[even if he didn't have something of a sixth sense when it comes to the boy, it would be impossible for him to miss diarmuid's approach. while he doesn't entirely get why he's rushing, he's no less grateful for the boy's company again. aside from him, the mute really doesn't have anyone here that he cares about. that he actually wants to spend time near. so during those hours when diarmuid is tucked away in school, the mute finds himself with very little to do.
thus, the pictures. and now--
one hand reaches to take diarmuid's satchel, while the other holds out the box. the icecream is still somehow mostly solid, despite the heat seeping out from the brownie beneath. it...really isn't something he enjoyed when he was given those spoonfuls earlier. but there's still a clear spoonful that's been taken from one of the corners. someone had to test it to make sure it was safe to eat, afterall.]
[He makes a disapproving little sound at the mute's eagerness to carry around all the weight, as he usually always did at home, too; he's a grown boy, now! He can carry a few... very heavy books. He's gained a little muscle! Even if his bad shoulder gives him grief...
Ah, but blesséd iced-cream, it distracts him from complaint.]
It's very sweet, isn't it? Enough to give you an aching stomach, the first few times...
... I admit, I've eaten a lot more lately than I did when I arrived...
[it's a task back home that he'd taken to easily, and being here in this city is no different. he's used to being the one to carry things, to move them, to take on all the menial tasks so the monks were free to continue their own routines unhindered. it stands to reason that he'd continue the same here for diarmuid.
but it's clear that he doesn't need to defend his actions when diarmuid starts to speak. he's in full agreement about the taste, though he has no plans on eating more himself to get used to it. he'd much rather give those sweeter foods over to diarmuid instead and stick to what he knows for himself.
so he simply watches and listens, as he always does. (grimaces, of course, at the mention of eating enough of it to make himself ill). with diarmuid there, he never feels the need to fill the silence. doesn't feel that same level of discomfort he has around others who expect more from him than he's capable of giving. peaceful moments like these are a welcome reprieve from everything else that's happened in their lives.]
[he follows along in silence, listening to diarmuid speak, despite the fact that his attention is largely fixed on the area around them. after all he's learned about this city, all that's happened to the boy in the time before he arrived, the mute isn't willing to let his guard drop. not until they're back inside the cabin again.
the questions themselves go largely unanswered. he doesn't know what hot sauce is to be able to agree or refuse his suggestion. so he knows he'd just end up deferring to diarmuid's lead about it. the same when it comes to whatever mexican food is. though considering some of the meals that he's had since coming here, he doubts he'll mind trying it at least once. unless--
he taps the side of the box in diarmuid's hand in question. is mexican food sweet? because that may be the one deciding factor as to whether he'll try it or not.]
Ah — no. Mexican food is... well... It's a lot of grain. And beans.
And things called ja-la-penos. [He says it with all of the grace of a dorky white kid trying to sound cool to their waiter in an authentic Mexican food restaurant. He's doing his best, alright?] More spicy than sweet. I had burned my mouth the first time I tried it! We should get some supplies from the market; I'll make something like it!
[HE'S DETERMINED.
... It helps that you just put canned beans in a tortilla to make a burrito.
[the unfamiliar word is one he takes a moment to sound out in his head. to try and commit it to memory in the same way he'd learned irish. sure, he may never say any of those words aloud, but even his decision not to speak won't silence the voice in his head.
it's the suggestion of the market that grabs his attention though. of all the strange and new experiences he's had here, it's the stores that he enjoys the most. that easy access to such a wide array of foods, when he knows what it's like to struggle to find enough to sustain you- it's a very welcome change to the way things are- were -back home.
so it doesn't take any thought as he starts diverting them towards the grocery store instead. sure, diarmuid may want to rest after a day spent in school. but the mute clearly has other plans.]
[Ah! He almost trips on his own burningly red converse, following the mute.
(He loves them, and the weather is perfect for them, leave him be!)]
Wait for me! [He finds himself signing it at the same time, having been practicing ASL in the hopes the mute will take after him with time. Huffs! But he returns to walking next to the man as he goes. Leave it to his friend to get that tunnel vision for a destination.] You're really so eager to burn your mouth on new foods?
[if he's honest, part of his reason for heading that way is in fact due to diarmuid's words. though not because he's in any kind of a rush to try it himself. but there's something amusing about the thought of the boy cooking something too spicy for him to eat. their meals back at the monastery hadn't exactly been filled with flavour, so clearly diarmuid has been taking advantage of what's on offer here.
not that he's really any different. though his tastes have ventured more towards the known, as rarely eaten as certain meals may be. but its been a long time since he was last on the continent--
the signing earns diarmuid a look. one that's equal parts impressed and annoyed. he still hasn't given up trying, despite just how clear the mute has made it that he has no plans on ever using the language for himself. he's tenacious, if nothing else. which is why the mute once again turns his attention away from the gestures and instead sticks to listening. as always.]
[Diarmuid just walks along pleasantly, more than happy to ramble about the enjoyable flavors of so many different countries. So many lands they'd never visit! America! Oh, he could go on and on about hamburgers (and absolutely has).
It's only when there's a lull in the conversation that the boy nudges the Mute with a sharp elbow.]
You know, you could always try more things. With new faces. [If the man thinks for a moment Diarmuid wouldn't continue to try and get him new friends in town, he's got another thing coming.] Surely you've ran into some of my acquaintances by now! They're all very nice, aren't they?
[it's not the first time that they've had a conversation like this before, and he doubts it'll be the last. the idea of having to build relationships with other people isn't something he looks forward to doing though. even back at the monastery, his contact with the monks had been minimal at best. unless they needed something from him, or he had some sort of chore that took him in to their vicinity, he hadn't really sought any of them out for company.
it was only ever diarmuid's persistence that had forced him out of that habit years ago, and left him grateful for those moments that the two of them were able to spend together. the friendship that they built, however undeserving of it he is, had quickly become the one bright point in his life. and now, stuck in this town, it's even more true than ever. he doesn't need anybody else to care about.
so of course, the idea of having to spend time with diarmuid's friends is still met with resistance. other than the few moments he's spent making sure that they aren't a danger to the boy, he hasn't seen any reason to seek them out again. why would he? he wasn't brought back for his own benefit. he didn't earn this third chance.
he glances, all too briefly, back at diarmuid. only barely able to make eye contact before he's looking away again. he doesn't like letting the boy down like this. but neither is he ready to start seeking company from others. not when he knows they won't be anywhere near as accepting of his silence as the monks were]
[He cannot help but sigh through his nose at that. Does he not realize... just how crucial knowing one another is? But he cannot change the man's headspace, cannot force him to do anything he will not. So he leaves it be, not forgotten, but shelved in the meanwhile.]
I've met a number of interesting people here; I owe many of them my lives, even...! And, if I may be so bold, I'd like to think I've returned the favor a number of times. Chloe, she gave me her last name. And Clara helped treat my wounds in her bathroom once. And Wade, he has put up with me being in trouble a few too many times...!
[Sorry, he's back to rambling to the quiet.]
Rei has recently returned, too; Rei, she'd helped me out of some difficult situations.
And when I'd d— [ah no no back it up-] When I'd gotten sick, she helped me through it. Even let me into her home to use her shower. You haven't even gotten to see a shower, have you? Running water is an incredible thing.
[more names to add to the list of people he needs to look in to. though some of the reasons for adding them are a little less welcome than he'd like though. injuries and danger and he still remembers just what diarmuid's scars look like. another reminder of his own failure to protect the one pure thing left in his (former) life. sure, he realises that there was very little he could do in the time before he woke up here. but that failure is something that he will always keep ahold of. if he'd just been here then maybe there wouldn't be a statue sitting in diarmuid's cabin right now.
(yes, he knows what that means now. but no, he isn't pushing for more)
at the mention of the shower, or running water, the mute looks almost...embarrassed. briefly. there's a few moments hesitation, before he lifts a hand, twisting at the wrist to mimic flushing the toilet. he's seen running water, but not under the best of circumstances.
in his defense, he'd needed to relieve himself and he hadn't realised he was in somebody's garden until after he had his trousers down. the less he has to think about the minutes that followed, the better. needless to say, a crash course in using a modern toilet is something he never wants to relive.]
[Oh, friend, if only he knew that's what you fretted over; he's learned that in the end, you can never truly protect someone fully. Just being there is what matters, be it late or not. Diarmuid just laughs softly at the gesture.]
Already had a horror story or two, a chara?
I had mistaken toilets for basins to clean one's hands first.
[A TRUE NIGHTMARE]
... I also learned that the lids of toilets are wonderful weapons...
[he doesn't really know where to start with that. on the one hand, knowing now what toilets are for, he can understand why diarmuid may have been embarrassed by that. but at the same time, it makes sense. a basin of water is still water. what other use would they have had for it, back at the monastery.
but it's the latter part that concerns him more. that gets his focus. because why would diarmuid need to know of an alternate use for a toilet lid? at what point did he find himself in a position to need to discover that?
(he knows, at some point, he'll need to make sure the boy can defend himself here. that neither of their stays are permanent, and that this town can pull them apart at any point. so if there's a way to help guarantee diarmuid's safety, they'll need to find it. even if it means the mute having to lift a sword again.)
he gives diarmuid a look, a press for more information. his expression is too serious for it to mean anything but a need for an elaboration on the makeshift weaponry part]
A friend had been blacksmithing downstairs, and was wearing a rather frightening mask. When she emerged out from the darkness toward me... well, the door to the downstairs is beside the toilet, and I had panicked and threw the heavy lid at her head and send her rolling down the stairs...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
thus, the pictures. and now--
one hand reaches to take diarmuid's satchel, while the other holds out the box. the icecream is still somehow mostly solid, despite the heat seeping out from the brownie beneath. it...really isn't something he enjoyed when he was given those spoonfuls earlier. but there's still a clear spoonful that's been taken from one of the corners. someone had to test it to make sure it was safe to eat, afterall.]
no subject
Ah, but blesséd iced-cream, it distracts him from complaint.]
It's very sweet, isn't it? Enough to give you an aching stomach, the first few times...
... I admit, I've eaten a lot more lately than I did when I arrived...
no subject
but it's clear that he doesn't need to defend his actions when diarmuid starts to speak. he's in full agreement about the taste, though he has no plans on eating more himself to get used to it. he'd much rather give those sweeter foods over to diarmuid instead and stick to what he knows for himself.
so he simply watches and listens, as he always does. (grimaces, of course, at the mention of eating enough of it to make himself ill). with diarmuid there, he never feels the need to fill the silence. doesn't feel that same level of discomfort he has around others who expect more from him than he's capable of giving. peaceful moments like these are a welcome reprieve from everything else that's happened in their lives.]
no subject
You think this is bad? Should I introduce you to hot sauce?
[Don't mind him munching as he goes.]
I had poured some into soup once, and never have I regretted such an ingredient in all my days on earth. But it's particularly good on 'Mexican food'.
no subject
the questions themselves go largely unanswered. he doesn't know what hot sauce is to be able to agree or refuse his suggestion. so he knows he'd just end up deferring to diarmuid's lead about it. the same when it comes to whatever mexican food is. though considering some of the meals that he's had since coming here, he doubts he'll mind trying it at least once. unless--
he taps the side of the box in diarmuid's hand in question. is mexican food sweet? because that may be the one deciding factor as to whether he'll try it or not.]
no subject
And things called ja-la-penos. [He says it with all of the grace of a dorky white kid trying to sound cool to their waiter in an authentic Mexican food restaurant. He's doing his best, alright?] More spicy than sweet. I had burned my mouth the first time I tried it! We should get some supplies from the market; I'll make something like it!
[HE'S DETERMINED.
... It helps that you just put canned beans in a tortilla to make a burrito.
Such ease!]
no subject
it's the suggestion of the market that grabs his attention though. of all the strange and new experiences he's had here, it's the stores that he enjoys the most. that easy access to such a wide array of foods, when he knows what it's like to struggle to find enough to sustain you- it's a very welcome change to the way things are- were -back home.
so it doesn't take any thought as he starts diverting them towards the grocery store instead. sure, diarmuid may want to rest after a day spent in school. but the mute clearly has other plans.]
no subject
(He loves them, and the weather is perfect for them, leave him be!)]
Wait for me! [He finds himself signing it at the same time, having been practicing ASL in the hopes the mute will take after him with time. Huffs! But he returns to walking next to the man as he goes. Leave it to his friend to get that tunnel vision for a destination.] You're really so eager to burn your mouth on new foods?
[................]
I must admit, I would like to eat it again.
[Sometimes you just torment yourself.]
no subject
not that he's really any different. though his tastes have ventured more towards the known, as rarely eaten as certain meals may be. but its been a long time since he was last on the continent--
the signing earns diarmuid a look. one that's equal parts impressed and annoyed. he still hasn't given up trying, despite just how clear the mute has made it that he has no plans on ever using the language for himself. he's tenacious, if nothing else. which is why the mute once again turns his attention away from the gestures and instead sticks to listening. as always.]
no subject
It's only when there's a lull in the conversation that the boy nudges the Mute with a sharp elbow.]
You know, you could always try more things. With new faces. [If the man thinks for a moment Diarmuid wouldn't continue to try and get him new friends in town, he's got another thing coming.] Surely you've ran into some of my acquaintances by now! They're all very nice, aren't they?
no subject
it was only ever diarmuid's persistence that had forced him out of that habit years ago, and left him grateful for those moments that the two of them were able to spend together. the friendship that they built, however undeserving of it he is, had quickly become the one bright point in his life. and now, stuck in this town, it's even more true than ever. he doesn't need anybody else to care about.
so of course, the idea of having to spend time with diarmuid's friends is still met with resistance. other than the few moments he's spent making sure that they aren't a danger to the boy, he hasn't seen any reason to seek them out again. why would he? he wasn't brought back for his own benefit. he didn't earn this third chance.
he glances, all too briefly, back at diarmuid. only barely able to make eye contact before he's looking away again. he doesn't like letting the boy down like this. but neither is he ready to start seeking company from others. not when he knows they won't be anywhere near as accepting of his silence as the monks were]
no subject
I've met a number of interesting people here; I owe many of them my lives, even...! And, if I may be so bold, I'd like to think I've returned the favor a number of times. Chloe, she gave me her last name. And Clara helped treat my wounds in her bathroom once. And Wade, he has put up with me being in trouble a few too many times...!
[Sorry, he's back to rambling to the quiet.]
Rei has recently returned, too; Rei, she'd helped me out of some difficult situations.
And when I'd d— [ah no no back it up-] When I'd gotten sick, she helped me through it. Even let me into her home to use her shower. You haven't even gotten to see a shower, have you? Running water is an incredible thing.
no subject
(yes, he knows what that means now. but no, he isn't pushing for more)
at the mention of the shower, or running water, the mute looks almost...embarrassed. briefly. there's a few moments hesitation, before he lifts a hand, twisting at the wrist to mimic flushing the toilet. he's seen running water, but not under the best of circumstances.
in his defense, he'd needed to relieve himself and he hadn't realised he was in somebody's garden until after he had his trousers down. the less he has to think about the minutes that followed, the better. needless to say, a crash course in using a modern toilet is something he never wants to relive.]
no subject
Already had a horror story or two, a chara?
I had mistaken toilets for basins to clean one's hands first.
[A TRUE NIGHTMARE]
... I also learned that the lids of toilets are wonderful weapons...
no subject
but it's the latter part that concerns him more. that gets his focus. because why would diarmuid need to know of an alternate use for a toilet lid? at what point did he find himself in a position to need to discover that?
(he knows, at some point, he'll need to make sure the boy can defend himself here. that neither of their stays are permanent, and that this town can pull them apart at any point. so if there's a way to help guarantee diarmuid's safety, they'll need to find it. even if it means the mute having to lift a sword again.)
he gives diarmuid a look, a press for more information. his expression is too serious for it to mean anything but a need for an elaboration on the makeshift weaponry part]
no subject
A friend had been blacksmithing downstairs, and was wearing a rather frightening mask. When she emerged out from the darkness toward me... well, the door to the downstairs is beside the toilet, and I had panicked and threw the heavy lid at her head and send her rolling down the stairs...
[He holds up his hands.]
She was fine, though! A shaken brain, but...
... They call it a concussion.