xcuse me but … what the fuck?” An odd mixture of Scottish and Romani searched out unaware ears as first steps were taken into the dwelling once her own. The journey had been quite long and her recovery tedious and somewhat unwanted in the chilly hills of Iceland’s outskirts. Memories of warm sands and calm waves called to her even now. Even as she stood before her youngest son and grandson, respectively. She wasn’t the only one to be pulled from the depths though perhaps she was one of the only ones who felt regret for the life that could have been saved instead. Still, she had been brought back for a reason and she was content to revel in the happiness of others until she deciphered just what that purpose was. ”I saw that on a meme.” A bright smile was offered in the direction of Jasper who appeared as though he’d just experienced the shock of his young life. Bree had been quite honest with the arrangements and deals made in order for her return yet Max hadn’t the foggiest that Bree had been so swayed. Well.. He did now.
he hearth's song had reached its peak. Little ember flames weaved around each other at the beckon of wooden crackles. The place had been uncharacteristically cold despite the sudden influx of joy that washed over the halls and the blazing sun that rolled into its summer slumber across the mountain peaks. Max, however, was always cold even in summer as a repercussion of his childhood ventures in another land - ventures named affectionate to displace the actual feeling of lonliness that came with an abusive mother. Though he always attempted to look back upon those days with fondness if only to apply the same bright eyed view he begged his children to believe if only for their mental health. Even Jasper seemed to follow suit in his pursuit of warmth as he brought heavily covered knees beneath the heavy blanket his father had previously coiled around his shoulders in a loving attempt to bring comfort to a shaky form. He hadn't kicked away any fabric in the hour that had passed so clearly needed it for some reason or another. The room was deafly quiet beside the occassional crack of the fire and the shuffle of feet or turning of pages across the room. Eyes widened in both corners - one in sudden joy at the realisation of the voice's source and the other in complete shock. Knees narrowed and form curled inward in slight fear which Max noted as he took his first steps toward the mother he'd lost. Arms cast immediately around her coupled with laughter of relief and narrowed brows ready to accomodate the flow of tears determined to form. A previous conversation with Briana one he didn't wish to make but the alternative one he couldn't bear. He alleviated his hold slightly as she spoke toward her youngest grandchild whom still remained curled up in the corner of the seat as if he'd shrunk into the size of a toddler. He didn't utter a word. Max brightened with a steady inhale. "You're going to have to let me fuss." He said gleefully, pushing aside a tear. She never let her youngest son fuss over her - not with anything. Too headstrong for that. He was strangely becoming quite used to caring for the resently... ressurected. Even if she appeared fine she could fall victim to the weakness of shaking knees at any moment. The least he could get her is tea. There was so much he wanted to tell her.