(no subject)

[negative_feedback]

It's been three days since she arrived, and Regan has gotten a little bit used to the Home. She stays out of it as long as she can, all the same, so she doesn't have to worry about trying to interact with her Hearing roommates. It isn't that she thinks they're bad people. It's just . . . a lot. Another reminder that she's not like them. That she's Other.

So, she wakes up early and heads out, and she stays out all day, until just before curfew, and heads back in. She does that every day, now, and maybe it's a little cowardly, but she's also giving herself time to get used to the city proper, using the map Greta showed her and marking things of interest on it as she goes.

She's marked the cat cafe down, and that really cool tinker's shop.

She's set to start school next Monday. It would have been sooner, but she requested an extra week. Part of it is because she's nervous. She'll have an interpreter, but it's been so long since she's been in school. What if she's behind her peers?

She doesn't want to think about it. Instead, Regan heads towards the park, wearing her new winter boots that Greta helped her buy. She swings by an Ahab's and grabs herself a hot cocoa with espresso in it, and ends up adding extra sugar to sweeten it back up. The park is a nice place, and she gets to see all sorts of different things and people here.

Even if she's just killing time until curfew.

Comments

[lost_boy]

I had a free period for my last class of the day and instead of waiting for Eddie, which I sometimes did, today I went to the park instead, sending him a text so he would know where I would be. If he didn't come find me, we would see each other later at the Home and that was fine, too, but I had promised him I would use my phone more often.

When I saw the new girl, I hesitated for a moment. Like me when I first arrived, she seemed to want to keep to herself and one part of me thought I should respect that. But I also wanted her to feel welcome. It had meant a lot to me that first night, when Eddie made me feel like I wasn't too strange to be his friend.

So I smiled and waved at her as I approached. One of the workers at the Home had told us she couldn't hear and I was fascinated by that, but knew better than to start asking the dozens of questions I had, so I settled for just the wave.

[negative_feedback]

Regan recognizes the boy from the Home, though she doesn't know his name. She doesn't know almost anyone's names, there, and part of her thinks maybe she should change that.

When he waves, she waves, too, with a small smile. He gets a bit closer, so Regan pulls her notebook out of her backpack, which she still carries pretty much everywhere, and writes something down.

I can't hear. My name is Regan.

She turns it towards him when he's close enough to actually see it, hoping to nip any awkward, one-sided conversations in the bud.

[lost_boy]

I peered at the notebook before I smiled and nodded, then turned around my own backpack so I could take out the notebook I often used for drawing or my own personal notes instead of just my schoolwork.

Flipping to a fresh page, I wrote, My name is Jamie. The worker at the Home told us you can't hear. Can you read lips?

I was still keeping myself from asking all the questions I wanted to ask, but I thought that was one pretty important. I wondered if she used sign language, then thought it was very likely. Then I wondered how difficult it would be to learn. It must be a little lonely, I thought, not really being able to talk to anyone except through writing.

[negative_feedback]

She reads the message with a small smile. At least people are spreading the word about her deafness. She tries not to think about 'if she were Hearing', and lowers her pencil to her paper.

Reading lips is tricky. I can catch some words but everyone has different mouths and ways of speaking. American Sign Language is easier because if it has any dialectal changes they're pretty easy to figure out.

She looks up at him, then hesitates and adds, Can you sign? It doesn't seem likely if he hasn't yet, but it doesn't hurt to ask, she thinks.

[lost_boy]

I shook my head, but I was still smiling and I bent over my notebook to write, Is it very difficult to learn? I loved learning and even though I wasn't always happy to be sitting in a desk at school -- I got very restless some days and couldn't wait for gym class -- I was happy to be there.

Learning another language seemed daunting, but it would be nice for Regan if she could communicate with people somehow other than writing. And there were no Many-Eyed to kill here, no pirates to fight. A different sort of challenge would be just the thing.

Are there books to teach me? I added.

[formicine]

Blue's got an extra shift today, covering one of the baristas who's called in sick, and so she's taken the time between the morning and evening to grab Copper and take her for a walk. Persephone has always been mellow, and the rats don't need much room, in the two bedroom that she and Kat share, but Copper -- peaceful as she is -- is built for long treks and so Blue makes sure she gets at least one if not two long stretches a day.

She notices the girl sitting alone. First, because she is alone, and a young-teenagery sort of age that tends to be found either in clusters, or if alone, doing something in particular. And secondly, because she's seen her peering in at the cats and wondered before if she was going to come in.

The girl's people-watching, and she lifts a hand in hello, waving. "Hey," she says by way of introduction, "You watch the cats at the cafe sometimes, don't you?" As Blue takes notice so does Copper, and she lifts her head in interest, wagging her tail and taking a few steps forward.

[negative_feedback]

If Regan hadn't already been watching the people walking around her, she might not have noticed the girl and her dog, or the wave. She smiles a bit wanly — mostly out of shyness — and waves back. She can see the girl's mouth moving, and she catches a few easy-to-read words, but she doesn't answer. Instead, she pulls out a notebook and flips to a page she's clearly prepared for this moment.

My name is Regan. I'm deaf. She shows the girl, then turns the notebook around again and adds, I like your dog.

[formicine]

"Oh!" Blue's whole body sort of exaggerates her understanding, and she smiles at Regan's addition, digging for her phone, then pauses. This whole thing could be easier, if...

"Do you sign?" she signs, letting the loop of the leash sit around her wrist so she can do the motion for "sign". She's not good enough at it not to mouth the words behind what she's saying, and her grammar could use some work, but she's not bad given her lack of reason to practice these days.

[negative_feedback]

Regan's eyes widen, and she surges to the edge of her seat.

"Yes!" Her enthusiasm is evident in how vigorously she raises and lowers her fist. This is so exciting! "When I realized I was going to be in a new place like this, I didn't think there would be anyone who could sign. You're, like, the second person I've met!" She tries to go slow, because she wants to make sure she's understood.

[formicine]

Blue grins at the enthusiastic yes and Regan's brightened expression. She's not as good at understanding other people as she is at signing herself, so her brow furrows just a little as she follows, translating to herself.

There are a few words she doesn't catch, but as the first sentence winds down, she's already smiling, glad she can help. She can tell Regan's signing more slowly than she has to, and it makes her think maybe she should take some lessons.

"My friend's sister was deaf, so I learned," she signs by way of explanation. Then, with a little coy grin she adds, "And my cat is deaf, too, but she doesn't know ASL."

(Cat is one of her favorite signs, like whiskers.)

"I'm Blue," she signs, using finger-spelling, then signs the color too, just to make it clear that yes, it is a weird name and yes, Regan's reading it right. "This is Copper."

"I see you at the cat cafe sometimes. You should come in!"

[forthsofar]

After so many years of doing her homework at the small kitchen table back home, Rosie felt very silly and incredibly cosmopolitan about what had become her usual routine in Darrow: sitting in a cafe, a mug of something hot beside her, alternately working on her assignments and watching people pass by outside. The general sketch of it hasn't changed much at all, maybe; the table still a little small and her drink of choice still either tea or cocoa, depending on her mood. But here, there's no parental disapprovals to tune out, no older brother or his friends plodding loudly through the room on their way to the parks for a game of football. Above all, it feels different enough, which is what matters most.

Having finished her drink, but not her grammar worksheet, she unfolds herself from the chair she'd curled up in and picks up her mug, thinking she may as well get another before she dives back in. At this point in the afternoon, there aren't many other people in the cafe; it's easy to notice a familiar (or semi-familiar) face, like that of her new roommate at the Home. Rosie had overheard the staff talking about accommodations for the other girl, something about installing a new fire alarm with a flashing light, since the new girl wouldn't be able to hear the old one. That she's deaf makes Rosie uncertain about how to proceed with saying hello; was it ruder just to wave, or to start off with a note?

After a bit of deliberation, she tears a blank piece of paper from her notebook and writes, trying to keep her penmanship as clear as she can. Carefully, even a bit hesitantly, she approaches where the other girl's sitting, trying to catch her eye and smile before she lays the paper on the table.

Hello, I'm Rosie--we're roommates at the Home. Please tell me if this is an awful way to say hello. The people at the Home said you're not able to hear so I didn't just want to start talking to you, but maybe that might've been better. I'm not sure.

Sorry, I talk an awful lot. Or...write, in this situation.

[negative_feedback]

The paper is a surprise, but as she reads it, it becomes plain that it's a welcome one. Regan had recognized the girl, but she'd sort of pretended not to see her. After reading the message, though, and the deliberation that had clearly been behind it, she feels a little bad for that.

Regan grabs her pencil, then beneath Rosie's message, writes her own.

Hi Rosie. I'm Regan. This is a good way to say hello if you don't know how to sign. I'm sort of glad that I don't have to explain that I'm deaf and that I can't read lips. It's hard to say that, and makes me feel isolated.

Would you like to sit down?

[forthsofar]

It's a relief when Regan starts writing her own message back. Rosie smiles, glad she'd gotten that part right at least. When she reads the other girl's response, she tries to do so a little more actively, maybe, than she might have otherwise; nodding along as she might have if they were speaking, frowning a little in sympathy when she gets to the part about feeling isolated. It's not the same at all, but it reminds her of how difficult it had been to communicate in Anterwold, how she'd struggled to understand what was being said and make herself understood in turn. At least she'd been able to hear them, even if at first it had sounded like nothing more than bits of so many languages run through a mangle.

She nods again, more decisively, in answer to the question before she starts writing a longer response.

Yes, I would. I need to get my bookbag and things from where I was sitting, but I was just over by the window, so it's not as though I have to go very far. Rosie pauses, breathing out an embarrassed laugh. The cafe was only so big; it isn't as though either of them had been sitting in Siberia. Before turning the paper around, she adds another line.

I'm sorry I don't know how to sign--is it easy to learn?

[negative_feedback]

Regan smiles as she reads the message, and gives Rosie time to gather her things while she writes her own.

You don't have to apologize for not knowing how to sign. Most Hearing people don't, I think, unless they have a family member, or job as an interpreter. It's pretty easy to learn, though. The trickiest part, I think, is remembering to use facial expressions, because expressions can change some signs from meaning one word to meaning another word. I'm going to have an interpreter when I go to school. It'll be my first time mainstreaming in a public school instead of a Deaf school. Maybe, if we both go to the same school, we can try to set up a language club for ASL?

She debates erasing that last sentence. It's a self-preservation thing, mainly. She doesn't want to get her hopes up that Rosie might be her friend, only for them to end up hating each other for some reason. Maybe Rosie will think her nose is stupid, or her hair is ugly.

But Regan takes a bracing breath and turns the page to face the other girl once she's seated across from her. No going back now. Besides, she could use a friend here.

[forthsofar]

Once she sees Regan start to write again, Rosie walks back to her old table, picking up her bag and scooping her notebooks and French textbook under one arm. She tries to ignore the feeling she's done something thoughtless, essentially walking away in the middle of their conversation. No matter that Regan had given her permission, of a sort, or that the circumstances of their communication meant that it was less strange to get up and do something while the other girl wrote, instead of sitting there just watching her put pencil to paper.

Still, Regan doesn't look unhappy, once Rosie's returned to their table, which is an encouraging sign. Hesitant, maybe; reading over whatever she'd written, letting out a sigh before turning the paper back, but not angry or upset by any accidental rudeness Rosie might have shown. She reads over the short paragraph, a bright, pleased smile crossing her face when she gets to the question at the end.

Yes! I go to Petros High, so if you enroll there we should definitely start a language club, she writes. And if Regan decides on Darrow High instead, she just might look to see if Petros already has a sign language group anyway. Wherever you go, it's good you'll have an interpreter. Were all the schools where you're from schools for the deaf? I never saw any in Oxford, where I'm from--it was all just

Rosie pauses just before she finishes that sentence with normal schools, realizing just in time how that might sound to the other girl. School, she writes instead--not much better, maybe, but an improvement on simply leaving the sentence unfinished.

[runtowardsomething]

It's been cold lately in a way that seems to speak of impending snow, but Beverly isn't fazed by that in the slightest. Even having somewhere to live that she actually likes, staying with Hopper still almost seemingly too good to be true, she's never been much for being cooped up indoors for very long. So it is that, bundled up in a coat and scarf and gloves, she's ridden her bike out to the park, stopping by a picnic bench to check her phone, considering texting Eddie or Richie to see what they're up to.

Before she gets a chance, she spots a girl she doesn't recognize but who looks to be about her age headed down the path. Once, she might have looked away and not acknowledged anyone else, too used to being at the bottom of the metaphorical social barrel, but now, she smiles, lifting one gloved hand in a wave. "Hi."

[negative_feedback]

The girl waves back, a small smile on her own face. She seems willing enough to leave it at that, at least for a moment. Then she burrows into the backpack on the ground by her feet and pulls out a notebook and pencil. Flipping to an empty page, she writes something down quickly, then she turns it to face the girl.

I'm not being rude. I can't hear. Hello.

[runtowardsomething]

It seems, at first, like a puzzling response, though Beverly doesn't let on as much beyond a slightly furrowed brow. Once she sees what the other girl has written, though, it makes sense. Her eyes widen a little, and she nods in recognition, faltering for just a moment as she tries to figure out how best to respond. Her phone winds up seeming easiest, an instinct that she wouldn't have had even just a few months ago. Opening her Notes app, she types a quick message.

Hi! Sorry, I'm not sure what the best way to talk is -- are phones good or is there something better?

She holds the phone out in turn, then, the screen facing the other girl and her expression friendly.

[negative_feedback]

Typing on the phone might be faster, but Regan's already committed to using her notebook, so after she reads the girl's message, she lowers her pencil to the page again.

If you know how to sign (in ASL) then that would be better, but if you don't, then this is fine. Most Hearing people don't unless they have a reason to. She looks up at the girl before turning the page to face her, and adds, I'm Regan. I like your hair.

[runtowardsomething]

On one hand, Beverly can't say that she's ever had a conversation like this with someone in person, writing back and forth out of necessity. On the other, it isn't really all that different from texting; she's just showing what she's written instead of sending it. Easy enough, and she decides quickly, easily, that it's not like she wouldn't just not talk to someone because they can't hear her. It seems like the kind of dick move the kids she went to school with back home would have pulled, and that's not her. If a few sentences are telling enough, then Regan seems nice, and for her own part, Beverly can roll with this.

Thanks! I'm Beverly, she types, already smiling before she finishes and holds her phone back out. It's nice to meet you. I don't think I've seen you around before?

[shadows_have_offended]

Things aren't easier, but at least Neil is getting more used to having Beau in his life. He's gotten into a routine with him, as much as he can with his erratic work schedule, and that certainly helps them both.

Still, it is an erratic schedule, and on days where he's worked, Beau tends to be more pent up. He's a good dog, and not destructive, but he's also very interested in everything when they finally get to go out. Sometimes he's like that even when Neil's on a day off, and can give him the attention he needs.

Today is a rowdy time. Neil's taken up running a couple days a week, and he always takes Beau with him--he remembers Billy doing it. He's had to take Beau off leash because he already tripped him once while he was on leash. But it does mean that he's a second behind when Beau veers away and goes to investigate something that Neil hadn't noticed.

When he realizes the dog's not right beside him, he stutters to a stop, looking around for him urgently. It takes him a moment to spot him, sniffing at a girl at a bench several feet away.

"Beau!" Neil snaps as he jogs back, taking the leash out of his pocket so he can snap it on when he's close enough.

[negative_feedback]

For one harrowing moment, Regan sees the dog and pictures one of the creatures coming out at it. SHe doesn't even know if the dog has barked, or is making any noise at all. But there's a definite moment of fear across her face.

Then the dog is closer, and sniffing at her, and she lowers a hand to let it sniff at her fingers as well. She doesn't notice the boy, not until the leash appears in her line of sight and flashes as he clicks it onto the dog's collar.

She looks up and makes an apologetic face.

[shadows_have_offended]

Beau sits patiently, watching the girl and sniffing her hand, and Neil's already talking a mile a minute. He's a big dog, over seventy pounds, and with that big blocky head he's obviously some kind of an American Terrier, and Neil knows that some people are very nervous about those dogs. She does seem a bit frozen about him, even if she lowered her fingers toward his nose.

"Sorry," he says. "Sorry, I have to let him off leash because he gets underfoot when I'm running, and I should have been paying more attention. He's still training, I'm still getting used to him. I'm so, so sorry."

Beau leans into Neil's leg, and he shuts up for a second.

[negative_feedback]

When he takes a moment to breathe, Regan is staring at him. SHe hasn't even had a chance to grab her notebook, because he's just been talking, and she can't hear him, and she can't read his lips, but it feels rude to look away: in Deaf culture, looking away is as effective as a Hearing person covering their ears during a conversation.

It's easy to see the affect the dog has on the boy, though. She can see the pressure that it applies to the boy's leg, and can't help but smile. Regan holds up a hand to encourage him to wait, and pulls out her phone.

After a moment of typing, she turns the screen to face him.

I didn't catch any of that. I'm deaf.

[shadows_have_offended]

He doesn't understand what's going on for a moment, with her just staring so intently and then pulling out her phone and typing. He stays quiet, even though he's confused, and makes sure to keep Beau on the leash, right against his leg; at least the run seems to have calmed him down a little bit.

He has to lean in close to read the small text on the phone. He'd been running, he didn't have his glasses, and screens were even harder than paper.

"Oh," he says, and then sort of fumbles. He's never met someone who was deaf before, and he's not really sure what he's supposed to do. Write, he supposes. He fishes his phone out of his jacket and types out a quick message; his font is set bigger than the girl's is, to see better.

Apologizing for dog. Getting used to him. Had him off leash to run.