the cache. Perfect. With a pleased grunt to draw Jack's attention to his treasures, he settled back down by the fire. "Might as well share the good shit with someone who'll appreciate it." somewhere in the back of his mind, it was obvious the drink was starting to hit. The accent was getting even thicker, and soon he would likely stop speaking Common entirely. "My last bottle of red, if you'd like to share." he added with a cheeky grin, tusks flashing in the flickering flames of the fire. Large paws unwrapped the goat haunch and shoved the whole mess towards the fire's edge, letting it cook at its own leisure. The wine's cork came free between glistening incisors, spat haphazardly out of sight as he stopped to savour the first sip. Ah, still good. With a quirked brow, he shifted the dark glass bottle towards Jack. ""

Did Jack have anything to be sappy over? To be sentimental over? Maybe that was something to get sappy and sad about in and of itself. Was it? Nah. She would be fine here, perched among the furs, living every day like it was her last. Couldn't dwell on what you couldn't touch. Was she supposed to have regrets? For someone who was allergic to most forms of meaningful connection, the idea of really any of those feelings was strange to her. Here she was, enjoying her evening with a stranger, and trying not to look too far forwards or too far backwards. Better to just focus on what was at the tip of her nose. And the thing at the tip of her nose right now as Deion. Had he been this near all along? Well damn, Jack supposed he had. It was comfortable here, and she didn't mind that at all. The behemoth seemed to be rummaging for something, and Jack couldn't help but admit she was curious. The good stuff? Well, she was certainly appreciative. Her tail wagged lightly, feeling the alcohol as it soaked her bloodstream. All in good fun, after all. An appreciative chuckle in her throat as he returned with the dusty bottle and dinner, a pleasant surprise. The smell of the salted goat colored the cheerful smoke as it swirled around their heads. "Really pulling out all the stops tonight," a rakish grin flickered across her features. Jack settled ever closer to the colorful behemoth, taking a sip from the bottle. "Damn you weren't kidding, that's fucken great." And it was. Jack relaxed, cocking her hip and shifting her weight. The space between them seemed to grow ever smaller as the pair relaxed and drank, settling into the evening. "You planning on hiding out in here all winter?" It was a curious, appraising question. Jack couldn't do small talk, but this seemed to be a bit more than small, at least in her mind. Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god

JOHNNY BROUGHT A ROCKET TO A KNIFE FIGHT, HE GOT SICK OF PEOPLE THINKING HE'S A GOOD GUY Ever the poet, when Jack jokingly accused him of trying to put the moves on her, he could only really manage a roll of his eyes and a derisive snort. The rustle of furs and the diffusion of body heat against his scarred forelimb clued him in to her moving closer before his gaze could drift back over to see her reclining back into the furs beneath her belly. She graciously accepted his offer, and professed her own agreement to the quality of the wine. He snorted again, more out of amusement than anything else. His attention shifted, lazily wandering over to the meat that was beginning to sizzle where it lay closest to the fire. With a flick of his paw he turned that edge towards himself, allowing unseared flesh to be subjected to the blaze. And when he stopped focusing on the food, he was able to recognize the bottle perched between his paws. Ah, yes. He drank. Not a lot, but enough to let him savour it some more. It was only belatedly that the titan realized the dun coloured fae was all but leaning against his shoulder now. A scant few inches separated their coats, which would mingle in such stark contrast if he were to reach out and brush a forelimb against her exposed spine. Damn, he still had it in him after all. A distraction from that train of thought came in the form of a question from Jack, who tipped her head so she could briefly meet his gaze. He chuckled, shook his head. "Just waiting out the first storm, it looks like it'll be fierce." he said with a small shrug. Again, he reached over to turn the haunch. "Once the snow settles and the winds die down, I think I'll move further north. I hear the redwood forest is lovely this time of year." the words tripped idly off his tongue with little regard for whether or not he should be discussing his travel plans with a stranger. Sure, she was lovely, but he wasn't one for attachments. Spending some time in the shelter of the massive canopies, hunting the deer that sought similar reprieve from the inclement weather... that was something he did on his own. Always had been. Finally, the scent of cooked meat had reached its peak. Swirling on the eddies of stale air disturbed by the wind outside, the warm aroma surrounded the pair like a blanket. "I think it's cooked enough." Deion grunted, and pulled the haunch closer. Just like that, he was sharing a bottle of wine and a warm dinner with a stranger. ""

It was strange, the proximity. The two of them were strangely close together, and Jack was... comfortable? That was a problem. Being this close together with a stranger. A pair built out of circumstance, an odd duo, and yet? This was okay. Things certainly could have been worse this evening. Things could have been far, far worse for Jack tonight. Instead, this was a comfortable sort of arrangement, a comfortable sort of agreement between two vagabonds. Nothing more, nothing less. A ceasefire. An armistice between two parties that realized they'd likely be worse on their own. "Farther north, fucken madman," a grin, a chuckle. Jack was fairly bold where she rested, slumped, allowing her tired bones to rest on the bed that Deion had assembled for himself. He'd shared his hideaway, his food, his wine. Sharing his bed? Well... who knew if it would be in more ways than one tonight. Jack was a hedonistic creature, not one to deny herself... really anything. She'd never been known to deny herself anything, frankly. "Can't imagine anywhere north of here being lovely," a soft grumbling as she drank by Deion's side. The cooked meat pulled off the fire, a gorgeous rare cook. A bottle of wine and a good dinner, lady luck was on her side tonight. She shifted to reach out for a bite of the roasted meat, her hip and thigh resting against the man as she did. Warmth of meat, warmth of food, warmth of company... warmth from the contact between them, something that Jack couldn't be assed to shy from. Not now. Maybe that was a bit dizzying. Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god

Part of him was deeply amused to see the fae grumble over the supposed horrors of the northern reaches. Another shrug, which was a staple of his gestural repertoire. While usually he would be the one to leave things be, let someone hold onto that disdain for the northern regions for as long as they'd like. Left more territory open for him to explore. However, he was a little drunk, and the ambiance was nice. He was bolder than usual in moments like these. "Maybe the mountains and the caves aren't for you, but the way snow gently tumbles through the thick canopy in the redwood forest, sheltered from the howling winds and bitter storms beyond the edge of the treeline... that's certainly a beautiful thing." rumbling vocals dropped into something softer, pitched down to a gentle murmur. Say what you will of his attitude and (negligible) moral compass, the man had his moments. As the silence dragged on for a moment, he cleared his throat softly and took a bite of the steaming haunch to occupy his blabbering mouth. After he'd swallowed, he took a drink. Better to wash away the mushy nonsense before he spoke again and acted like a simpering fool. In a more jovial, brash tone of voice he said "Or Kennocha Lake, that's a hell of a sight in winter. Especially with the auroras." Better take another drink. As he tried to shake off the moment of weakness, he became quite aware of the way Jack had settled herself against his frame. The gap between them had vanished all at once, and he'd hardly noticed. From hip to hock she'd tilted her body to recline against his own hip and thigh. He had been right earlier, that brief slip of his attention- his dense cosmic coat mingled with the smooth gold of hers like snow settling over a craggy peak. Letting loose a slow breath, he allowed himself the luxury of trailing his gaze over her body. Deceptively bulky, hiding the gentle curve of her hip and thigh until it was pressed against him. Jack was the right size to tuck neatly into the curve of his own body as he lay there. Burly forelimb lifted ever so slowly, offering just the slight caress of ivory digits against her bared flank. A low rumble thrummed deep in his chest, climbing his throat to escape his inky jaws as a curious hum. "We can always stoke the fire and cook that haunch again later.." the sentence came out soft this time, crimson eyes flicking from the smooth plateau of her waist up to her shoulders, heavy skull dipping to drag the edge of a tusk through the thickened fur of her ruff. "If you're still cold, I'd be happy to lend some warmth." he uttered the teasing syllables into the soft fur of her ear, close as he'd dare. Once upon a time he might have grabbed hold of her scruff and sealed the deal, but he was older, a bit more sentimental. And he was wine drunk. So he would gladly slow the pace for her.. - fade to black - ""

The way he speaks of the frozen northern reaches is something that almost has Jack interested. If she was more of the northern sort, if she was more of the winter sort... maybe. That, or if she could have some sort of assurance that she wouldn't absolutely freeze to death. Talk of far away places was always something to bring a light to her own eyes, too. The same child that listened to tales of far away lands and became an explorer because of them. Jack still had that wonder in her heart, even if she wasn't a fan of the cold. Maybe it would be worth seeing. Maybe it would be worth exploring. Hm. The auroras. "You've seen the lights?" There's a bit of hope here. Jack had heard the stories, but never seen them herself. Maybe that could be something she did this winter, depending on how things went. Maybe... maybe. The antihero allowed herself to settle into Deion's side, allowing more contact, yielding to the touch at her flank. Well, anything that came next, she'd more than happily blame the alcohol. Surely Jack wasn't lonely, not at all. It was just the booze, the food, the ambiance, the comfort... all of those things and certainly not her lonesomeness. You can only be alone for so long, after all. "Yeah, we can," the contact of a tusk on the back of her neck and the thrill that shot through her system. Jack's muzzle tracing the side of his face, the plane of his cheek, the rush of pure touch. Underneath it all there was the thrill of danger, and maybe that made it all the more exciting. In the space between them, she allowed her breath to catch in her throat. "You really are nothing if not generous." - Fade to black - Jack O’Malley looking half a corpse and half a god