abrightboy | Voicemail (IC Contact Post) NEW

"One of these days you won't sound surprised when I offer to spend time with you." But the teasing is gentle. Sympathetic. She knows the feeling.

She opens the door with a small smile, stepping aside to let him in. "Hello, Malcolm." And unless he turns around to look at the inside of the doorway immediately, he may not notice the newest addition to her mosaics until she points it out.

He smiles broadly and holds out the apple.

"Hi!" He steps inside, glancing around, but not far enough to see behind him. "What is it?" he asks, looking over at her. "The thing?"

Ulla takes the apple. She'll get a knife in a moment so she can slice it to share, but first, she grins at Malcolm, telling him, "Turn around."

Because a brightly colored coral reef mosaic now frames the doorway, including the painted shells Will and Malcolm made for her.

His expression brightens noticeably.

“You used the shells!” he exclaims. He points at the mural. “Even mine!”

Ulla tilts her head, looking at Malcolm as if he's speaking nonsense. "Of course I did. You made them for me." She just had to find a good place for them.

"Well. Will's are better though," he admits, gesturing between one of Will's and one of his. "But I tried really hard." He looks over at Ulla. "You really like them?"

"Before the Barge, only one person besides my parents ever gave me anything. And everyone's care for me was... conditional. I'm still not used to people wanting to give me gifts, Malcolm." The shells themselves are less important than that.

It's the thought that counts. He smiles. "Will and I do art night. Will got into art and... I just like doing activities that he likes with him. And you don't have to be as quiet doing art as fishing. Do you do art? Or, like.... crafts? Apart from your... truly impressive murals, I mean," he says, glancing around again.

"I make nearly everything I wear," Ulla tells him, laughing softly. She's not wearing anything right now but a pair of carved shell combs in her hair, featuring a forest scene. She raises a hand to touch one of them. "Not these, though. These were a gift from Warren."

"What do you like making the most?" Malcolm asks with interest, leaning over slightly to peer at the combs.

Ulla shrugs. "I don't really have a favorite. I just have opinions on what looks pleasing. You can see some of it if you want. I store things I want to keep dry up on the balcony." She holds out a hand toward the ramp in invitation. There are a pair of comfortable armchairs up there, along with her harp and a couple of storage trunks.

"I'd love to see it! I'm always on the lookout for new types of art. Maybe I'll find one I'm good at," Malcolm tells her with a self-deprecating laugh.

"I cheat and use magic," Ulla tells him as they head up the ramp. "The designs are mine, but the work goes much faster."

“That’s not cheating. It’s just magic art.” So he can’t do it, but he wants to look anyway.

Ulla laughs. "I sing most of my clothes from scraps of fabric, with flowers or leaves for the color." All of her gowns started off as bits and pieces, but Ulla didn't sew them.

She opens one of the trunks, pulling out long silk dresses in rich jewel tones, jewelry woven and braided from what looks like sleek black thread, framing stone cabochons, dotted with tiny iridescent pearls.

"You... you made all these?" Gowns his mother would even be jealous of. "Did you add the jewels the same way you arrange the stones and shells on the wall? Where did you get them?" He reaches out to touch one of them, then hesitates, like someone whose mother has warned them many times against such a thing, then looks at her uncertainly. "...May I?"

"Of course," Ulla tells him. She didn't invite him to rummage through her clothes with the intention of forbidding him to touch any of them. She picks up one of the necklaces. "The stone is woven and knotted into place, see? Thread wrapped tightly enough around it that it doesn't need a hole drilled through it. Same as a metal setting, but I don't wear anything that rusts or tarnishes. And I make beads of the pearls so I can string them."

Getting the stones was probably the easiest part. "I sang all of the jewels; objects are much easier than anything alive. And the thread started off as my hair."

He looks up sharply as his fingertips touch the fabric.

"You made the thread from your hair?"

Ulla tilts her head. "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

His eyes go wide. This was where everything slid sideways with Justine.

“NO!” He frowns at himself. “No. No. It’s actually exactly what I’m looking for. Actually.”

"I'm not... offended, I just didn't know why you reacted that way." She didn't mean to worry him.

"Why are you looking for it?"

"Because Will asked me to marry him, but we already gave each other rings and we both feel like it's... dulling the impact if we just pretend to give them to each other again. The initial gifting was very meaningful. So I thought of this idea to give each other something else that we can wear, that would last and be a visible reminder... and then I saw Justine talking about making things out of hair and I was going to ask her to make bracelets that each have both my hair and his in them... but she hates me and also I didn't know you could do this. If I knew that, I would have always come to you. It's better to come from family, right?" Malcolm explains.

A slow smile spreads over her face as Malcolm speaks.

"I'd be honored," she tells him, soft and sincere. If this request came from anyone, she would have expected it to come from Will. It's startling that Malcolm is the one asking. That he's offering up this request, and including her in something that matters so deeply. It's a feeling that feels almost too precious and delicate to touch, like the most finely carved shell

"I'm new to... family that I feel unreservedly good about, but certainly better from someone who cares than with bad feeling attached."

"Right? I was trying to make peace, too, because I guess when I first asked her about the art form, some of my questions offended her," Malcolm explains. "And John."

"What sorts of questions?" Ulla asks, brow furrowed slightly.

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