nightlogs | I Had Nothing to Say on Christmas Day When You Threw All Your Clothes in the Snow [Closed]

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I Had Nothing to Say on Christmas Day When You Threw All Your Clothes in the Snow [Closed]

Who: Dan and Miguel
What: Miguel finds out something concerning about Dan.
Where: The workshop.
When: After Christmas.
Warnings/Notes: Dan's crazy politics in the forefront; probable references to dead kids and substance abuse.

Miguel did, in fact, get a sky-blue and white puzzle box for Christmas, wrapped with corresponding paper and left outside his door on the morning of the holiday itself. The locking mechanism is different than the one he observed Dan making. Dan has, as the march of time has inevitably drawn him closer to the time of year he struggles with the most, been doing everything he can to stay busy, and that means each box has been individualized and has been a grounds for experimentation. Such intensive work brought Dan right up to Christmas Eve making and wrapping gifts, which was perfect; in stressing about getting boxes in hands, he didn't have much time for gloominess or panic or working himself up in hypotheticals about how everything's going to go wrong somehow.

But now the holiday's over, and aside from New Year's Eve, there isn't anything to distract him. He's taken back to chewing on his hands, and after he accidentally bites hard enough on one of his fingers to leave a blue moon-shaped bruise under his nail, he decides to do something about it.

He's noticed, of course, that there are some people here at the Pole who don't fit into standard-sized clothing, and that that limits their options for warm clothing. The myth powers may buffer people a little bit, but Dan's seen enough people have their powers dampened or switched up on them to think it's wise to entirely eschew a wardrobe of layers. And he's been intending to talk to Miguel ever since he somewhat rudely ignored the hell out of that last attempt Miguel made to rally the new myths into organizing.

After having asked around and gotten a sense of when Miguel might be available - when Dan won't be interrupting some important Work, which he knows is important to Miguel - Dan knocks on Miguel's bedroom door with a messenger's bag over his shoulder.

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Well, he's never seen this side of Dan before. He's silent with surprise as the emotion spills out, raw and messy. There is enough mismatch between the hurt in Dan's voice and the continued measuring that acts as a small stopgap on urges to snap back. What he was saying wasn't rational, the circumstances weren't equivalent, but emotions weren't ruled by logic. Miguel is realizing he spilled salt all over a raw wound without even knowing it was there.

"I'm not going to force you."

He raises his arms, following the instructions, continuing to cooperate. It seems like Dan hadn't quite let go of all the anger like he said he did. In this way, at least, he has an idea of what might be going through his head.

"All I can ask is to consider the situation might be different, this time."

His temper would be far, far worse if his buttons were being pushed like that. He can't really fault Dan for catastrophizing. It was disappointing that his fear was winning over him, though.

That surprises Dan. He truly expected this to become a fight, or rather, him digging in while Miguel hit him over and over with arguments Dan had no intention of listening to. He expected this to be a problem.

He expected to be a problem.

"...thank you." Dan looks for a moment like he could cry, but instead, he just swaps out to a shorter measuring tape now that he has all of Miguel's longest measurements. "But folks always say that the situation is different, and then it's always the same. First, it's just everyone following along some shared common sense, then it's a shared set of boundaries, then it's a question of what to do with folks crossing the boundaries, then it's punishment."

Dan can hear himself veering into territory that most people snicker at, whether behind his back or to his face, but it's all coming out and he can't seem to stop himself. "It's my right to make my own decisions about what to do with my life and the information in it, and I ain't going to relinquish that. It's my right. I'm the only sovereign I'll ever recognize."

He steps off the stool and measures the proportion of Miguel's legs to his torso. "I appreciate you respecting that."

Edited 2023-12-27 05:47 (UTC)

His expression softens. It would feel dishonest to accept the gratitude for being understanding. He'd certainly have run things more strictly if this was his own base. Dan would probably feel suffocated and miserable. But this world wasn't Nueva York. And the circumstances here, for him, were also different.

There was no imminent catastrophe threatening to slip out of his grasp, for one. If Dan were a more of a stranger, if they'd butted heads a little differently, it very well could have turned into an unstoppable force-meets-immovable object scenario. But Miguel understands rather well the urge to want to grasp at anything to feel a little bit in control, especially after being hurt so badly. So maybe that cooled his reaction enough to understand him, and accept the hiccup in his plans.

"I don't think Jack seems like the type to run with the idea of punishment."

Miguel burns with the urge to prevent disaster at any cost - to do damage control - where necessary, but his own line on things could be rather gray. Maybe it was arbitrary like that.

"We all have blind spots. I was hoping a team effort would help cover them for each other. Call me an optimist."

"Lots of folks get real keen on the idea of punishment if you dress it up in the right words. Or if the folks administering it have the force of law behind them."

Dan would know. Dan knows that the only difference between an arrest and kidnapping, between a search and abuse, between confiscation and theft, between cuffs and assault, is whether the person committing the act wears a badge. The impact is the same. The way it feels remains the same; sometimes it's even worse, knowing that there's no recourse at all, no sympathy from others to be given.

He sighs. He doesn't want to be this person. He wants to be cooperative and amiable and a team player, and he doesn't want Miguel to think he'll never be able to gel with the group - but he can't fall in line.

"Do you mind if I...?" Dan gestures to wrap his measuring tape around Miguel's bicep. Tailoring does have a tendency towards a strange sort of intimacy, and especially since they aren't completely in agreement about things, Dan doesn't want to overstep nor make it awkward. "I don't work well with others, I reckon. I always think I do, since I'm friendly and all, but I'm just..."

He shrugs and then laughs without humor. "I can't read none, so how am I supposed to sign on to a social contract?"

"Ordinarily I'd agree, but we are talking about the literal manifestation of Fun, here." he responds with a light deadpan.

He doesn't want to invalidate Dan's feelings, because he knew well enough how bad authority could get in a world where things were run by algorithm and private corporation. There wasn't even a human at the top to hold accountable, much of the time. Regardless, that kind of abuse leaves scars, as all abuse does. It was just a gentle reminder that things were different from back home.

Dan gets an affirmative nod at his other question, and Miguel lifts his arm a bit off his ribs to give him easy access. He has to get a lot more agitated to lose the measured way he moves, having lived long enough with both his sharp ends and a lot of strength behind them.

"I suppose in your scenario, you get someone you trust to read through all the legalese for you. Then see if you like it."

He doesn't want to say the word 'lawyer', because he has an inkling Dan might not like those. But... trusted, qualified friend? Maybe?

"Same if it were a language someone didn't understand. You find a translator."

Maybe he was taking the metaphor too literally.

"That's how they get you. Dress it up as something good." It's unclear, even to Dan, what they encompasses. The vague specter of a threat, perhaps. Faceless, anonymous people greasing the machinery of their fictitious law and order.

But he seems to relax a little as he gets back into the easy distraction of putting numbers to Miguel's shape. He can make something nice. He can make something that moves with Miguel and yet still fits snugly, with attention to all the different ways the body can be proportioned, all the unique and individual ratios of arms to shoulders, thighs to calves, feet to ankles, ribs to torso. He wonders when the last time Miguel had something custom that he didn't make himself, much less something made by hand and not by a computer or some sort of printer. He wonders if he can convey to Miguel that they're all cool via the thoughtful gift of well-made attire.

"Ain't no one I trust enough to do that for me." Not even Bunny. It's not that he doesn't think Bunny has his best interest in mind, but simply that sometimes he and Bunny don't see eye-to-eye on this sort of thing. Bunny thinks he's the exception to the law and Dan thinks the law is an abomination, and while those often mean ignoring the rules in the same way, the underpinnings are so different and so hard to articulate. "I just want to stay out of it."

He feels tired. He feels that sort of tired where all he wants to do is withdraw and avoid everything that's stressing him out. This sort of thing is so overwhelming to him that he can hardly think straight.

"Besides, most folks learn their reading in public education, right? And as far as I can tell a lot of that's brainwashing to keep folks from being able to pick up when a contract's a bad deal."

Ah. Dan literally hates doing homework. Miguel should have realized he was invoking something cursed when he said that.

"A person who studies the nuances of how to read contracts for several years knows full well how to read one." he says it very, very flatly.

He wasn't incapable of being gentle, but now this was starting to veer into the kind of Sillyness he didn't have much patience for. Not that it was super relevant for saving the world against Kuk or whatever. But he's not enabling it.

He will, however, be making an attempt to change the topic. Dan looked fairly involved in the task at hand, and he would much rather hear his Tailoring opinions.

"What do you plan on making, anyway? Nueva York's style is pretty different from this decade."

Please take the lead, Dan. Please.

"Mm. Well, then don't no one I know have that sort of expertise, neither." Dan figured he wasn't about to get an opening to start venting his spleen about every injustice the government's ever committed against him, real or imagined, but he's still somewhat disappointed to, yet again, feel alone and misunderstood and not taken seriously. It's not a new feeling, but nor is it pleasant.

He hears the lifeline being offered, though, and decides that both of them are better off changing the subject.

"I was going to ask you about that, actually. Do you want something that matches this world, or something that would might feel right at home? I was figuring it wouldn't be much trouble at all to get a set of warm clothing, long coat, sturdy pants, turtleneck all together for you, but I didn't want to make assumptions about your style." He's mostly seen Miguel's spider-suit and the hand-me-downs of the Pole, so he couldn't really discern much. "Alright, that should be good for now."

He taps his temple and steps back to his work station, where he pulls out some loose papers to show Miguel. They're fashion drawings, rough ideas for various outfits for people; the fact that Dan fills in the faces on recognizable fellow myths demonstrates that voyeuristic affection he has for them. There's Stacia in a fur coat with a muff, Price in a tidy blazer, Kerrigan in a trench - and Miguel, in the aforementioned long coat and turtleneck. Dan's designs are hardly cutting edge, so it almost seems as if he throws together the drawings less as a way to generate ideas for clothing and more as an excuse to sketch people with a keen eye towards their likeness.

"I used to be a caricature artist on the boardwalk in Monterey," he explains. Until the police shut him down for vending without a permit, but he resists the urge to slip that in.

"Reading dense papers was half my job at Alchemax, you know." he grumbles it quietly and offhand, figuring nothing will come of it. If Dan thought he was going to be beaten into submission just to ask for intel about his missions, he probably wasn't anywhere near that level of trust. And it was all technical or business jargon anyway. Not the same type of expertise he would page Legal for.

He rolls with the change in topic, letting the other go. Once Miguel is freed of his measuring circle, he goes to peruse the rest of Dan's workbench. He looks impressed as he goes over the drawings, not expecting the skill and attention to detail. Frankly, it was just starting to hit him that Dan was actually going to make all this from scratch and not simply modify something that was around.

"The style back home can look a bit... eclectic." he says it with a sort of love-hate fondness. "A lot of pattern and color, depending on the budget. Asymmetrical cuts. Big shapes. Very showy, not much room for moving around."

The classics were classics for a reason, though. Even if it felt like the kind of throwback that wearing a breeches and a waistcoat might feel like for Dan. But the right circumstances could make that work, even.

"I think what you have here is far more practical." he decides. Uptown's maximalism did feel like a bit much for him, even after he'd properly 'made it'. "You've got a way with likeness, by the way."

Edited 2023-12-27 17:14 (UTC)

Dan raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't think I don't trust you enough for that would be a productive thing to say. He just proclaimed that there was no one he'd trust enough for this sort of thing, and that unspokenly included plenty of people he was much closer to than Miguel. Even this relatively understanding response from Miguel doesn't change that Dan got spooked by the commands to get organized, and, like a deer that's been startled, is one second from bolting.

"I love patterns and colors. I just ain't particularly creative. I mostly stick to what I got taught to make when I was a kid." He gets a clipboard and places the pages with Miguel against it, then holds it and a pen out to Miguel. "If you got changes you want made, you can show me."

The compliment gets an honest smile out of him, the first real one since they began this conversation. "Thank you. You pick likeness up fast when you're hawking vacation portraits to tourists. It's all in the ratios of eyes, nose and mouth."

"Well, pattern would look good, if finding something geometric isn't a hassle." It is more politely asked, coaxed out, mostly because he's fallen far out of the habit of specifying his personal needs like that.

Up close, one could notice that his suit is covered from head to toe in pattern - the light little pulses of circuitry were all asymmetrical and intentionally planned. It was easier to see in the glowing red, but it was there in a nearly invisible manner in the dark shades as well. Little details like that did matter enough for him to map out, which reflected the style of his home city in a way.

So he takes the pen and looks over the drawing, and shows the few choice areas to add pattern - the shoulders and sides of the coat sleeves, and the sides of the pants.

"... Mostly here, and here, as a stripe along the side..." he looks back to Dan to gauge his reaction. Sewing really isn't his realm of expertise, so if Dan looks daunted, he is willing to back down.

"Is this too much?"

Dan looks over Miguel’s outfits and the smooth lines that give his form the illusion of being aerodynamic. They remind him of Bunny’s markings, which Bunny got tattooed onto his human form after a while because they felt like him. Dan respects that.

“Not at all. This is inspiration.” Rather than daunted, Dan looks excited. “I was hoping to have a project or two to tide me through January. It’s always a bumpy time of year for me.”

Having leveled about grief together, Miguel can probably guess why.

“Granted, once I make this I’ll still need to have you come in for alterations.”

He understands why. It's partly why he had ramped up his own efforts rather than ease up during the holidays. Can't think about the empty chair if you're at a desk the whole time.

"Let me know when you need them. I'll make time." he says.

And that might have been the end of their conversation here, had the other, more difficult topic not been interwoven in between.

"I.. uh.." he starts awkwardly, running fingers through his hair, gaze avoidant. "I'm sorry for coming on a bit strong. I know I can be pushy with these things. It's because I worry about the worst case scenario. About what can go wrong."

And then Miguel just keeps packing on more and more pressure on himself because he thinks he can withstand it, therefore he is obligated to. He doesn't think his point of view is incorrect on the logic end, but he does feel bad that he hurt someone he liked.

Some part of him still hopes they can mend the gap, and maybe when the wound heals over he can see if Dan feels safe enough to try something a little out of bounds for him.

"I hope you know that you can just talk to me." he looks at Dan. "The gifts are nice, but not necessary for that."

Dan tools around with his materials and his sketches and his fabric patterns, picking up that Miguel isn't keen to make a ton of eye contact when they're both engaging in a little humility. Putting away supplies is a reasonable way to elegantly dodge making it weird.

"I appreciate the apology, but it ain't you." Dan hopes that Miguel understands that. It's nothing about Miguel or about his fangs or about his attitude. It's that Dan's been burned over and over by those who say they have everyone's best interests in mind, and somehow that always seems to exclude him. He doesn't doubt that most people gung-ho about organizing and systematizing mean well and truly believe that they're looking out for everyone; he just knows that he's never in anyone's mind when they go about arranging the world in their liking, and that the cost of his inability to fit in is often violent and unfair. "I know it's because you're trying to do right by everyone."

Miguel could have approached the subject on the network in the most gentle, thoughtful, humble manner, and Dan would still feel that panic choking him. He would still hear that voice in his head of no one understands, still feel that cold terror, still play that last time he saw his father as they were cuffed and shoved into separate squad cars over and over in his mind.

Sometimes it feels like it's still happening. Usually it feels like it's still happening, like time is somehow collapsed and Dan's here, now, but also still back there, watching the back of an officer's head through the partition cage of the car, knowing in that moment that nothing would ever feel safe again for the rest of his life.

Miguel has, so far, understood where he's coming from much better than Dan anticipated. That still doesn't mean Miguel will understand this. Dan feels like almost no one does.

So he doesn't want to try and explain further when Miguel's given his the grace he needs. "Well, if I didn't give you gifts, who knows how long you'd be running around in that laundry sack of a sweater."

It may not be him, but it doesn't seem like it's principles either, after this conversation. It feels a lot closer to a deeply-ironed, gut-instinct fear of the past repeating itself. He'd noticed the tremble in Dan, earlier, and he wasn't sure what to do about that. Dan seems to be putting an arbitrary line between cooperation, and cooperation with a bare skeleton of structure. The line was life-or-death for him, when for Miguel, the only difference was that the latter was more efficient.

He supposes he should be glad that they were able to find this impasse to sit at for the time being. Dan was right in the sense that they weren't kneecapped if he decided to not to participate for now, but he'd have to work harder to get Bunny on board. At least enough to share what he knew about the world, here. They can leave Dan out of it.

"At one point I'm going to return the favor, so you should tell me what kind of things you like." he decides to keep the tone light.

Dan can feel his heart rate finally starting to slow down. He wonders if Miguel can hear it. Miguel seems to appreciate that Dan's found this all very high-stakes, although Dan can't totally shake the idea that Miguel's appended a silent for now to the idea of letting Dan out of it. Dan anticipates that if opting into sharing information becomes mandatory, he'll have to use Bunny as a buffer, maybe relocate to the Warren entirely.

"Sugar, alcohol, clubbing. Find something detrimental to my health and I'll usually take to it. About the only thing I love that ain't bad for me is my horse." Well, and Bunny, but even that attachment often drives Dan into spirals of anxiety over the idea of that bond somehow being severed.

He pins the loose, altered sketch of Miguel in a coat to the corkboard he uses as a to-do bulletin. Post-holiday, the corkboard is relatively bare, with only a doodled sketch of North's reindeer and a novelty four-photo strip of Dan with a man most wouldn't know is Bunny's human form.

"Her name's Concrete Blonde. That's where all my myth power seemed to go, for what it's worth. She can run on water, come to me on command no matter where she is, she don't never seem to tire and she's hard to spook. I've had her since the last dimension-hopping we all done and she's hold steady through plenty of battles." Dan lights up when talking about Concrete Blonde. His enthusiasm for the horse almost makes his hair stand on end with excitement. "When I didn't have my gun I did some archery on horseback, but now that I got a firearm I reckon I'd be pretty lethal in a fight. Not that I want to be."

He taps his fingers against his lower lip. "And music. Do you play?"

Much like the fangs, Miguel prefers to conceal what he could gleam with his eyes and ears. He is certain that mentioning Dan's heartbeat or the temperature change of his slowing blood would just seem like another threat. Yes, he was aware that Dan wasn't so nervous anymore. He is just glad that Dan hadn't been so frightened by this that he didn't want to share anything at all.

"My younger brother was the artist." he says. "Though he was more into landscapes than portraits. He was the one who could play music."

Dan's willingness to be vulnerable with him keeps that little side passage open, that willingness to drip in a detail or two of a past life he never talks about. Miguel doesn't want to stay too long in this sadder place, though.

"I haven't had... too much experience with horses." he admits, awkward in this unknown territory. "They have a decent amount of fur, right? I assume they would enjoy something like grooming. I can do some research."

He is not getting any drugs or alcohol. He can put aside his discomfort of horses for a friend. Concrete Blonde couldn't be worse than Web-Slinger's spider horse.

"Everyone's an artist. Some folks just spend more time honing it." Dan raises his eyebrows and gestures with his chin to the table Miguel was whittling figures at a few weeks ago. He can tell that if Miguel wanted to talk about his younger brother, he would volunteer it instead of retreating back away from the conversation - which Dan feels the same way about. He could talk about his siblings, but that's a sad place to linger. "I mostly play piano. I can figure my way around a guitar, but the ivories have me in their sway. Someday you might should hear me."

He suspects Miguel would enjoy some live music. It's something that's easy to appreciate without directly engaging with it, and that would allow Miguel to give himself distance if he wants it, and Dan thinks that's important.

"Well, if you ever want to learn anything about them, Concrete Blonde's a great horse to get to know. She ain't easy to startle like other horses, and I been riding them since I was about three years old." Dan wants to introduce them and the enthusiasm shows. He thinks it would be nice. "She enjoys being brushed and having her shoes done. She thinks it's an equine spa day."

He raises his eyebrows again. "She could carry you, if you wanted to learn to ride."

Oh, Miguel so isn't ready for sitting on the horse. Not when his legs can propel him around just as well. But Dan looks so enthusiastic to share this side of him, his caution to the idea withers a little. He also isn't oblivious to the contradiction of Dan hating the idea of a group project, yet being immediately willing to put forward all these details about himself.

Maybe there was an unconventional way to do this? A way to leave everyone happy? He's not so sure. Miguel was navigating this as it came along. But they were conversing with each other and neither one was closing off. It was a good start.

"Why don't we start with the grooming, and then play it by ear?" To bring a music metaphor in. He looks... slightly uncomfortable, like someone agreeing to go ice-skating for the first time in their life. He's a city boy, Dan! And a cyberpunk city, to boot. He's not used to the Large Animals.

If he and Concrete Blonde can stand in the same room for more than fifteen minutes, he'll consider it an achievement on his part.

“Absolutely. I got her stabled with the reindeer. Most horses would have that but, you know, she’s the platonic ideal of a horse.”

Dan, also, sees a way that they might be able to both get what they want here. He doesn’t want to hoard information; he’s just terrified of being compelled to, of the systems necessary to force that compulsion. He can feel comfortable giving it out when he doesn’t feel that oppressive weight on his shoulder.

“Do you have time this evening?”

The platonic Horse Date was on, it seems.

"I can move some things around."

If Miguel's habits were any indicator of how he was feeling, it will be good for him to get dragged from his numbers and computer screens. Just because he had the physical endurance to stay hunched there all day doesn't mean it helped his mental state any.

"Should I bring anything? A sweater? Snacks?"

He's wondering if the cybernetic flicker of his suit will set off a Big Animal with Animal Intelligence.

Edited 2023-12-29 05:33 (UTC)

"Just your fine self. I'll take care'it." Dan's so evidently jazzed at the idea of introducing Miguel and Concrete Blonde and then getting to work on Miguel's outfit. Dan often feels like happiness is something that needs to be pounced on, some elusive thing he can barely hold onto; all these things to do feels like a handhold to grip this wonderful, slippery thing called joy. "Maybe put a sweater over the sparkly stuff. God only knows how her horse eyes pick up light."

Maybe Miguel would know how to look that up, how horses process visual information. That sort of trivia seems like the kind of thing one could find in a computer.

A few hours later, Dan waits for Miguel in the stables, where Concrete Blonde has her own private stall amongst the reindeer. The stables have the unmistakable smell of livestock, which Dan finds deeply nostalgic but which he knows many find unpleasant, and he hopes Miguel can tolerate it - but either way, he has the barn door cracked, so he's bundled up in a few layers. He has his tools for Concrete Blonde nearby, the farrying tools and a brush and a Ziploc bag full of apple slices and alfalfa. Her reins and saddle are hung with care over the edge of the stall.

Concrete Blonde is a large dun mare with a Christmas-print blanket over her back. Unlike the reindeer, who seem a bit shy, she doesn't seem perturbed by Miguel at all. She flicks her ears and raises her head to sniff in his direction with muted curiosity, then regains interest in the apples Dan's offering her.

"Welcome to my happy place," Dan greets Miguel with. He looks more at ease than Miguel's likely to have seen him; if Miguel loses himself in working on high-level scientific analysis, Dan loses himself in good old-fashioned farmwork. "So, you ain't never been around horses, or around big animals in general?"

Miguel is standing... very cautiously at the door of the stable. Trying to avoid staring too much into the horse's eyes. He didn't get along particularly well with the reindeer and mostly avoids this place. The strong scent doesn't help. His nose was not as sensitive as his vision, but it was on the attuned side. It stank, and it was a different kind of stink to anything in Nueva York, even in the dredges of the oldest parts of Downtown.

The outfit change was casual enough - he foregoes the nanotech insulation of his suit for a thick coat and a scarf. The wool scarf, at least, wasn't hampered by sizing and was tied in a slightly fancy tucked style. His brief span of Horse Research convinced him to stick to fabric rather than anything with blinky lights.

"...There was a Spider that had one. He didn't bring the Horse into my lab."

He thinks Dan would like Web-Slinger, what with his guns, horse, and his Wild West cowboy attitude.

"I brought tea. For the cold."

In his hands was a very tall thermos filled with tea. Dan didn't tell him to bring anything, but it felt odd to come empty handed. So. Tea.

He's going to just stand there, unless Dan invites him into the Happy Place.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you." Dan takes the thermos of tea and cuddles it to his chest. Even though he's wearing gloves, his hands are a bit clumsy from the cold anyway. It's a price he pays for using the stables and being around his horse. "Alright, before you get up close, you ought to know that even though she's a very calm horse, you don't never want to make loud noises or move too quickly around them. And don't stand behind her, because the last thing you want to do is get kicked by a horse. I did as a kid and it broke my collarbone."

He gestures that Miguel can come in, showing where to stand in front of Concrete Blonde so she can see him throughout. He takes a sip from the thermos and makes a satisfied sound, then pulls another apple from the bag. The horse follows along with her nose, trying to clip her teeth at the slice, but Dan is old-hat at keeping his fingers clear of her.

"So, I figured you can feed her and help me groom her a little, get her used to you. We don't never know if someday we may need to fight side by side, and odds are I'll be on horseback, so it'll help if you both know how to be around each other." Maybe this is the sort of information Miguel was hoping to get, that Dan is hoping to give, that they've just had a mismatch between soliciting and providing.

Dan makes an entirely salient point that coaxes him to come in and try his chances. Yes, this was very relevant. Better that he get over this discomfort here than out on the field.

So, with a deep breath that left a visible vapor trail through his mouth and nostrils, he enters the stable. He does his best to tamp down the instinct to fix his eyes on the Horse to try and read her mood. The swivel of ears and swoosh of the tail didn't really give him much to work with, anyway. As he gets closer, he notices that Horses were a little warmer than humans. Like a cat or dog.

"Hating loud noises is something we share in common, then."

A furtive glance at her head. The dark, equine eyes belied... nothing. The humor could only be appreciated by him and Dan. His shoulders stiffen as he notices the too-human teeth at the end of her long snout attempting to take nibbles of apple. It was silly. Dan was in far more danger from the Horse than he was, and yet...

"How quickly is too quickly?"

Overthinking it a bit, maybe. He manages to make it next to Dan without anything catastrophic happening. It did satisfy him to see his small gesture bring Dan some comfort and warmth. It should give him some more time to continue this activity he clearly enjoyed.

"And.. should I wear gloves?" The question hits him as the bristly pads of his fingertips and palms touch each other. Between that and the concealed talons, he wonders if the Horse would perceive this as Wrong enough to be alarmed about.

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