Graham looked at the girl in front of him and gave her a small smile. “Let me see if I get this right.” He spoke slowly and tried to sign as he spoke. For extra credit in high school, he had taken a course in sign language and even though it had been years since he actually had to use it, it was still something that was fresh in his mind.

“Are you hurt?” Even though his day had been horrible, he wasn’t about to take it out on anyone, unless that person was Brighton Innocent, but that was a different story.

Her eyebrows raised instantly at the display in front of her. No one had even attempted to get on her language level, let alone knew how to. A pleased giggle erupted from her throat (as close to one as possible, anyway) as she nodded at him. “I’m okay. I can still dance, so...” Remi’s eyes shifted around the room. Part of her wished she couldn’t, that she had been injured worse and had to be out for a while. Deciding to change the subject, her dark eyes returned to look at the man’s face. “Where did you learn?” Her hands moved through the motions as she signed along, pointing to his hands at the end. “I’m impressed.” Smiles weren’t common for Remi, but there was a subtle grin making it’s way onto her features. Finally, something felt normal here. 

Walking into the Ragnatela, Graham huffed. He was pissed. His car was missing and his insurance company was doing nothing about it. What was the point of even having an insurance company if they couldn’t help with shit like this. The last thing he wanted to do was go to the police, but it was starting to look more and more like an option.

Not realizing where he was going, he ran into the person in front of him. “Shit.” He said. “Sorry.” He apologized and took a step back.

Unfortunately, running into people was a lot more common for Remi than it seemed to be for others. Her overall personality caused her to keep her eyes cast downward, avoiding the unwanted gaze of others, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t hear verbal warnings. 

The move had been exhausting, even with all the help she’d had from her crew, but she’d done it. Up in room 505 of The Ragnatela sat her penthouse, perfectly organised with a king size bed screaming her name, but she’d refused; it was only lunch, and she wanted to explore. Reagan had waved her guard — something her parents insisted on ‘for the first couple of days, sweetie’ — down when he attempted to accompany her to the closest cafe where she’d grabbed lunch. Sitting, she flipped through the latest Vogue, stopping when she felt somebody’s eyes on here. Looking up, she tipped her head slightly, “It’s rude to stare, you know. My face is on enough magazines that you don’t have to, anyways.”

What was it with snooty, self-entitled people around here? God, this was going to be an excruciating stay if this was something she had to deal with often. Shaking her head, her finger pointed lazily at the other’s shoulder. “I’m staring at the spider,” her fingers curled and hands overlapped one another, preforming the sign out of habit. She had to be sure it was a spider before mentioning it, had she decided to mention it at all. But it seemed to be one, and all Remi could do was hope the woman in front of her was comfortable around arachnid. 

Oh, hell.

Emerson hesitated, before saying, “Sorry, I don’t sign. You can lipread, though?” He made more of an effort to speak at a normal pace (as opposed to his usual breakneck speed) and clearly, so she could catch the words on his lips.

“Sorry, no detergent – I haven’t gone shopping yet.”

If there had been a dollar for every time a hearing person had felt the need to comment ‘I don’t sign,’ Remi would be able to quit her job and coast through life on that alone. She knew everyone meant well, but she thought it should be obvious that she was prepared for that. With a nod, she acknowledged his question. 

Liam took a deep breath as he punch the bridge of his nose, before he noticed someone waving to him. He watched her hands as she signed, and was lucky enough to have good hearing to notice she was also speaking. Ah, she was deaf, and for a brief moment he wondered if there was even a point to talk out loud. “Are you hard of hearing or completely deaf?” He inquired, speaking normally while also pointing to his ear. He by no means was an expert in ASL, the best he could do was sign his now. And that was learned a few first back on a train ride through Virginia and the passenger next to him was deaf. 

“I’m not asking to be rude, but it’d be mighty pointless to have me talk to myself, when there are other ways for us to communicate.”

It was rare that anyone notice so quickly, or even ask to clarify. A wide grin found itself to Remi’s features at the thought of this. Perhaps there was a reason she felt compelled to talk to him, even if she usually kept away from the hearing. “Deaf, but I read lips pretty well. I wouldn’t approach anyone if I wasn’t able to communicate on their terms.” One of the biggest concerns Remi held with speaking-while-deaf was her inflection. She was a natural jokester (when the mood permitted) and extremely sarcastic, but she was sure none of that came across when she used her voice. “I appreciate you asking, though.” In a quick gesture, her flat hand went to her mouth and then extended forward. Thank you. Hesitantly, she moved to take the seat next to him, watching his face closely in case he protested for some reason.

It was evident in the stranger’s eyes that Winona’s words weren’t exactly welcome, or understandable — she was used to looks like this. She captured her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to think of another way to reel the brunette in, her thoughts interrupted by the woman’s movements. Thankfully, they didn’t come without actual words. “Yeah, you. I don’t know sign, though… But I’m talking about you. Your aura, more specifically.”

Talking to my aura? Surprise continued to grow on her features. Who was this woman and why was she talking about things that you typically found on late night call in lines? Perhaps the only thing that didn’t surprise her, was the other’s admittance to not knowing sign. With a subtle sigh, she looked at the girl head-on. This was going to be necessary if she planned on continuing to talk to a deaf person. Soon after, Remi’s lips parted slowly, moving at the same sluggish speed. “It’s a good thing my aura can read lips and speak, then.” Even though she couldn’t hear it herself, she knew the tone wasn’t correct to portray the sarcasm. “Are you going to try and sell me something? I’m confused.” Talking without signing along always made her feel anxious, as if it were a security blanket of some kind. Her hands sat writhing in her lap, knowing it would be pointless to continue using them with her communication. 

Brighton gave the stranger a confused look right back, not at all understanding what was going on and why this girl was being so weird. She’d just offered to pay for one little drink, why was that so difficult to understand? “I just offered to buy you coffee,” she said, her brows furrowed as her attempt to work out the situation continued. For once she was trying to be nice to everyone in her path, but the gods or whoever the fuck else were testing her. “Do you want me to do that or not?”

The sentiment seemed nice, but the woman seemed more annoyed than anything at Remi’s lack of an appropriate response. With a soft smile, the brunette nodded in understanding. “That depends on if you really want to do it.” Somehow it felt like accepting coffee from this woman was accepting death--perhaps a vast exaggeration, but her presented personality seemed anything but genuinely kind. Unless...

“Your aura is like…. crazy dark. It’s just so… uncomfortable to be around — have your relationships been suffering as of late? A lack of romance? You need a good cleansing.”

It was hard to tell, but there had definitely been someone talking. Unfortunately, Remi was only able to catch bits and pieces while she figured out who it was. Aura. Dark. Romance. Cleansing. At this moment, she wasn’t sure if she was understanding wrong or this woman was near-insane. Pointing at herself with a bit of surprise, she made eye contact with the questionable stranger. “Are you talking to me?” Her hands came from where they were to sign as she spoke, the nasally, monotone sound of her voice accompanying it all. 

It was noon, and Brighton was already on her third Starbucks run of the day. As a new business woman, she had to keep up a certain image. She had also just reached 33.5 million Instagram followers, so that called for a celebration. In fact, there was a ton of different reasons for grabbing another over-priced beverage. Not that she couldn’t afford it. Brighton was in an unusual good mood today, and she was just seeing fans everywhere. She tapped on the shoulder of the person in front of her in the line, whispering, “Hey, I’m officially more famous than Gigi Hadid now, so your coffee’s on me.“

Several blinks and a blank look came in reply to the over-exuberant blonde’s demeanor. It was possible that she said something--afterall, usually people do speak, unlike Remi--but not much came through her hearing aids in such a busy place like this. There was the urge to just ignore the woman, get coffee and call it a day, but it somehow felt like that was a bad idea. “Excuse me,” her voice pressed out with a slight throaty tone to it, her collected fingers sliding across her other palm as she did. “Why are you touching me?” Remi knew that inflection was important in society, and on the chance the person in front of her was entirely ignorant to deaf culture, this could go south for the lack of it. Sometimes you just have to get used to being labeled rude without meaning to be. 

Emerson let the person at his door knock for almost a full minute, hoping they’d go away.

No such luck.

Pulling on a shirt, he opened the door, leaning against the doorframe, clearly not having been awake for long.

“I have no money to buy anything, I’m not interested in changing religions, and no, I will not turn my music down.”

It was a little surprising to see the state of who answered the door: irritation and general grumpiness seemed to be overflowing. Her eyes followed the gist of what he had said, though none of those reasons were why she was here. “I like the music,” her ‘accent’ was apparent, if the tandem signing didn’t give it away. Honestly, it was the telltale sign that someone was home, and that was more helpful than he might realize. “I need laundry detergent. Do you have any I can borrow?” It was difficult, but she could tell her voice was softer than usual. Most likely the intimidation factor that was going on. When she finished signing, her hands came down to rest behind her back. Don’t make me go knock somewhere else, please. 

“Jesus Christ,” Liam mutter to himself as he sat the bar,listening to the band he was producing, or rather trying to. Honestly, he wouldn’t have taken them under his wing, if it wasn’t for the fact that the guitar play was the song of a close friend of his. No, that wasn’t right, a friend of a friend of a close friend; or something like that. Either way, they were terrible, or at least bu his standards. To anyone untrained in the music field it would sound pretty decent, probably helped that most of the band members where seen as ‘attractive’.

There was no rhyme or reason Remi found herself in bars--she didn’t like the atmosphere, and she hated the way it made her hearing aids act up--But the alcohol was pleasant after work, and so were some of the more decently looking patrons around her.