[ waking up isn't the most dignified experience, but then again, juno's not really worried about looking very dignified as he jerks up from his place face down in the sand and the salt and the water, the heat of fire the first thing filling his lungs instead of cold air as he sputters alive like some old, rickety car left to die out in the middle of the martian desert but somehow miraculously finding it in itself to work. once he's up on his feet, he doesn't exactly go making himself scarce.
there's a fire, a wreckage, smoke and debris, you see, and among it, there are people who are struggling and shouting, as you do. and then there's juno who, unfortunately, isn't sure what save your own skin or even give yourself a second to breathe means anymore. so of course first thing he does is head straight for the heart of what he's call "A Bad Time", getting his hands dirty with blood and leveraging up pieces of scattered scrap that have people pinned too close to the fire.
but juno's only human and by the time things start to wind down, he's feeling the burn, literally, dragging himself up from the edge of the beach with blood on his hands, blood on his coat, blood on his trousers, and smoke and smudged ash about everywhere else.
if you even look remotely like you know what you're doing and weren't one of the people caught in or around the wreck by the beach, he reaches up with one hand that looks in pretty bad shape. ]
Hey, [ he half-rasps, smoke pretty comfortable where it is sitting in his lungs. yeah. great. he never asked for you to make yourself at home. ] Where's a lady gotta go to get a decent drink around here?
[ yeah that's a forest behind them, and the silhouette of a city decorated by the slowly dipping sun that he should start heading towards, but juno's got priorities. you don't survive a thing like this without booze, right? ]
ii. rain
[ umbrellas are for chumps, which is why juno doesn't have one. awesome.
besides, he's pretty sure he deserves to get rained on regardless. it's damp, a little humid, but hey. free shower. so not all that bed. except for the fact that he's wet and his daemon is pestering him aggressively with the fact that she's just as damp, feathers at her crown and throat wet and raised upwards in indignation with every drop. dahliad is clearly unamused by the whole weather phenomenon, walking as close to the shop overhangs as she can while juno lingers in the main street, grousing some paces away from her.
"detective," she says in a way that makes juno's fingers flex instinctively, in a way that makes his heart sink straight down to his shoes. "you'll catch cold that way." ]
Didn't they disprove that like thousands of years ago? Don't-- [ can peacocks look disappointed? they can if they're dahliad. ] Fine fine, just... don't get your feathers in a bunch. Hang on.
[ birds amiright? can't he just be allowed to brood in the rain in peace?????
juno makes it quick regardless, trying to find some overhang he can loiter under maybe until the rest of this storm is over, however long that might take. clearly he's doing this for her, not for himself, not because he's soaked to the bone or the warm lights of window shops have him edging closer towards them, some of them pretty average looking, but as he sits down in the first available bench under some cover, daliahd pressed up against his side and slowly squirming her wet, feathery way under his coat for warmth, he realizes he's next to a rather nicely-done up clothing boutique, and the closest thing to his head is a slinky red number, lined in gold from bust to ankle, the kind of thing you might wear on a night out on the town.
you bought me clothes? don't say i never get you anything! see you soon!
now juno's never been much of an artist, but it's pure impulse that he reaches a hand up to the panel of glass beside him and starts idly drawing out what might look like a train.
dahliad pipes up: "what an extraordinary-looking... mm. hm. is that caterpillar on fire?"
juno gives her a very flat look. ]
No one asked for your input. When you sprout fingers then you can start criticizing my damn art.
[ "well, what is that supposed to be, darling?"
juno doesn't answer, mouth twisting a little as he gets comfortable squabbling with a white peacock hanging out underneath his coat. these are the people you want to hang out with. totally. a busted-up-looking, drenched detective and a peacock that looks about as smug as a peacock gets. please interrupt them. ]
juno steel / the penumbra podcast