Who: Wren and Aidan Where: Wren's trailer, Hookerville. When: Evening What: Wine, and what follows. Warnings: Adult, I'm sure.
It had been a couple of weeks since last he'd visited Wren; certainly before that damnable fog. At some point during that time she'd moved from the carnival to Hookerville--he despised the name, but it was undoubtedly a name ingrained in everyone's mind, unchangeable now. He'd been there several times over the years, visiting inhabitants, some of whom had stayed, and others, who'd moved on. Faces changed frequently there.
The tires of his SUV crunched on gravel as he drove slowly past rows of trailers, some neat, some not, golden light spilling from most of them. In the center of the park was the common house and it looked as if there was some renovation going on. Good.
Aidan pulled up before Wren's silver trailer, a familiar sight, and shut off the engine. Her trailer was small but well-tended, as was the tiny bit of yard around it. Aidan collected his bottle of wine and stepped out into the night. It was cold, but he wore no jacket, just jeans and a button-front dark purple shirt. The breeze brought a myriad of scents, some pleasant, some less so, and his upper tentacles, primarily sense organs, stirred beneath his skin before he willed them still.
He stepped up to the door and as a courtesy, rapped his knuckles against it to let her know he was there.