Written Wonderland

Ren was glad to see Jaz relax and readjust. He'd done well on his answer, then. Oh, she also shot him a look that made it quite clear that she would like to know more. Fair enough, then; that would be his penance the next time he slipped up on his phrasing. To wit, as he began to mull over where to take things next, it was almost tempting to just commit to that course - Tell me more about your sorala, perhaps. But, probably for the best, Jaz struck up the next leg of conversation on her own.

"Well, there's no one looking for me...yet." She said, beginning to run fingers through her tangled hair. She seemed to contemplate something then, which Ren was happy to give her space to do. After a moment, she continued.

"It used to be that almost all the djinn would come back from their soralas. They would travel to distant realms and return with stories and gifts for everyone. It's been a tradition for as long as our people have told stories. But, a few hundred years ago, long before I was born, travel between the realms became unpredictable. Fewer and fewer of us returned, many with scars and..." Jaz shivered. "But leaving is so engrained in our being now... it's impossible to stay."

She looked at Ren through the curtain of her hair with her own sense of graveness in her expression, and Ren took it in with a subtle nod. It was difficult to wrap his head around entirely, but he could at least imagine the intensity of friction between being hard-wired to leave even while knowing how dangerous leaving would be.

"My partners couldn't even..." Jaz continued, tears straining her voice. "They couldn't..." She trailed off, but got a hold of herself, throwing her hair over her shoulder and averting her gaze. Compassion tugged at Ren's chest, her grief so very plain in this. "Djinn in their time of sorala feel... wrong... to other djinn, and touch becomes... fraught. Deeply uncomfortable. It was very sudden for me."

Jaz finally drew her gaze back to Ren, perhaps checking in. Ren contemplated--he was happy to hear more, but he also didn't want to slacken too much on his own contributions to the connection they were weaving together. His eyes drifted over to the stove, but it was too soon for the water to be boiling. Instead, he stood and crossed over to a small side table by his bed. He opened a drawer there, and pulled out a hair brush, pulling a thin web of hair from its bristles. Then, he stepped over in front of Jaz, and held the brush out to her in offering, all while contemplating what else he wanted to add to the conversation at this point.

"The djinn who return from their soralas... their touch doesn't feel wrong anymore?" He was fairly certain that was the case, by how she'd talked about it, but he wanted to make sure he understood, as he found his mind starting to puzzle on what the sorala itself might be about, anyway.

Ren stood and went to a table, pulling open a drawer. A hair brush. Jaz watched--amused and delighted--as he cleaned the brush for her and soon enough, held it out to her.

It wasn't as though she didn't have one in her bag. But he didn't know that. She churlishly pulled her fingers out of her tangles and smiled wryly at Ren.

As he did so, he said, "The djinn who return from their soralas... their touch doesn't feel wrong anymore?" Stunned on two accounts, then. He'd been paying attention. It was a very thoughtful question. She didn't have to answer.

She took the hairbrush, half a thought in her mind to ask him to brush her hair for her. Jaz was even tempted to graze one of his fingers in the process. She didn't, but for a moment, she hadn't been sure she could stop herself.

No.

Jaz blinked as she grew slightly dizzy. She didn't know exactly where the voice had come from, if it was Ren or something else, but she wasn't about to ignore it.

She looked at Ren, puzzled to see if he had noticed all that. She began to brush her hair.

The light brown wood of the brush swirled, Jaz noticed as she gazed at the handle. The carvings along its edge were pleasing to her fingers.

Ren had given her many gifts and might yet give her more, but she had to be patient.

She took a deep breath.

"No, it doesn't," Jaz said, pulling the brush again slowly through her hair and giving herself permission to study his. It was slightly disheveled, hair poking out of his braid in places, but well-kempt. Suddenly, she could imagine something of his life... elsewhere. A more lavish lifestyle than this at the very least. Jaz smiled, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth.

She paused with the brush, letting it hover in her hand just above her thigh for a moment. "It feels even better. Different. Full of... spices. At least to me." She grinned, realizing she had leaned forward in excitement a bit.

Looking down and away for a moment, she thought of the times when Tigre and Suldana had each had to take periods of isolation and silence up further into the mountains.

"But it hasn't been easy for them, and that shows. Our people are becoming... afraid. Of everything other than themselves. Some slowly. Others less so."

Jaz closed her eyes in respect and then started brushing her hair again. Confused at the push-pull of it all. Everything, even her excitement, was colored by nostalgia already. Gods, what a thing to grieve.

Ren rather palpably felt Jaz's temptation to touch him when he held the hair brush out to her, though it could have been a shadow's flicker. He narrowed his eyes subtly, but in the end, she accepted the brush without incident - if with a bit of a puzzled expression? His own expression softened, and he let out a small, silent sigh before returning to the stool to sit. He watched Jaz brush her hair for a moment, and contemplated if he should add anything to conversation, but she continued soon enough.

"No, it doesn't," she said, and Ren noticed her eyes begin to study him. His own hair, perhaps. It was a mess by now, he was sure. An itch to brush it surfaced, along with a sudden minor irritation that his brush was in use by someone else. It was absurd, of course, but only grew worse as she paused her brushing, and he frowned a little in spite of himself. He felt his chest tightening, but he tried to keep it open, replaying Monica's words in his mind. "Welcoming guests is part of having a home." So what if for five minutes he couldn't use his own hairbrush?

"It feels even better," Jaz continued, and Ren tried to relax his expression, refocus on what they were actually talking about. "Different. Full of... spices. At least to me." She grinned, leaning forward in excitement. But then, her gaze drifted down and to the side. "But it hasn't been easy for them, and that shows. Our people are becoming... afraid. Of everything other than themselves. Some slowly. Others less so."

Jaz closed her eyes and started brushing her hair again, somber. Ren felt his chest relaxing again, seeing her grief. It helped him feel glad that he had offered her the brush, silly as that was. He felt like a child, embarrassment swirling, and he felt sad that the sensation of the warm cloak had faded. Maybe because he wasn't touching Jaz anymore, but it was hard not to think it was because of his flash of selfishness. He'd strayed from the hearth, and over such a stupid little thing.

But, it wouldn't do to get stuck in a rut about that. He replayed Jaz's response in his mind, and hovered between asking about the... full bodied spices of touch, to try to cheer her up, or asking about her people's fear, out of respect and consideration. But neither direction felt quite right. He felt like he could understand her people's fear pretty intuitively without asking her to get into it, and he wasn't sure that the 'spices' would actually lead them in a good direction with each other. Certainly not while she was still using his hairbrush.

In the end, he was strangely overcome with an urge to share something else of himself. He hesitated some moments after the thought crossed his mind, but he felt more at ease with that idea than any other he could think of--which was rather strange, but perhaps this was Sankera nudging him back in the right direction. He liked that thought, even if discomfort squirmed in his chest about giving free answers away, so to speak.

"Most touch felt wrong, where I came from." Doubt crept in after he spoke--was it actually self-centered to bring himself in? Was he actually ready to talk about his home with her? He eyed Jaz for a response, mind searching a little hastily for how he actually wanted to tie this in.

((OOC: I think he'll say something else fairly quickly, but Jaz's reaction may impact it.))

Jaz opened her eyes once her hair was almost completely brushed through, wondering what Ren thought about what she had said. He seemed deep in thought, and she decided not to interrupt him. Pulling the brush through her hair one last time in confirmation that it was fully untangled, she let the brush rest on her thigh as Ren began to speak.

"Most touch felt wrong, where I came from." When he looked at her, he seemed nervous, and Jaz ached to comfort him. Looking from side to side as though she would find a better option there, she stood and walked over to offer the brush back to Ren, savoring the handle's carvings beneath her fingers one last time.

She wanted to ask if touch felt wrong with her, or even if it felt wrong with Monica, but Jaz wasn't sure she actually wanted the answer. Instead, she waited, hand outstretched, to see if he would offer any more of his history to her.

Ren was nervous as Jaz looked side to side, uneasy. Then she stood, and begn to walk over to him. He swallowed, tensing around a hot pounding sensation in his chest. When Jaz reached him, she held the brush out to him, and seemed to savor the texture of the handle. Ren tried to relax, even as the pounding sensation in his chest persisted. He hesitated, a flurried spiral cycling of longing--temptation, he'd tense--but then he'd relax again, trying to let down his guard the way he would in the temple. Finally, with a slow exhale, he reached out to accept the brush--and, offered Jaz a gentle touch with his finger as he did. He lingered for a moment, offering her something--some glimpse of the flickering shadows he tended to see; some apology for the guardedness that he carried. When the sentement felt as complete as he could bear, he withdrew, and then stood himself, and walked to the open area in front of the stove. Once there he shuffled half a step one direction, but then another, flustered for a moment about where he wanted to stand. He wanted to brush his hair, but was feeling rather self-conscious about it, he realized. Ultimately he turned to face Jaz again, and eyed her for a moment as he formulated another question to ask.

((OOC: He'll ask a question fairly quickly, but I figured Jaz might have a chance to beat him to it, and certainly her posture etc may inform what he'd ask. Also let me know if you need any additional info about Ren's touch.))

Ren stared hard at Jaz as she tried to hand the brush to him. She raised her eyebrows—had she failed to perform some sort of cultural gesture, or was he simply nervous?

After a long, slow exhale, he did reach to take the brush from her, brushing her fingers with his as he did so. At the unexpected touch, Jaz closed her eyes, relishing even the swirling darkness of what Ren offered. He lingered there, both of them holding the brush as though it were a bridge.

There was a longing, a sadness, and a twisting of shadows pulsing through Ren and into her. He seemed to offer some apology about his guarded past, present only in the texture of the sensation—a maze of swirling embraces, some of them profoundly uncomfortable.

But Ren’s past did not scare Jaz. She only felt curiosity and a desire to comfort him, to wrap him in her own blue smoke.

Soon enough, however, Ren withdrew, standing and walking toward the stove, taking the brush with him. He shuffled uncomfortably, as though he did not know where to go next, even within his own home. Jaz watched his conflict with soft, patient eyes. He looked so lost just then, so distressed. His hair, escaping as it had from his braid in many places, only accentuated his unease.

Finally, he turned back to Jaz and gave her a searching look. She withstood it for a moment, but she eventually took a step closer to Ren, reaching subtly in the direction of the brush.

“Would you allow me to brush your hair?” She asked quietly, only looking up into his face in time with her last word, her breath heavy on her parted lips.

Jaz looked surprisingly serene when Ren turned to face her again. He wasn't sure if he was glad about that or not. Then she surprised him by taking a step forward and holding out her hand, and he froze, his whole body clenching tight. Turning to stone.

“Would you allow me to brush your hair?”

Ren blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment. His eyes glanced down to the brush and then over to Jaz's hand before returning to her gaze, skeptical. It would mean more touch, which he wasn't sure he was ready for. But then, what was he ready for? He invited her in for a reason, didn't he?

Sankera.

Ren closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to will his body to relax. He was choosing to believe that this person meant him no harm. He wanted to believe that. But he had to commit to it. And he had to keep recommitting to it, because these shadows were just going to keep coming up.

Maybe it was better to let Jaz see them, then.

Finally, Ren nodded, his expression softening a little.

"All right," he said, and held the brush back out to her.

((OOC: He will lead the way to a different position for hair-brushing momentarily, but Jaz would probably have a beat to decide on her own direction first, if she seizes the opportunity.))

Ren blinked at Jaz as though dumbfounded, and Jaz smiled widely, the expression causing sparks within her. He quickly looked at the brush in his hand, however, before looking back at her, eyes narrowed again. Finally, he closed his eyes, deeply inhaled, and let his shoulders relax. That seemed promising.

At last, he nodded, his facial features returning to neutral.

"All right," he said, handing the brush back to her.

She tried very hard not to celebrate the victory. It felt tenuous at best, and she did not want to startle Ren. Jaz was patient as he settled into his seat again, watching him with open curiosity while his back was to her.

Cautiously, she reached her fingers over his head to the edge of his scalp, combing through some of the flyaways in front of his face. The light touch buzzed quietly in Jaz's fingertips, and she could feel a black, roiling discomfort within Ren. But, also, he was attempting to trust her. She wanted to prove herself worthy of that. Gently, she sent sweet, soft images of times when she had stroked a moon blossom with the tips of her fingers, its citrus smell intoxicating.

With great care, she put the brush down momentarily and set to undoing the fastening of Ren's braid. It seemed the other people in Ren's village were not all as keen to keep their hair long as in Jaz's village, but Ren seemed to be the exception, for which she was grateful. She had spent long periods brushing the hair of her partners--it was a sensual gift many of the djinn indulged in at the slightest opportunity.

Jaz's fingers were slow and methodical as they encouraged the braid loose, one section at a time. When it was free, she picked up the brush again and got to her knees to properly reach the ends of Ren's hair where it fell along his back. She tested her strokes on the ends, careful to press her other palm in against his back before sorting a stubborn tangle.

She had the impulse to speak--to ask him something or maybe offer something more of herself--but she let the impulse pass, favoring staying fully present with this touch experience.

Jaz could not feel as much of a direct emotional exchange through hair. It was, by most accounts, dead in relationship to the rest of the body, but hair still stored stories. Jaz caught flickers of Ren looking behind himself on the streets and around corners of ornate buildings--nervous, anticipatory. A flash of teeth in an eerie smile. A woman with short, light-colored hair. As Jaz continued brushing, standing again as she worked her way up through the tangles, she did her best not to get stuck in any particular image. She didn't expect that Ren would appreciate her prying. She simply accepted the pieces from Ren's life that she received, pausing periodically to curl stray hair behind Ren's ear as a mild excuse to touch him gently, encouragingly, in the process.

Regret pulsed through Ren the instant the weight of the hair brush shifted out of his hand. In some ways, it was just another wave of tensing, the same trigger as it always was, but in some ways, this wave was more jarring than most. He looked to Jaz with something akin to a warning glare, the satisfaction in her expression setting him on edge. But, only for a flash. He closed his eyes and grounded himself in memories from throughout the day with Jaz, and in his prayer at Sankera's altar. In his commitment to looking past the flickering shadows.

When Ren opened his eyes again, he regarded Jaz with a shy softness--a note of apology in his brow. He hoped he hadn't scared her off. It seemed she was mustering patience, and Ren gave her a gentle nod in gratitude before he settled down into his stool. His eyes lingered on her, his head hesitant to turn at the last moment, some primal instinct not to turn his back holding on fast. He finally did with a soft sigh, willing his body to relax and to trust.

He couldn't help flinching a little when Jaz's fingers touched his scalp near his forehead, but he was at least able to keep it fairly subdued. The touch felt like a spark at first, but then it smoothed out, like citrus and flower petals. It was beautiful. Ren sighed a little more audibly, relaxing to a deeper degree. He felt relief on some layer of muscle that only just then was able to unclench. That gave him hope--that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't always be so difficult.

He was able to relish a bit in the gentle, refreshing sensations of Jaz undoing his braid. It felt nostalgic in a good way, though any brief warmth he felt about that was quickly covered over by melancholy, and grief. He felt the impulse to tense before he even realized why--remembered that Jaz might feel those thoughts. But then he reminded himself that his intention had been to show her. What exactly, he wasn’t sure--more of himself, he supposed. And right now, he relented that that meant acknowledging that he grieved the many years it had been since someone else had last brushed his hair.

Jaz worked her way methodically through brushing the ends of his hair, setting light pressure gainst his back as she worked through harder tangles. She had done this for others before, he realized, and he had a strange mix of emotions about that. He decided to focus on what was assuredly shared grief about homes that they'd each left, if for somewhat different reasons. He allowed his mind to explore some of the complicated pain of missing aspects of home while loathing the sum total of it all. Then, he let his focus fade--or rather shift into simply the sensations of Jaz brushing his hair, and he let out another sigh, letting his eyes slide shut as he opened himself to restful enjoyment.

So of course, some unhelpful thread in his mind supplied a jolt of warning that this would be a perfect time for Jaz to attack--the moment she may have been waiting for.

Ren couldn't help a dry swallow, but reminded himself that Jaz had nothing to do with the people he was actually afraid of. They might have dabbled in sorcery, but the purviews of Dehaljadrun had not exactly been their interest. Of course, it did occur to him then to wonder about the misty goddess' purview here--what did it mean that Jaz was from her realm? Was Jaz in service to her? He recalled the moment Jaz had--what, envisioned?--climbing into his lap, his hands wringing nervously there now. But he kept his eyes shut a bit stubbornly, and also reminded himself that he could command Jaz to stop at any time. That power was quite a notable difference from the past he was so afraid of. It was tempting to wield it for a sense of security in that regard, but he refrained, and tried to let the impulse go with a stiff exhale. Besides, he did like her brushing his hair, and didn't actually want her to stop.

He decided to try to focus on something more pleasant to offer to her--to think of the comforts he did enjoy about where he came from. Warm baths, indulgent grooming, fine meals, ornate clothing. He'd learned quickly after leaving to pretend like he'd never experienced such luxuries at all, and losing them was certainly a small price to pay for his freedom. Still, it was nice to have his hair brushed, and he offered Jaz gratitude through her touch. It even felt nice when she touched his ear or the side of his neck in the process, though flares of nervousness also rose within him. Those touches traipsed along the edge of an unwelcome sort of familiar, and he was relieved that Jaz consistently refocused on the activity at hand.

"Thank you," he finally said aloud, after one such return to brushing after Jaz had tucked a stray hair behind his ear.

"Thank you," Ren said. Jaz paused for a moment, having thoroughly lost herself in the flickering emotions behind Ren's skin--vague and blurred memories of a place before this. She had also been painstakingly studying every tiny flinch or tense of Ren's muscles, adjusting back toward his comfort in the process. She blinked for a few moments, trying to make sense of the intention behind his simple words.

She could consider it a cue to stop--his hair was very nearly detangled from a practical standpoint--but she wanted to indulge, and the sighs he let loose when his muscles relaxed were deeply gratifying. Jaz only worried about the other flicker she had seen: his brief imagination of her attacking him from behind. She felt him think about commanding her after that, much to her chagrin. On the one hand, she was grateful that fact made him feel safer around her; on the other, it only emphasized her own vulnerability. But she recentered herself with a deep breath, continuing to run the brush through Ren's hair--more smoothly now with the tangles out. He had, after all, given her his word that he would remedy his commands in the future. Still, there was no biological impetus to ensure that.

Instead of focusing on their fears of each other, however, Jaz pulled up what she thought to be comforting thoughts. The glory of the misty moon, the light spray off the waterfall as it came down from the sacred mountain, the familiar scent of the chorus of night-blooming flowers, her own singing voice rising up with the smoke from the village fires.

To wit...

Jaz started singing, quietly at first, hardly more than a hum. She paired the length of the notes to the timing of her strokes through Ren's hair with the brush. After she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the song, the notes had more variation in time and rhythm, building slightly in volume. And, eventually, she added words.

Soothing sounds alight your brow
Tell me, do you feel better now?
Sweet time, deep time
Whispers across this heart of mine

She sang through what she had formulated twice before she stopped and let the hand with the brush still at her side. Any further brushing of Ren's hair would be more than practical. And while she wanted more excuses to make contact with him, she refrained peacefully, walking around and in front of him to set the brush down on the surface next to Ren. She looked into his eyes, then, searching, curious.