Wrapped Around Tiny Fists


huruma3_icon.gif ryans2_icon.gif

On the Phone:


Scene Title Wrapped Around Tiny Fists
Synopsis Huruma is having a rather bad day, so she stalks Ryans at his home. There the news only gets worse.
Date August 4, 2010

The Ryans' Home

The weathered fence that surrounds the small backyard of the Ryans' home, is washed in the golden red glow of a the afternoon sun. Rows of garden boxes take up at least half of the yard, the back half is a small greenhouse. This doesn't seem like the house of the Assistant-Director of the Company.

Crouched next to one of the boxes, with thick vines crawling over the sides, Benjamin Ryans is pulling at weeds. A hand plucks the annoying growths and tosses them aside, the others rests on the edge of the box. He's dressed to relax, in an old black t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans that are already showing smudges. Even out here weeding, however, the old man has a Glock hooked on his hip.

Maybe it's the fact, he's been declared an enemy of a very dangerous government organization.

A very dangerous government organization would surely not be noticeable if they were to come for him, right?

The singular horizon of the fence on all sides is broken in its flatness, and in total silence; first by the hook of dark knuckles over the top edge, a second set- and perhaps Huruma is most like those stray cats when she pulls her head up to peer over the edge of the fence. Either she is standing on something, or she is just very skilled at this sort of thing. Could go either way. Her dark face and shoulders break up the falling yellow sun and put an abrupt, long shadow over Benjamin's pile of discarded plants, over his pantleg and the arm working nearer to his face.

She could say something witty, something relevant, something sniping- but she doesn't. She just looks down over the fence to him, features only unreadable because of the light coming from behind her, making her face a shadowed mask.

As soon as the shadow flows across him, Ryans is in motion. The old man comes to his feet, with gun out, aimed that the sun backed figure. One eyes is clenched shut against the blinding late afternoon sun. He doesn't ask how she knew or where she got the information, but there she is. His mouth pulls into a fine line as he watches her for a long moment.

Then… with hesitation, the barrel tilts down and slowly lowers to hang at his side. "What do you want, Huruma?" The question only holding a hint of irritation from the old man.

The fence is worn, but at least it is sturdy. Or seems to be. Huruma links her elbows up over the top, perching her chin in the center. Judging by her lack of commitment to scaring the pants off of him- it is plain that she is not here to cause trouble, in her sense of the word. In fact, she looks downright blue, her features in a slight frown, eyes hooded in a tired expression.

"Jus'you." Huruma answers, jaw fidgeting once as her smooth voice comes. "…You'ave a lovely yard."

An odd answer. "Thank you." Brows furrow at her unusual behavior, tucking the Glock away. "Well…" He starts after watching her for a moment. Ryans motions off to where the gate is. "…might as well come in." He sounds only a touch annoyed she's at his home. "No reason for you sulking over there. You'll worry the neighbors."

While he waits for her, he turns back to the vine in front of him and leans down to break a cantaloupe off the vine. This he palms, checking it over for bad spots. His voice raises so that she can hear him even if she is moving for the gate. "So what happened?" It's not the first time today he's asked something like that.

Indeed. There is probably at least one little old lady peering out of her upstairs window, staring at the giant woman peeking over into the Ryans yard. Not enough to make anyone call the police, no- but enough to make it quite bizarre. Huruma slinks down off of the horizon, to the relief of the old fence, only to slink her way towards the gate. She nudges it open, reaching over to unlock it if she must. A cheetah-print blouse contrasts her to the approaching evening shadows, and her black skirt and hose seem to fortify it as a business-like attire- but barely.

"Kasha." Huruma's voice is tight and rather forced, for her. "I palmed her over t'th'Lighthouse."

A glance goes to the old woman in the window. "It's alright, Mrs. Wilson." His words carrying and resulting in her ducking away. He knows she'll be back again. Ryans turns his attention to Huruma now, offering the round fruit to her, before bending down to search for other ripe ones. "From what I hear of the place, she'll be well cared for." He offers in reassurance. A far better choice then the tall woman before him, but he doesn't say that out loud.

"Did they give you visiting privileges at least?" The old Company man asks, brows lifting a little with that question "That should at least afford you some comfort."

Huruma peers up over her shoulder to catch the tail-end of the woman leaving the window. After a moment, however, Huruma can still feel her hovering in the room up there. She frowns once, looking back in time to be handed a big melon. There isn't much time to refuse it, and so she ends up peering down at the rough rind of the fruit in her palms.

"Yes, yes." To all of it. "It does. Jus'that I'ave grown attached. I presume that it is quite obvious to you."

Straightening, Ryans is holding two more melons, twisting them this way and that while he examines them. "Babies are notorious for wrapping people around their tiny little fists." His voice rumbles with amusement. "I should know." He favors her with a small smile. A glance goes to the several story house attached to the yard.

"Come on." Ryans says almost reluctantly, moving towards the sliding glass door. "You're here, you might as well come in. Delia is working late, she'll be sad she missed you."

"I didn't, until now. I think that …per'aps I'ave been …fortunate." Huruma thinks it unfair, that her state dealt her a bad hand so many years ago. Kasha has softened that blow, at least. When he permits her to follow him inside, Huruma can feel his reluctance even without an ability. She knows why- she isn't ignorant. What surprises her is that he does it anyway.

"How is she?"

"Distant." The old man grouses, opening the sliding glass door and standing aside to allow her to go in first. Ryans has been full of surprises lately, even to himself. "Barely talking to me most of the time. Absolutely will not discuss her worries about her evolved status further then that one day." Stepping into the house Ryans gives the house a quick glance before stepping into the kitchen that sits to the left, just inside the back door.

"It's good to know that time has effected you so much." Benjamin comments, setting the melons he has on the counter. Hand rest on it and he looks at her over the breakfast back. "Good to know that even you can be human enough to be effected by an infant. It's a big change from the woman I hunted all those years ago."

And yes, that is a big compliment.

Huruma's eyes are quick as they step inside, darting here and there to take notes, even though she may not realize she is doing it. "…She's one of us?" Her own question makes her pause, looking back through memories of Delia to places where it hinted that she was not so keen on people with abilities. It does not dwell for long, as she has a new environment to be observing, and Huruma makes little effort to hide that she is.

Benjamin gets her undivided attention once he begins to offer commentary. Her eyes watch him in response, lids blinking once, to mark her as aware of what he has said. One hand deposits the cantaloupe beside the others, Huruma having brought herself at least near enough to.

"You said it first… 'All those years ago'. It has been a long time. Long enough t'finish growing up."

Leaving one on the counter, Ryans steps around Huruma to place the other two into the crisper drawer in the fridge. "Still don't know." His words flat, to cover the worry. Useless to do around her, but habits die hard. "She is suppose to get tested, but she hasn't called to have me go with her like she wanted.

"However…" The door of the fridge is shut again, hand lingering on the handle, as he turns to look at the tall black woman. "…tell me what you think of this. Delia, it seems, had a fatal brain tumor." He fixes Huruma with an emotionless look, hand sliding free of the fridge and moving back to the counter. A large knife is removed from a drawer as he continues. "She finds herself talking to a man — a patient."

Grabbing one of the melons, Ben sets the edge of the knife to the rough rind. "Told her how he was dying of cancer he took from his daughter." The tall man starts cutting through the cantaloupe. "He then tells her she had a tumor… She then wakes up… he dies." The melon falls apart into two halves as the knife slips through to taps against the formica top. "Died of a fatal brain tumor."

He isn't talking to Huruma as he works, grabbing one of the halfs and working. "Either he had multiple abilities — which is very rare — Or my daughter has an ability."

Huruma wanders only a little as she listens, her gaze traveling long over details of the kitchen, the drawers and shelves he goes to, the location of light streaming in from other rooms. His story breathes some concern, but as he has not made a move to show her his own- Huruma quells it.

"It sounds t'me like th'latter." The tall woman sighs out her words, eyes glancing off of the countertop upwards to his face again. "It sounds like what m'grandmother does." Not did, mind you. Does. Present tense.

"I'm thinking a dreamwalker, certainly." Ryans rumbles softly, sighing heavily. The knife continues to cut at each half. He sets down the knife suddenly and crouches to get a large bowl from a cabinet under the counter. "I can't push her to talk about it, but it is frustrating.

"One thing is certain she didn't get it from us, unless Mary was hiding something." The bowl is set on the counter with a soft tap. "And don't think she could have hid something like that from me." Taking up the knife again, Ryans works on cutting the orange flesh of the melon from the rind, brows furrowed in concentration.

A piece of the juicy melon is offered to her, if she wants it. Ryans eyes her thoughtfully, as he holds It out to her. "Takes a lot to fool a Company agent." There is confidence in that tone, it brings about a small twitch of a smile.

For a few long seconds, it can be taken as trying to feed an eagle the same thing. She glances at the fruit, then back at him, metaphorical feathers fluffing. In the end, she does accept the piece of melon, juice quick to swamp her fingertips on that hand. "It is not unheard of, t'bear a child like that from nothing prior. PEr'aps it skips generations- per'aps not-" Huruma runs her tongue out over the freshly cut curve of melon, possibly too ravenous when she bites into the end of it. She lifts her other hand to catch a line of juice from her chin, eyebrows lifting seamlessly up.

"It has t'start somewhere, you know. We did no'simply come fully formed out of th'earth, no matter'ow much it seems …fitting."

"True." It's said gruffly, head nodding. Ryans turns back to what he's doing, cutting the rind from each slice and dividing it into smaller pieces. "I have still wondered." Dropping a handfuls of cantaloupe in the the dish at a time, the old man falls silent. Furrowing brows speak of him turning to listen to his own internal thoughts.

Ryans doesn't stay silent for long. "I'm heading to Russia soon, with a possible associate. It's dangerous, especially leaving Delia here with the Institute looking at me as the enemy. You and I have seen what happened the last time I got involved with something." The knife continues it's work steadily.

*Tak tak tak tak*

"The trip, however, is extremely important. I can not afford to skip out on it." The knife pauses so he can glance over to Huruma, as he asks. "Can you keep an eye out for trouble?" It's part of the reason he reluctantly let her into his house. There is a chance, Huruma could end up coming her anyhow. Might as well get the curiosity over with.

There is, in fact, a small 'ah' of her lips after she swallows down another chunk of the cantaloupe. Huruma was sure there was something special about this instance. "Certainly. Though I do wonder how she will take me, if she knows what I am-" She is not talking about a killer, a cannibal, or those things- but the fact she too is evolved, being beckoned to protect her.

"What is the trip about? Not more Nazis?" It had to be asked.

That question makes him really pause in his work, giving her a confused look. "Nazis?" Brows tip down and he shakes his head, putting the last of the cantaloupe in the bowl. "No." There is actually a chuckle when he says that word. "Nothing like that." He's all the world confused what he means by that, but leaves it.

"It's a test of trust… as far as I can tell. The Ferrymen want to trust me and I have to show them that I am worth the effort." Lips press into a thin line for only a moment as he turns to run the large knife under the kitchen faucet. Eyes on the stream of water over the gleaming metal. "I am not sure when we are leaving or for how long I'll be gone."

Leaning, Ben finds the dishwasher handle and opens it long enough for him to deposit the instrument into it. Finally, he turns to face her again, dish towel in hand. "As for Delia… I can not answer that question for her. I use to think I knew my little girls, now I'm not so certain. They've hidden just as much from me, as I have them. "

"One turn deserves another." Huruma drawls, spending the ensuing seconds finishing off the slice of cantaloupe. When she does, she promptly holds out some beckoning fingers towards the dish towel he has. "All that I ask is that you tip m'off when you leave. Somehow, provided you remain able."

"I am sure that whatever th'case may be, they will learn t'trust you. Even I know you would no'go into such a thing an'not be committed to it at th'same time."

"I still haven't told them the whole truth of who I am." Taking a step forward, Ryans holds out the dish towel to her for the taking. "All I told her that I use to do what I did now, but it was secret work. Not all the truth, but at least some.

"But… I will tell them I am going out of the country for work." Not the truth, but Ryans will only give so much on this. He still wants to protect his girls from the worst of what's out there. Stepping back again, the old man leans back on the counter and folds his arms over his chest. "It's not time to expose everything else. To do that could be a huge risk. Neither of them are like us."

Experienced? Tough as nails? Able to fight back? Huruma could tick off a million ways that Lucille and Delia are not like she and Benjamin. She keeps this part to herself, preferring to nod once and keep it neutral. "Per'aps it is high time that you begin t'figure out how to tell them more without putting them- or operations- at risk."

The moment passing between them is definitively interrupted by the tinny music of Huruma's cellphone, and as she leans her now clean hand down to pull it from below her belt, Beethoven's Fur Elise echoes through the kitchen like a chime. She practically shoves the dishcloth into Ben's shoulder when she hands it back to him, eyes on her phone. Whatever or whoever it is that is calling has her suddenly worked up. When the woman flicks it open and holds it up, she forgets to say something for about two seconds- she was not really ready to field a phone call of this nature while talking to Ryans, but she'll take the punch where it lands.


«M'sorry t'call you like this,» isn't the way Dajan ever begins his calls to home, and his deep voice rings hollow and tiny in the speaker of Huruma's cellphone, «but we 'ave a problem an'… an' I can't fix it.» There's a moment of hesitation on that line, followed by the distant murmuring of a deeper voice that Huruma recognizes as belonging to Tau Bah Nwabueze, tghough she can't make out what he says it sounds chiding. «M'sorry I did'no come t'you sooner, but I thought I could' handle it m'self. It's Ju…»

The next words to come are always what a mother fears most to hear.

«She's missin'.»

There is no attempt on Ryans part to hide the look of surprise as the towel is shoved back at him like that, brows high on his head. There is a touch of irritation, but it doesn't last long when he hears her utter the name of her son. The son he's read the report on when he was hunting the tall woman who is now standing in his home. The one he's heard the reports of on the news in regards to Madagascar.

"Huh…" The word is said softly to himself, turning back to the bowl of melon. He pluck a small square of the fruit and pops it in him mouth, before picking up the bowl to put it in the fridge. The man stays silent leaving her to the conversation.

He can forgive her for one indiscretion such as nearly taking out his eye with a dishtowel, surely.

Huruma's initial reaction is much like the one that Benjamin got when he offered her the fruit- head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing at the air. Ryans can hear Dajan's tone and here and there a word; even just listening in, he can tell that it has something dire to it. Add on that Huruma seems to be getting increasingly uneasy, and Ryans has himself something to watch ensue.

"Missing?" The dark woman speaks in a hiss that she wasn't aware was building up, as per the sharp intake of breath immediately after. It may be instinct that draws her free hand to grasp the edge of the kitchen counter, or it may be the need to simply- grab something and hold on.

"I thought- did you not'ave her with th'Mission home? When? How long?" Though she has only had the year thusfar to know Dajan, it was nearly like knowing both of them. Knowing Juwariya was also alive was news too.

Not being able to see her may have been one huge reason that Kasha meant so much.

«She was in Kenya, I— I thought she might've moved off on 'er own, but no'one knows what 'appened to her.» There's evident tension in Dajan's voice, regret for not having called his mother sooner. «I tried to track 'er down m'self, the people at the mission, they say she may have left back in the spring, back during the fighting. There was a man, named Sullivan, th' women at th' mission said he was askin' for her…»


«Th' ol' man an' gramma' have no'been helpful, they have tried, but their advice is… they say "What does not exist cannot be found," an' a'don know what tha' means. A'wish you were here, a'don know what t'do… M'scared somethin' terrible happened t'her. She's… she's very trusting.»

He doesn't interfere, only stands there on the other side of the kitchen and watches her. Eyes narrowing with uncertainty of what he's seeing in her body language. Benjamin Ryans can tell one thing at least. She isn't happy in any way.

Fingers tap on the counter for a moment, considering something before the agent slips past her out of the sight around the corner.

Huruma offers a glance after Ben while she listens. Somewhere between the blood rushing to her ears and the metallic ringing tune of the familiar name, she has ventured further into the kitchen, fingers dragging rigidly across the countertop as if just by will alone she could tear it into pieces. Her features are neither bloodless nor dark with anger; she can't form either reaction- not after what Dajan says. In a way, she is stuck in a limbo. That limbo that exists solely between receiving terrible news and the point in time where it sinks in.

"He wouldn't-" Huruma mutters into the receiver, partially inaudible. "He wouldn't do that. Couldn't."

«He who?» is Dajan's impatient question, followed by another rumbling murmur from Tau in the background. It's hard to tell just what's going on, but it sounds like they're disagreeing on how the conversation is handled. Dajan— may have his mother on speakerphone. «D'you know this Sullivan? Is this somethin' you did comin' back t'hurt us?» That came off sharper than Dajan intended, more frustrated and hard-edged. «I— I'm sorry, I did'no mean it… like that.»

When the old man returns, there is a bottle gripped by the neck in one hand. Ryans' still silent as he listens to her side of the conversation, searching in the cupboard for a pair of short round glass tumblers. Those are set gently on the counter, along with a bottle of scotch. Obviously, by her expression, her former hunter, thinks his former prey is going to need a drink.

He doesn't fill one for her yet, Ryans pours a small amount of the liquid into one of the tumblers for himself. Then leaving the bottle uncapped, he sets it down next to the other one. Taking his glass, he steps away from the glass and bottle left there. The glance he gives her simply states it's there if you want it.

"Yes, you did." She says this softly, knowing that he meant it even if he thinks he did not.

Huruma is somewhat vindictive when it comes to little things, and perhaps as what revenge she can manage- even if it is not to whatever took her daughter- presses the speaker button with her thumb and sets the phone to the counter. In part this is also for Ben's benefit. And maybe the phone, as she may decide to throw it. She watches Ryans when he returns, eyes narrowing for a second before she understands what he is up to. Huruma's features soften enough for him to notice.

"I knew a man named Sullivan, once-" Dajan's mother begins, tentative on exploring this part of the conversation. "-but he …would never do a thing like this."

«People change,» is Dajan's incomprehensibly rueful and simultaneously hopeful sentiment to Huruma's opinion of the man who may have kidnapped her daughter. «Do y'know where I could find him? I do'no think there any harm in askin' a man a few pointed questions,» though Huruma recognizes the tone in Dajan's voice, recognizes the rage building up in there.

She has it herself at times.

Of all things to run in the family, it is best that it turned out to be the simmering, volcanic anger. Dajan's voice echoing in the kitchen is not terribly different from Huruma's, but his accent is far more proper- more English, incidentally.

"No." Huruma lifts her hand to rub down the length of her forehead, eyes squinting shut. "I'ave not seen him in over two decades." Yet, she refuses to believe that it was him to change. "He was like me."

"He taught me. I cannot fathom that he somehow lost his kindness."

«Maybe he tried t'give it to you,» is a bit sarcastic, but only bitterly so, the stress of having lost Juwariya has leveled an unfathomable burden on Dajan's shoulders. He had been responsible for her for so many years, and now finds himself presented with a situation where he is responsible for her situation, however dangerous it may be. «I thought you shoul' know, but if y'don' know anythin'— I should go. I need t'head back to Madagascar by th' end of the week, I'll spend a few more days searchin' here for her. I'll call y'if a'find out anything else.»

That he doesn't give Huruma the chance to say goodbye before the click on the other end of the phone implies a dropped call is telling. He's not mad at her, but if he stayed on the phone any longer, that anger would go to her no matter what.

Volcanic is a good word for it.

There is a grimace at the words utter by Huruma's son, however, justified he is to feel that way. "He is truly your son." Ryans takes a small sip of his scotch and stares a little to one side of the phone in thought. "Just from what I got, I am guessing that was a bad call." Blue eyes flick up from the counter to the tall dark woman. "Your daughter is missing?"

See… the man pays attention. Ryans is observant, among many things. "Talk to me Huruma, before you break my counter top. Should I look for another to keep an eye on my girls?" Not that he knows who to ask.

Huruma stares down at the phone on the counter, hands braced on the edge, spine leant forward. Benjamin knows that look in her eyes, the set in her jaw, the tautness of the small muscles in her neck.

It is that familiar Murder Death Kill look. Not for Dajan, but his news.

"If anything, my mood now will only help your girls." Huruma's lips are tight, and she forces herself to unclench her fingers, to try and relax the strain in the back of her head. White eyes look up to Benjamin from the phone, and down to that empty glass he left for her, by the bottle. "My daughter. His twin sister. He thinks that someone took her."

After getting this out, she reaches across the formica to take up the glass and the bottle. Working at Lucy's at least taught her how to pour a drink right.

"And… you are not going there to help look for her?" Ryans sips at his drink, watching her carefully over the lip of the glass, he's on alert. The question is asked innocently enough, Huruma is a much different person then he is, so he can't really know what she is thinking. "If you wish to go look for her, I can certainly find another to watch them." The most shocking thing escapes his mouth shortly there after.

"I would offer to accompany you, since you've helped me with my own, but I need to make this Russia trip." He needs the help of the Ferrymen, too much to risk skipping out.

"He is in Kenya right now, looking for her. I cannot do what he and Tau cannot. Or Usutu and grandmother. Usutu paints- like Mendez, Brill-" And she mentioned what her grandmother does. Huruma resigns to the fact she cannot really do a thing, putting the glass to her lips and rather than sip- she takes down most of it first turn. Unfortunately, she coughs on a bit of it, eyebrows lifting over at him.

"One turn an'all of that, I suppose." Huruma can't hide her surprise that he offered so readily.

"I… suppose, " is echoed after her. Benjamin has never been the type able to sit by and let others do the work, especially when it comes to family. He's having a tough time with it. "Tell me about this Sullivan?" He manages to make is sound more like a request then order. "You said he was like you. An empath?" Eyes narrow at her curiously.

His glass isn't completely, a little swirls around the bottom of it, but he still moves to pick up the bottle and add more to his glass. He hasn't missed the surprise, just chooses not to address it.

"I can tell you don'like th'way I'm not rushing off." She says over the rim of her glass. "I am sure he will find her, regardless. Twins are like that." Huruma breathes out through her nose, tongue running over the backs of her teeth to pry the taste of scotch. "Yes.

"I met him in Morocco, when I was a girl. It was after Dajan and Juwariya." At least she waits to pour some more for herself, finishing off the rest while Ben makes friends with the bottle. "I was in a state, I am sure you can imagine." Possibly imagine. "He found me, put m'on m'feet. Taught me t'use this. I repaid him b'turning it into a weapon. Not that I regret doing so- jus'tha'I broke his'eart in order t'do it."

Ryans tilts his head down at her recognition of his feelings on the situation. No reason for him to hide it. "I guess we are two different creatures of habit in that regard." Shoulder's shift under the black tee shirt and he steps back to the sink, glancing out into the back yard and the fading light. "I am not judging you on it."

His head turns just enough where she can see his profile, while he listens to what she has to say about Sullivan. "Broke his heart?" He asks softly, a smile tugging up at the corner of his mouth. She sees it only for a moment before he looks back out the window. "Sounds like a good man."

Huruma notes the little things that go on inside of people, and on the outside. She catches his smile, just barely, warming her tongue with the roof of her mouth. "He was. Is. I do not know if he is alive, or if this character Dajan talks of is somehow connected. But I canno'picture him doing a thing like taking advantage of Juwariya." She moves across the stride of kitchen to lean back on the edge of that counter, Ryans to her right. The movement is confidant, if anything, and her chin sinks with her voice.

"Dajan is scarred- she- I- hurt her brain. She does no'think like an adult- or even a teenager."

He doesn't look at her when leans against the counter, those blue eyes stay focused on the graying world outside, one hand resting on the edge of the sink. "I'll see what the Company files say." Ryans offers in that rumbling voice of his. "See if he's caught their attention during the time I was retired."

The glass is lifted for a sip, but it pauses when she speaks of her daughter, his head jerks a little towards her, a small movement. She can see the look of disapproval, before the Company agent schools his features into something more neutral. He's rather speechless. He can't really think of what to say about that.

Instead, Ben looks away from her, brows deeply furrowed. What she's said has disturbed him, he knew her son was bad off… but her daughter is news.

"Don'judge me there, either. …Please." Huruma asking him something like that- and adding that particular adverb somehow makes it …just saddening. "I can make excuses for what I did all night, but they will never take what I did back."

"His name was Joseph, by the way. if It helps you find anything."

"Sometimes…" There is a touch of hesitation while he takes a deeper drink from the glass finishing the contents, with a small grimace. "Sometimes, it's good to have a reminder." It's harsh, but sadly the truth. It's a reminder of just how dangerous she is. She still only gets his profile as he turns the water on and rinses out his tumbler. Once the water is shut off and it's set gently in the stainless steel basin, Ryans finally turns his head to look at her, his face and emotions are both hard to read. It's like he's forcing himself not to feel anything. Both hands grip the counter in front him, eyes studying her.

"I won't judge, but… it will be hard to forget." Benjamin offers those words honestly. "I'll put in the request and see what I get back, if I get it back. I'll let you know what I find out."

He is learning. To keep himself unpredictable he has to not feel anything- but even the most stoic men will feel something, far down in their chests. At this distance- if she wanted- Huruma could very well grab for it. But other than observing him, she has not used her ability on Benjamin since meeting him again. The dark woman's light eyes study him in return, long fingers brushing idly over the glass in her hand. She eventually lifts it up to stifle anything she nearly verbalizes.

A slow blink off to the rest of the room is her answer to his middle ground. Hard to forget, indeed. A great many things about her children are like that, even as far back as to why they came to be.

The silence stretches on as the old man studies her in her own silence. Though it's hard to judge what Ryans could possibly be thinking. Finally, he pushes away away from the sink and glances at the steel framed clock hanging on the wall near the pantry. His voice breaks the silence to inform her, "Delia will be home soon. If you wish to stick around, I am sure she would insist you stay for dinner."

A small smile touches Ben's lips and Huruma can feels his amusement. "Though, she may very well… 'Freak out'… if she finds you here. She is rather unpredictable like that."

"Th'only thing I'ave at home-" Wherever that is. "-is some rather gamy meat. I think that I will take m'chances with Delia." Huruma lifts her brows at him. "Though her coming home to th'both of us may be slightly worse than th'first time I met her…" Just saying- so it's out there.

Instead of waiting, really, for some other cue, retort, or tagback, the tall woman slinks off around the corner, apparently intent on exploring this place.

That is, obviously, exactly what the old man is thinking, because a deep chuckle follows Huruma out of the kitchen. Ryans doesn't follow her right away, taking the time to close of the bottle of scotch. After a moment, he suddenly looks up at a thought.

"Stay out of the drawers and closets."

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