[He's still invisible but at least he knows. Just like he knows that his palms leave frost-prints on the glass of her window–something to attract attention. Not that he needs to, with how he's tapping on the glass with a record in irregular patterns (flying was hard to get used to, harder still when he was only staying in one spot).]
[A moment later, Liz appears at the window - and unlatches it as soon as she sees the handprints, staring because she's on the second floor what is Jean even doing--
Nothing. She thinks he must have been throwing something up at her window-- but then how does that explain the...
(This isn't the first time ice has done funny things around her.)]
Yeah, it's my window.
[She mutters it, confused. Then she pulls her phone out. It'll take her a few moments, but if she doesn't get interrupted, Jean will receive one text message.]
[There's a sadness in the way he watches her take out her watch and text him.
He'll never get used to this: having someone stare straight through him. It wrenches his gut everytime and makes his breath catch in his throat. If he's even breathing like this.]
im heere
[Once again, he presses a hand against the glass, the frost forming around where his hand presses.]
[The next text comes through and she glances out the window, brow furrowed... and starts when frost begins to sparkle on the window, forming a definite hand shape right there in front of her.
But there's still no one there. She reaches out, touches the other side of the window to where the frost gathers like she could feel anything more than a cold glass pane... and then this time opens the window entirely.]
Jean?
[She hisses it out into the warm night. Invisible people doing stuff with ice. Yeah, she's seen that before.
But this week? This week kinda throws everything off.]
What are you.... Are you seriously right here? [She looks down towards the (kinda distant) ground.] Did you climb up here?
[as he types that, he loses his balance–shifting weight onto a foot that has no ground-support. As a result, he sinks down half a level. With a frown, he continues typing, using her window to pull himself back up to her level.]
its hard not to bumop inot people insdie so ive stayed out here
[though there's still a chance she won't take his word. His grip on the window tightens. Jean looks down at his knuckles and watches the frost spread from beneath them.
Maybe...
A quick glance up at her followed by hesitation. His gaze darts down to her hand. It'd be a bit forward but... A quick touch would be harmless, right? It's not like he meant anything by it, anyway.
In his nervousness, he wets his lips and–hands trembling slightly–touches the top of her hand. Maybe the coldness would transfer enough that she'd be able to tell.]
[She reads his messages as they come in one after another, frowning and staring at the words. Knowing what it's like to suddenly manifest a power you don't understand - that she gets. However, her power doesn't involve people not being able to see her... though oddly, it would seem to involve a similar sort of loneliness.]
God, this place is weird - you know that, right?
[People who she could see and talk to - and inadvertently set fire to - being turned invisible. Her own sudden lack of ability, or rather lack of compulsion, to set fires. She's never been so permanently confused in her life as she is being here.
She leans out the window slightly, hand braced on the frame, and is about to say something else, when--
Something touches her hand - it's light, so light, but so cold she gasps, and not just in surprise.
A moment later, the text comes through - but she already knows what it's going to say and barely glances at it.
There's a moment where she stares out the window like she's actually going to be able to see something - then, on a whim, she reaches out, palm forward, fingers slightly splayed - and that is absolutely an invitation for you to touch her hand again, Jean. Don't be scared - let it happen.]
This is insane...
[She whispers it, though - it's sort of her trying to convince herself this isn't her life more than anything else.]
[Harder still when he's holding a jazz record in his other hand. After a few minutes he makes it work but it takes some juggling and causes a bit of drifting. He uses the window frame to reposition himself, cautiously reaching forward to touch her hand.
It doesn't really work. He passes through her instead, pulling back his hand quickly to spare her the experience. Juggles the watch back into his hand.]
sorry
[A beat, another text.] i got yoju somethking im gonna throw i t in okay
[Again, more finagling–but he does manage to toss the record into her room. It becomes visible the moment it leaves his touch.]
[She stands and grins for a moment at the mental picture of Jean tapping away at his pocket watch with one thumb when she's stood there reading his texts with no problems.
And then there it is again - that odd, cold feeling. For a split second, it seems to radiate through her hand right to the bone - she shudders with a hissed intake of breath - and then it's gone as if it were never there at all. Still, it leaves her with a thoughtful look and a lopsided sort of smile. It's weird as hell, sure - but all the same it's pretty awesome.
She's still flexing the warmth back into her hand when he apologises, and she shakes her head.]
You don't have to...
[The next text comes through and she cuts off, reading with a furrowed brow-- and then she steps aside hurriedly, just in time to barely catch sight of the record just appearing there in thin air and flying into the window like a haphazardly tossed discus. Which is essentially what it is.
She crosses the room to get it, already holding it in one hand as the next text message sets the watch buzzing in her hand.
Her birthday was mentioned totally off-hand - kind of a 'look, this stupid newspaper even says it's my birthday next week' moment she was having while getting to grips with the fact that it's the wrong time of year. That he remembered, that he'd thought about it-- her-- at all.... It's a startlingly warm feeling radiating through her chest and up to her face.
When she finds her voice a moment later - there'd been a second where it felt too tight in her throat to say anything at all - it's softer than her usual tone.]
Thanks, Jean.
[And then--] I didn't even get you anything for yours - it was like... a few days ago, right?
[That, she knows courtesy of some weirdo over the watch network... thing.]
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crossfired
(forward dated) w7 d4; 7:47pm | text + action
Date: 2013-10-29 10:17 pm (UTC)[He's still invisible but at least he knows. Just like he knows that his palms leave frost-prints on the glass of her window–something to attract attention. Not that he needs to, with how he's tapping on the glass with a record in irregular patterns (flying was hard to get used to, harder still when he was only staying in one spot).]
t hiis is your e wiinddow right
i even have the perfect icon!!!
Date: 2013-10-29 10:44 pm (UTC)Nothing. She thinks he must have been throwing something up at her window-- but then how does that explain the...
(This isn't the first time ice has done funny things around her.)]
Yeah, it's my window.
[She mutters it, confused. Then she pulls her phone out. It'll take her a few moments, but if she doesn't get interrupted, Jean will receive one text message.]
you got the right one you can come back
oh my gosh that's one i made!!
Date: 2013-10-29 10:56 pm (UTC)He'll never get used to this: having someone stare straight through him. It wrenches his gut everytime and makes his breath catch in his throat. If he's even breathing like this.]
im heere
[Once again, he presses a hand against the glass, the frost forming around where his hand presses.]
thats me
you must have planned this all along
Date: 2013-10-30 05:29 am (UTC)But there's still no one there. She reaches out, touches the other side of the window to where the frost gathers like she could feel anything more than a cold glass pane... and then this time opens the window entirely.]
Jean?
[She hisses it out into the warm night. Invisible people doing stuff with ice. Yeah, she's seen that before.
But this week? This week kinda throws everything off.]
What are you.... Are you seriously right here? [She looks down towards the (kinda distant) ground.] Did you climb up here?
you have cracked my nefarious plan
Date: 2013-11-01 05:42 am (UTC)[as he types that, he loses his balance–shifting weight onto a foot that has no ground-support. As a result, he sinks down half a level. With a frown, he continues typing, using her window to pull himself back up to her level.]
its hard not to bumop inot people insdie so ive stayed out here
[though there's still a chance she won't take his word. His grip on the window tightens. Jean looks down at his knuckles and watches the frost spread from beneath them.
Maybe...
A quick glance up at her followed by hesitation. His gaze darts down to her hand. It'd be a bit forward but... A quick touch would be harmless, right? It's not like he meant anything by it, anyway.
In his nervousness, he wets his lips and–hands trembling slightly–touches the top of her hand. Maybe the coldness would transfer enough that she'd be able to tell.]
se e thats me
i'm brilliant that's why
Date: 2013-11-02 04:27 am (UTC)God, this place is weird - you know that, right?
[People who she could see and talk to - and inadvertently set fire to - being turned invisible. Her own sudden lack of ability, or rather lack of compulsion, to set fires. She's never been so permanently confused in her life as she is being here.
She leans out the window slightly, hand braced on the frame, and is about to say something else, when--
Something touches her hand - it's light, so light, but so cold she gasps, and not just in surprise.
A moment later, the text comes through - but she already knows what it's going to say and barely glances at it.
There's a moment where she stares out the window like she's actually going to be able to see something - then, on a whim, she reaches out, palm forward, fingers slightly splayed - and that is absolutely an invitation for you to touch her hand again, Jean. Don't be scared - let it happen.]
This is insane...
[She whispers it, though - it's sort of her trying to convince herself this isn't her life more than anything else.]
shakes head
Date: 2013-11-20 02:45 am (UTC)[Harder still when he's holding a jazz record in his other hand. After a few minutes he makes it work but it takes some juggling and causes a bit of drifting. He uses the window frame to reposition himself, cautiously reaching forward to touch her hand.
It doesn't really work. He passes through her instead, pulling back his hand quickly to spare her the experience. Juggles the watch back into his hand.]
sorry
[A beat, another text.] i got yoju somethking im gonna throw i t in okay
[Again, more finagling–but he does manage to toss the record into her room. It becomes visible the moment it leaves his touch.]
you saikd it was oyur birthday
no subject
Date: 2013-11-24 10:09 pm (UTC)And then there it is again - that odd, cold feeling. For a split second, it seems to radiate through her hand right to the bone - she shudders with a hissed intake of breath - and then it's gone as if it were never there at all. Still, it leaves her with a thoughtful look and a lopsided sort of smile. It's weird as hell, sure - but all the same it's pretty awesome.
She's still flexing the warmth back into her hand when he apologises, and she shakes her head.]
You don't have to...
[The next text comes through and she cuts off, reading with a furrowed brow-- and then she steps aside hurriedly, just in time to barely catch sight of the record just appearing there in thin air and flying into the window like a haphazardly tossed discus. Which is essentially what it is.
She crosses the room to get it, already holding it in one hand as the next text message sets the watch buzzing in her hand.
Her birthday was mentioned totally off-hand - kind of a 'look, this stupid newspaper even says it's my birthday next week' moment she was having while getting to grips with the fact that it's the wrong time of year. That he remembered, that he'd thought about it-- her-- at all.... It's a startlingly warm feeling radiating through her chest and up to her face.
When she finds her voice a moment later - there'd been a second where it felt too tight in her throat to say anything at all - it's softer than her usual tone.]
Thanks, Jean.
[And then--] I didn't even get you anything for yours - it was like... a few days ago, right?
[That, she knows courtesy of some weirdo over the watch network... thing.]