Jaymes.

“I think so, yes.” It feels a great deal like hunger sometimes. She can feel the empty spaces, of course, the raw, torn pockets throughout her mind that are longing to be filled and mended, but there are some voids that she thinks might be endless. She wonders, briefly, if there’s anything she wouldn’t do to feed it. “I haven’t met very many people who were allowed to be different,” she remarks thoughtfully. “My mothers liked peaches most of all because they’re my favorite. The men liked to stay awake to see the stars because I did. I liked it, but I remember feeling very lonely sometimes. I like that the people here aren’t hollow like that.” She holds her hand out in front of her, peering at her fingers in thought. The passage of time is a tricky thing. “I’ve slept during the day sometimes, so I think I might have lost track already. I’ve had more than forty meals, but fewer than fifty.”

“So they’ve all conformed to like what you like, because of the gift.” She Observed again, almost sympathetic to the life of servitude that had been imposed on others in a less obvious way. It seemed those who had been around her before weren’t blessed with the reign of free will. It was like that with some packs too, never one to stay around long enough to watch everyone fall at the feet of an alpha that rarely deserved that brand of dedication. Wolves were funny that way to her - perhaps not to others. It bred a question, but not one for Wren. One she’d have to ask of her makeshift pack mate later, knowing he’d have a far better answer than she. “Sad way to live, you would’ve experienced far better, far more if they’d been allowed the luxury of a challenge.” Jaymes firmly believed that, But was careful with her tone - there was no reason to offend the oracle after all, she seemed to be one of the few labeled alright in her book. “I guess they don’t exactly give you all calendars, you’re right. Well, if it’s what you want, I hope you do get claimed soon by someone who will show you the beauty in diversity.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, brow furrowed softly as she considers the question. There were things she used to like, she knows, and she still remembers them well enough, but they haven’t yet carried over into this new life. It would feel dishonest to say any of those things. “I like sleeping on the floor. Counting the clouds. There aren’t very many things here to like, I think, but there is so much new information.” Understanding this new life, and the boundaries of her place in it, may be the only way to keep herself from fading away, floating away, like all the missing pieces. “I think it’s a very nice thing, having other people. Until it’s not nice anymore, I guess, and then you leave, and find new people. But that’s okay. I don’t know that we have to agree. I’m learning how different people can be, even with the things they believe.”

“Learning seems to be a common theme.” Observed, interested in this thirst for knowledge that seemed to come natural to her. Jaymes had to wonder if it was because too much had been taken from her, or if it had always been that way - even when her gift was still thriving. A smirk appeared on features, a fleeting thought really before head nodded in agreement. “Differences are what make some people tolerable, Id hardly want everyone to behave the same as I did, or think that way.” A world full of jaded hearts and questionable morals wasn’t exactly her idea of a party - even if those with completely sunshine kissed personalities did tend to grate her nerves. “How long have you been here, again?”

Her head tilts in thought. Her mind used to be so loud, branching out in so many directions that she couldn’t keep track. Father taught her how to organize and compartmentalize things to the best of her abilities, of course, as she grew older, and she grew deeply accustomed to the steady stream of information. It gave her purpose, direction. Security. “I don’t like breaks. Father would try to make me sit in silence on my own, sometimes, when I was being punished. But it was never really quiet. I don’t like the quiet now, it’s very uncertain.” She prefers to know things, to know that she’s part of the stream. “I was a part of something, for a very long time. And then I wasn’t, for a very short time. And then I came here.” She certainly prefers the stability of being part of this new life, after the chaos after leaving the compound, and after Hema. Community is so invaluable. “I think it’s much better to be a part of something. It’s the best way to know that you’re real.”

“What do you like, besides information?” As the conversation continued, the slave seemed to get more and more curious. There was little about her that seemed easy, simple. Jaymes had learned a healthy appreciation for this trait in others, it meant their were layers to peel back - irony in the fact she’d enjoyed it, while loathed even the slightest attempt at poking at her own. It was far easier to listen than to speak, in her case. “As far as I’ve seen, belonging only makes you weak, because that whole community turns into a liability.” Paused, realizing the words may have come out wrong. “Sorry, not that there’s anything wrong with your approach. But, just a different experience.”

It’s stated as fact, and so it makes sense to her well enough, but still she pauses to consider it. She had only a brief glimpse of freedom, she thinks, a few short months spent entirely on her own, and she can’t say that she particularly enjoyed it. But then, she had quite a few torments on her mind as she made her way to this place. Maybe freedom would have been different if Hema had never found her. “It’s very difficult, I think. Being free, you’re all on your own. I wouldn’t do that again.” She’s only ever been one part of a whole, with a defined role and function and other people to keep her in place. Even if that place was above them. She thinks she might miss that, after all. “No, no, I guess they wouldn’t.” Her fingers settle absently against the back of her neck for a moment, rubbing circles along her skin. “It’s very quiet without it. Is your mind very quiet, too? It sometimes feels like I’m the only person in the world. I don’t like it. I hope to be claimed soon.”

“Quite the opposite.” Her mind was a constant mess, with murky depths that sometimes even she didn’t want to dive into. It was hard to sort through the thoughts sometimes, but Jaymes wasn’t the type to desire the kind of knowledge that would have usually been waiting at Wrens fingertips. That weight may have pushed her over that edge she was often dangling from. The thought caused an unexpected shiver somewhere rooted in spine, shaking head once more. “It’s very loud sometimes but I’ve learned to deal with it. Maybe you should try and enjoy the break?” Questioned as a means of helping the other, instead of patronizing her. “Claimed, must be a hell of a thing. I don’t care for the idea, but then again I’ve never really been a part of anything for too long.” She always moves, always leaves. It’s easier that way, to ward off the potential for hurt.

he made a noise, the scoff dripping with the offense he kinda took to her words. “listen here. raw meat is essential to our diet.” he watched the cup, nose wrinkling in distaste before he returned to his own drink. “you know what’s not essential to our diet?” so maybe he was a little boujee when it came to food, but rhett adamantly didn’t trust the humans, and by proxy, the majority of what they created. “hormone laced cow juice.” a pause. “and im not on a horse, thank you.”

She watched him judge her openly and found nothing but amusement in the behavior. The accusation that milk would be the one thing that finally did her in was more than comical. “Cow juice.” Repeated. “Milk, it’s milk and if you want that au naturale, hot bean water bullshit by all means. But I’m gonna pretend I love myself and actually make my caffeine bareable. “ Her own nose turned up, taking another dramatic drink from the cup before changing the subject. “Was there a reason we’re up this early or did you just want to creepily human watch the morning away with company?”

“Most people aren’t ever really free, anyway, I imagine.” At least, she’s not sure she ever was. Her family was very isolated, after all, and she doesn’t remember ever traveling the compound without somebody at her side. But that’s alright. She took matters into her own hands, eventually, though that did bring her here. Fate is always such a tricky thing. She flexes her hand, staring at her knuckles, her fingertips, imagining claws pushing out from her skin. “I think it’s very exciting. I don’t think I ever met anybody who wasn’t human before I came here. I saw them, sometimes, but only in my mind.” The memories she has of this place, of the life she would live here, are very nearly out of her reach now. “I must be a human now. Now that I don’t see.” She flutters her hand through the air, drums her fingertips absently against her temple. “I thought that I was human before, only special. Better. But I suppose I was always just different.”

“Most people don’t really want to be free.” Counter argument made, even though the opinion was one that not most people would have agreed with no matter how close to the truth it may have been. “They say they do, but then once they end up having to deal with what freedom really costs, what it really means, minds tend to change.” Shrugged it off, well aware of the secret disdain some housed for making their own decisions, for having no one to blame but themselves. The question about humanity caused a curious tilt of her head, brunette mane falling over a single shoulder and decorating side of her face. “Special nonetheless, just humans don’t get those runes.” Reminded that despite the so called limitations, there was still power lingering under there somewhere. “And when you have your gift back, even moreso. Some of them will give it to you, if imagine even masters or mistresses want to know where fate will lead them.”

seems like not a lot of people particularly liked clothes— either with context or without. he didn’t mind either one, the only use clothing served was to cover ones self up. he just felt like it’d changed over the years, once appearing to people with minimal clothing and now… now, there were people who barely got out of their clothing  ;  all very strange, too restricting. permission, not that he really considered himself needing it  :  his shirt comes off first, discarded absently onto the floor, then his sweatpants which are just dropped to the ground before he steps out of them pooling around his ankles. naked and bare to her, “do I really have to stand still?” he was good at it, “you’re going to draw me aren’t you?” no shame, none what so ever.

There was something other than the amusement at the way he so casually stepped away from clothing that had snuck up on her. Maybe it had been too long, or maybe this was just a good subject. Either way, nudity wasn’t something she’d ever found the value in shaming - clothes restricted the shift and without them, sometimes, would be the only time she felt like freedom was attainable. Eyes casually took in features in a way that made it hard to determine if it was appreciation, art, or something else entirely. A touch of voyeurism added in there somewhere, she’d admit to that. Shoulders finally shrugged, even while the wolf seemed to be studying ever line, every curve, every shadow of the body before her. “Still, yes. “ Answered the question with the curve of a reckless grin. Charcoal stained finger pointing over to the side. “There, so it’s the right angle.”

Eric neared the girl, interested in her artwork, but also interested in the stranger. Eric would never turn down the opportunity to make a new friend. “That’s nice. What are you sketching? If you don’t mind me asking.” He sat a few feet from the girl, looking out at the view before returning his gaze to the other. “I’m Eric, by the way.” He gave her a welcoming smile. 

Social interaction was not always her forte, especially when it came to personality that found more comfort than ice than sun - but this was easy. Art was simple, in a way that she’d always know what to expect from it. Sketchbook was turned around almost awkwardly, trying to keep from smearing fingers on the page. It was a portrait of one of the other passengers, and beautiful enough to have been sold for for more than she ever would have said it was worth. “Jaymes, and yes, I know it’s a boys name.”