The windowsill has already become his usual perch in the house, close enough to the couch to make for easy conversation, far enough away to prevent 'accidental' contact. There's little enough for him to do here, plenty of time to think. Too much time, sometimes, but he's had worse. The sounds of the forest at night are just as arresting as any busy city, fascinating in themselves, and enough of a distraction for now.
He's still sated from the small doe he'd brought down earlier, now skinned and hanging from a tree behind the house thanks to Natasha's handiwork, and for once he isn't tracking a herd or planning a hunt, he can just listen intently, eyes closed. The chittering of small animals, little silences of predators stalking, it all layers up. He's listening, and he's thinking about Alice, a cycle of worrying and reassuring himself that she'd said they'll meet again and he has to trust that, and worrying again that someone's decision might have changed and her vision might have changed and he wouldn't know it, he should find them, but he can't put them in danger again, it's too soon. He doesn't get tired, but it's exhausting, and now he's just putting it as far out of his mind as he can. Unfortunately not very far, but it'll have to do.
Lost as he is in the rhythms of the forest, he's still aware of her in the other room, tossing and turning, huffing a breath, and his eyes open as she stands up, before she even appears. He blinks in surprise but doesn't comment as she loads a gun and disappears outside. He can see her in the darkness, and she doesn't even take aim before turning right back around.
"I take it you're not much of an outdoorsy type," he says dryly, not moving from his comfortable spot at the window. "Back home, we did plenty. Read things, all sorts of things. Wrote, sometimes. Edward writes music. Carlisle writes about medical research. I wrote a paper or two on philosophy, a few years ago. Sometimes we travel, day trips." He shrugs easily. "Whatever you'd do with all the time in the world, that's what we do. ...out here, I've mostly been thinking. And listening."
no subject
He's still sated from the small doe he'd brought down earlier, now skinned and hanging from a tree behind the house thanks to Natasha's handiwork, and for once he isn't tracking a herd or planning a hunt, he can just listen intently, eyes closed. The chittering of small animals, little silences of predators stalking, it all layers up. He's listening, and he's thinking about Alice, a cycle of worrying and reassuring himself that she'd said they'll meet again and he has to trust that, and worrying again that someone's decision might have changed and her vision might have changed and he wouldn't know it, he should find them, but he can't put them in danger again, it's too soon. He doesn't get tired, but it's exhausting, and now he's just putting it as far out of his mind as he can. Unfortunately not very far, but it'll have to do.
Lost as he is in the rhythms of the forest, he's still aware of her in the other room, tossing and turning, huffing a breath, and his eyes open as she stands up, before she even appears. He blinks in surprise but doesn't comment as she loads a gun and disappears outside. He can see her in the darkness, and she doesn't even take aim before turning right back around.
"I take it you're not much of an outdoorsy type," he says dryly, not moving from his comfortable spot at the window. "Back home, we did plenty. Read things, all sorts of things. Wrote, sometimes. Edward writes music. Carlisle writes about medical research. I wrote a paper or two on philosophy, a few years ago. Sometimes we travel, day trips." He shrugs easily. "Whatever you'd do with all the time in the world, that's what we do. ...out here, I've mostly been thinking. And listening."