Ferda

The grammar is certainly off, but no more than Ferda’s own. He still doesn’t have the word order completely right … Most of the time… but the words come easier with practice. Especially practice with someone who won’t judge him for the poor structure.  <Come sit? I can -practice?> It takes him a second or two to get the right sign, but hopefully the meaning shows through. <We can eat together.>

<F-E-R-D-A.> comes the response, along with a cocky smile. It’s the greatest nickname -ever-, though it’s a lot funnier with his last name included. <Good meeting you.>

No doubt the poor waitress is thinking that another four people must be about to show up, given the sheer amount of food ordered between the two. Half for a hungry lad wanting leftovers, the other for a massive gymbro-himbo. Ferda guffaws  shamelessly at the setting by the waitresses’ third trip of plates and reaches over to offer Dorian a fistbump. <I just eat like a horse.> He signs,

<My mother says I have a hollow leg.> Ferda signs, though it doesn’t translate perfectly. <I spend a lot of time at the gym though.>

The grammar is certainly off, but no more than Ferda’s own. He still doesn’t have the word order completely right … Most of the time… but the words come easier with practice. Especially practice with someone who won’t judge him for the poor structure.  <Come sit? I can -practice?> It takes him a second or two to get the right sign, but hopefully the meaning shows through. <We can eat together.>

<F-E-R-D-A.> comes the response, along with a cocky smile. It’s the greatest nickname -ever-, though it’s a lot funnier with his last name included. <Good meeting you.>

No doubt the poor waitress is thinking that another four people must be about to show up, given the sheer amount of food ordered between the two. Half for a hungry lad wanting leftovers, the other for a massive gymbro-himbo. Ferda guffaws  shamelessly at the setting by the waitresses’ third trip of plates and reaches over to offer Dorian a fistbump. <I just eat like a horse.> He signs,

The grammar is certainly off, but no more than Ferda’s own. He still doesn’t have the word order completely right … Most of the time… but the words come easier with practice. Especially practice with someone who won’t judge him for the poor structure.  <Come sit? I can -practice?> It takes him a second or two to get the right sign, but hopefully the meaning shows through. <We can eat together.>

<F-E-R-D-A.> comes the response, along with a cocky smile. It’s the greatest nickname -ever-, though it’s a lot funnier with his last name included. <Good meeting you.>

The grammar is certainly off, but no more than Ferda’s own. He still doesn’t have the word order completely right ... Most of the time... but the words come easier with practice. Especially practice with someone who won’t judge him for the poor structure.  <Come sit? I can -practice?> It takes him a second or two to get the right sign, but hopefully the meaning shows through. <We can eat together.>

The man is a big one, broad shoulders and a thick neck, fists the size of a horses heart, but he seems relaxed. Wearing gym shorts, old comfy sneakers, and a teeshirt with the sleeves torn off a hundred washings ago to bare his arms. Sleeves are, after all, bullshit. He’s got mussed brown hair and bright eyes, glancing over towards the bashful seeming fellow in a similarly well-loved coat.  Taking a sip of his coffee, should Dorian glance up, there’s a small upnod and a slight flicker of his fingers in a lazy, casual wave of sorts.

Ferda realizes why Dorian looked behind himself and seems a bit sheepish. It’s odd, seeing a guy with his muscle mass looking softly contrite, but Ferda proves it’s possible. There’s no further invasion, not really, but the two of them are more or less facing each other in this otherwise fairly empty diner so glances still happen. 

“…Late-late night, or early morning?” Dorian finally asks after the server’s come around with coffee.

Ferda sees the lips move in his direction and squints a little, eyebrows furrowing apologetically. His lips purse inwards and he shakes a hand near his ear with fingers spread and loosely clawed, as if adjusting a large earmuff. Then a finger start high on his jaw near his ear and comes down in a line towards the corner of his mouth. Two different ways of signing ‘deaf’- One far less formal and better for miming to the uninitiated in ASL, the other in ASL.

The man is a big one, broad shoulders and a thick neck, fists the size of a horses heart, but he seems relaxed. Wearing gym shorts, old comfy sneakers, and a teeshirt with the sleeves torn off a hundred washings ago to bare his arms. Sleeves are, after all, bullshit. He’s got mussed brown hair and bright eyes, glancing over towards the bashful seeming fellow in a similarly well-loved coat.  Taking a sip of his coffee, should Dorian glance up, there’s a small upnod and a slight flicker of his fingers in a lazy, casual wave of sorts.

Ferda realizes why Dorian looked behind himself and seems a bit sheepish. It’s odd, seeing a guy with his muscle mass looking softly contrite, but Ferda proves it’s possible. There’s no further invasion, not really, but the two of them are more or less facing each other in this otherwise fairly empty diner so glances still happen. 

The man is a big one, broad shoulders and a thick neck, fists the size of a horses heart, but he seems relaxed. Wearing gym shorts, old comfy sneakers, and a teeshirt with the sleeves torn off a hundred washings ago to bare his arms. Sleeves are, after all, bullshit. He’s got mussed brown hair and bright eyes, glancing over towards the bashful seeming fellow in a similarly well-loved coat.  Taking a sip of his coffee, should Dorian glance up, there’s a small upnod and a slight flicker of his fingers in a lazy, casual wave of sorts.

/I can read a lot better than I can sign?/ He smears the dry-erase ink off with the side of his sleeve and replaces it. /plus it helps when talkng to someone hearing?/

/A year & ½ or so./ He writes quickly. It’s his script version of a hurried scrawl, but apparently he’s good enough with the dry erase marker to be well above legible anyway.  /mom, lot of sisters. Couple towns over. wanted a space w/out whre my shoes or do dishes more. Moved here./

“You like it so far? The Community here? It seems pretty close knit, compared to some places.” His handwriting is cramped, and he’s not quite used to a dry erase marker.

‘You have bettr writng thn most./ Ferda offers the board back, with absolutely not help whatsoever about the ‘community’ thing. Unless he’s far more slick about it than his goofy labradore-doggo smile hints at. 

/I can read a lot better than I can sign?/ He smears the dry-erase ink off with the side of his sleeve and replaces it. /plus it helps when talkng to someone hearing?/

/A year & 1/2 or so./ He writes quickly. It’s his script version of a hurried scrawl, but apparently he’s good enough with the dry erase marker to be well above legible anyway.  /mom, lot of sisters. Couple towns over. wanted a space w/out whre my shoes or do dishes more. Moved here./

/I can read a lot better than I can sign?/ He smears the dry-erase ink off with the side of his sleeve and replaces it. /plus it helps when talkng to someone hearing?/

Ferda makes absolutely no sign of having heard Dorian at all.  He’s still dipping a few bits of carrot in dip and putting them on his plate, a few bits of broccoli in dip, put on plate. a few bits of cauliflower, putting them on his plate… Maybe the music is a little too loud?

Ferda jerks slightly away from the sudden reaching into his field of vision, looking towards Dorian with a startled expression that quickly fades into a Retail Smile cover and he drags a loosely closed fist in a circle over his chest- <sorry> in ASL.

Ferda is dressed as the phantom of the opera- his mask covers part of his face. One eye, his nose, and most of the side of his face.. but it leaves one eye and his mouth exposed. His suit is.. well.. Walmart bargain bin quality, but the mask itself seems to have no fastener, no glue, it is molded to his cheekbone and stays quite well. <Not zero!> Ferda signs enthusiastically. <Also small little ASL. Learn. Much forget.> He fumbles under his cheap cape and produces a small, paperback novel-sized whiteboard and an equally small marker meant to magnet itself to a fridge. WIthout uncapping the marker, he offers them both to Dorian and mimes using the marker on the whiteboard.

/V v deaf. New deaf. cple months. learng asl tho./ Ferda smiles wryly to himself, but it’s of good humour. Even so soon after meeting him it’s hard to picture the burly jock without a cheeky (or cheesy, depending) smile on his face somewhere. Despite his mass, he’s no bully.  /talkng is always hard. even before deaf. i get it. just ask my bf. im twice the dumbass now   : P / And yes. This musclebound gym rat just added a hand drawn tongue-out smilie to his hastily scribbled response on the white board.

Ferda makes absolutely no sign of having heard Dorian at all.  He’s still dipping a few bits of carrot in dip and putting them on his plate, a few bits of broccoli in dip, put on plate. a few bits of cauliflower, putting them on his plate… Maybe the music is a little too loud?

Ferda jerks slightly away from the sudden reaching into his field of vision, looking towards Dorian with a startled expression that quickly fades into a Retail Smile cover and he drags a loosely closed fist in a circle over his chest- <sorry> in ASL.

Ferda is dressed as the phantom of the opera- his mask covers part of his face. One eye, his nose, and most of the side of his face.. but it leaves one eye and his mouth exposed. His suit is.. well.. Walmart bargain bin quality, but the mask itself seems to have no fastener, no glue, it is molded to his cheekbone and stays quite well. <Not zero!> Ferda signs enthusiastically. <Also small little ASL. Learn. Much forget.> He fumbles under his cheap cape and produces a small, paperback novel-sized whiteboard and an equally small marker meant to magnet itself to a fridge. WIthout uncapping the marker, he offers them both to Dorian and mimes using the marker on the whiteboard.

Ferda makes absolutely no sign of having heard Dorian at all.  He’s still dipping a few bits of carrot in dip and putting them on his plate, a few bits of broccoli in dip, put on plate. a few bits of cauliflower, putting them on his plate… Maybe the music is a little too loud?

Ferda jerks slightly away from the sudden reaching into his field of vision, looking towards Dorian with a startled expression that quickly fades into a Retail Smile cover and he drags a loosely closed fist in a circle over his chest- <sorry> in ASL.

Ferda makes absolutely no sign of having heard Dorian at all.  He’s still dipping a few bits of carrot in dip and putting them on his plate, a few bits of broccoli in dip, put on plate. a few bits of cauliflower, putting them on his plate… Maybe the music is a little too loud?

Ferda grins BROADLY and SMUGLY at Ginger, moving forward to gather GInger up in a huge hug, brain-talking at his boyfriend in an almost indecipherable mass of noise and concepts. It’s impossible to pick out any one individual thread alone, because it’s like having five radios on at the same time- but the over all impression is excitement and radiant positivity.  “I’ve already found it. It’s. Not this good.” He gestures at the grainy, half-loaded, lagging imagry on the tv, “But it exists. Someone converted it to data a very long time ago. And if it’s data, I can find it.” well, not really, but in layman terms that’s close enough to truth to count.

Ferda honestly processes the latter half of the commentary before the former- though not on purpose. The truth of the concept is evident through their link (though, so too is his ‘wait what, did, what, wait, what’ catchup). Then he strides forward and bodily lifts Ginger in his arms, grinning like an idiot as nervously hopeful excitement bleeds through their mental link.  “Love?”, ... ... “Love?”, .. ... ... “Love~ ALso love!” Oh man. Nervousness takes over. Did he go too far? Did he read too much into it? what if Ginger didn’t mean to say that? Ginger afraid? IS ginger afraid? Should Ferda be nervous for reciprocating? Even though it’s not intended, there are first person perspectives of laying in bed with Ginger curled up against him. There are flashes of Ferda being the one asleep, waking up to being wrapped up around, or wrapped up in ginger’s arms. The concept of having more of that to look forward to- lazy mornings, curt hurried ‘oh shit imma be late wheres my shirt’ breakfasts, coffee dates. Old grey homebody arguments in scripted in-joke style... Ferda wants that. 

Ferda grins BROADLY and SMUGLY at Ginger, moving forward to gather GInger up in a huge hug, brain-talking at his boyfriend in an almost indecipherable mass of noise and concepts. It’s impossible to pick out any one individual thread alone, because it’s like having five radios on at the same time- but the over all impression is excitement and radiant positivity.  “I’ve already found it. It’s. Not this good.” He gestures at the grainy, half-loaded, lagging imagry on the tv, “But it exists. Someone converted it to data a very long time ago. And if it’s data, I can find it.” well, not really, but in layman terms that’s close enough to truth to count.