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Ray’s mark had always been a bit of a mystery. Instead of a phrase like every other soulmark he’d seen – everything from a generic greeting to what seemed like gibberish out of context – he had a series of odd, simplistic drawings across his wrist in neat black lines. He’d heard of people who had a mark in another language; it wasn’t overly common, but it happened sometimes. These drawings, however, didn’t resemble any language he could think of.
“Maybe your soulmate is some kind of caveman, and that’s how they write,” Michael had joked when he saw Ray’s mark for the first time.
By now he had more or less accepted that he wasn’t likely to find this soulmate of his, and anyway, why would he want to be with someone he couldn’t even understand? Still, perhaps it was for the best. Soulmates were dangerous in this business, a weak spot visible right on your skin.
Despite this, the rest of the crew weren’t shy about showing them off. In fact, Gavin would show off his – Who the fuck wears sunglasses inside? – whenever he could come up with an excuse, and then poke Michael into showing off his as well – Someone with sunglasses that cost more than your car. Although, if you listened to Michael telling the story, it would have been more appropriate for him to have ‘unspecific bird noise’ written on his wrist.
Ray showed his a few times, when he was asked about it, but generally kept it hidden by the sleeves of his purple hoodie. The newest addition to the crew had his hidden as well, which made sense for a mercenary, especially one as well-known as the Vagabond. The other lads whispered to Ray that he didn’t have one, but that was ridiculous. Everyone had one, even if they couldn’t read it or would never meet their soulmate.
He ended up paired with the guy for the mercenary’s first mission with the crew, the two of them assigned to keep watch outside the bank while the others went inside. He doesn’t mind, and it looks like the Vagabond doesn’t either. It’s a bit hard to tell, between the mask obscuring his face and the fact that he hasn’t said a word this whole time.
“Let’s go, Vaga-buddy,” he tells his temporary partner when the group splits up to head to their respective posts.
The mercenary stops walking abruptly. Ray turns around, concerned.
“Is something wrong? I won’t call you that anymore, if you don’t like it.”
Vagabond shakes his head and starts gesturing, hands moving almost too fast to follow. He points at Ray, then taps his fingers against his temple before making a kind of circling gesture with the index fingers on both hands.
“Sorry, what?” He’s pretty sure that’s sign language, but he doesn’t have a clue what it meant. For all he knows, Vagabond was insulting him, but he could just as easily have been commenting on the weather.
The mercenary’s shoulders seem to droop slightly, and he holds up a finger in a clear ‘wait’ gesture. He pats the pockets on his jacket and pants for a moment, then pulls out a phone. He types something quickly, then hands it to Ray.
It’s open to the notes, and there’s a single sentence on the screen: I’m assuming you don’t know ASL.
“Sign language? Nope, sorry. Wait, does that mean you’re deaf?”
Vagabond shakes his head and points at his mouth.
“You can’t talk?” A nod. “Huh. I guess that’s going to make using coms a little difficult.”
After the mission, Ray ducks out of the post-heist celebration early and holes up in his room, where he spends most of the night on YouTube, watching beginner ASL videos and trying to force his hands into forming the gestures correctly. It turns out the whole signing thing is a lot more complicated than he thought, so it’s slow going.
He’s dead tired the next morning, but it’s worth it to see the way Vagabond lights up so that it’s obvious even under his mask when Ray signs ‘I want to learn ASL. Maybe you can help?’ It’s slow and he probably messes up the grammar, which is quite a bit different from English grammar, but Vagabond is nodding almost before he finished the sentence.
‘I’d be happy to help,’ he signs back, matching Ray’s pace.
The lessons go slowly, and for long conversations Vagabond tends to switch back to typing notes into his phone or scribbling them on scraps of paper if there are any nearby. But they’re also very interesting, and sign becomes almost like a secret language between them. During long, boing meetings they have signed conversations, holding their hands where Geoff won’t notice them. When the others eventually figure out what’s going on, Ray becomes Vagabond’s unofficial interpreter to the crew, and they’re paired together on missions more often than not.
He finds out a lot of things, over the course of long stakeouts and late night signing sessions.
Like: time always goes at the beginning in ASL sentences.
Like: the most feared mercenary in Los Santos is actually a giant dork.
Like: Vagabond is from Georgia, and likes Diet Coke.
Like: signing actually relies a lot on facial expressions.
This last comes up a few times during their lessons, especially when Vagabond is trying to explain the expressions that go with yes-no questions as opposed to other questions. Ray gets them mixed up a lot, putting his eyebrows up for ‘what is that’ and lowering them for ‘are you ok’.
And so one night, quite out of the blue, Vagabond pulls off his mask and tosses it to the side. He’s handsome, it turns out, very handsome even with paint forming another mask over his face. His hair is long and black, pulled up into a bun, which explains why it had never been visible.
“What – seriously? You’ve been hiding that face from us the whole time?” Ray asks, surprise loosening his tongue.
Vagabond frowns and shrugs, then signs ‘It’s for safety.’
“Yeah, I know, but still. Dude, you could be a model or something!”
The mercenary ducks his head to hide a smile. ‘Thanks,’ he signs, a quick sweep of his hand out from his mouth.
He leaves it off most of the time when it’s just them, after that, but around the others it stays firmly in place. Ray feels like he’s been given something special.
Another stakeout, waiting in the car just across the street from a building supposedly occupied by the leader of a rival crew. It’s dark, which makes it a little hard to see Vagabond’s signs, but they talk anyway. Somehow Ray has gotten on the topic of trying to guess Vagabond’s name. A few months ago he wouldn’t have dared to even bring the subject up, but the mercenary doesn’t seem to mind.
He’d started with regular names, but was now guessing the most ridiculous ones he could think of in an attempt to get a laugh out of the silent mercenary.
“George Herman Phillipson the second,” Ray says after thinking for a moment.
There’s a sigh, barely audible behind that mask. Ray gets the feeling that Vagabond is rolling his eyes at him.
“Am I close?” He asks.
Vagabond shakes his head.
“Too long, too short?” Vagabond holds up his hands and moves them close together. “Shorter? Okay.”
He considers for a moment.
“Xanthos?”
There’s a quiet huff of laughter from his companion, more air than sound, and Ray grins in triumph.
‘I’ll just tell you.’
“Wait, seriously?” He must have misunderstood that, because there is no way the Vagabond is offering to tell Ray his real name. Of course, one could argue that it was no more impossible than being allowed to see his real face.
Vagabond spells something, gloved fingers moving too fast for Ray to follow.
‘Again?’ He signs back. ‘Slowly, please.’
The word is repeated, Vagabond’s hand lingering on each shape until Ray understands. He feels his mouth curl up into a pleased smile.
“Nice to meet you, Ryan.”
“How do you write down ASL?” Ray asks one day. He’s lounging against the wall at the head of his bed, and Vagabond is sitting at the foot of it, mask tossed to the side somewhere.
‘There’s two ways,’ Ryan signs. He holds up two fingers with his left hand, showing that he’s making a list. He taps the first one with his right hand, which he then uses to spell out ‘gloss’.
“What’s that?”
He drops the list to pull out his phone, something he only does lately when he wants to explain something that’s hard to do in sign. It’s pretty much just writing down the signs in the order you sign them, with some extra marks for facial expressions and stuff. It’s also sometimes written in all caps? I’m not sure why.
“What’s the other way?”
Ryan sets his phone on his lap and holds up his list again, going back to signing with his other hand. “Written ASL. It looks like a drawing of the signs. It’s pretty complicated; I don’t know it very well.”
Ray’s breath catches in his throat, because he suddenly realizes what the strange symbols on his arm are.
“Like a – a drawing of a hand with some lines and arrows around it?” He manages to force out.
‘Yeah. Why?’
“I’ve seen that before.” He pulls up his sleeve and holds his wrist out for Ryan to see.
Ryan’s mouth forms into a surprised ‘o’.
“Do you know what they say?” Ray asks hopefully.
‘Not really, but I’m guessing it says do you know ASL.’
Ray almost doesn’t dare to hope that means what he thinks it does. “How do you know?”
Instead of answering, Ryan shrugs out of his jacket and holds out his own wrist. There in neat black letters, is Let’s go, Vaga-buddy.
“Oh,” Ray says, feeling a little like he got punched in the gut and a little like a kid receiving a birthday gift all at once. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
‘Can’t say anything, remember?’ Ryan signs, a somewhat forced smile appearing.
“Shut up, you know what I mean.”
‘I was worried you wouldn’t have any words, since I technically didn’t say anything to you, and you wouldn’t know.” Ryan’s signing slower than he has since Ray first started learning to sign.
Ray scoots closer to Ryan and winds a cautious arm around his…soulmate’s…shoulders. It sounds odd, even in his mind, but also somehow right.
“I was almost convinced I’d never meet you,” he says. “No one I knew could explain what they meant.”
‘I’m sorry,’ Ryan signs. His eyes dart away from Ray’s face, focusing on the wall across from them.
“Don’t be. I’m kind of glad I got to know you without knowing what you were. Not many people get that opportunity, I’d bet,” Ray says. “Even without words, I think I’d have been interested.”
Ryan smiles, meeting Ray’s eyes again. ‘I’m glad you think so.’
Ray leans in like he’s sharing a secret. “Know what would really freak the crew out?” Ryan squeezes his eyebrows in a question. “If I had face paint all over when we see them next.”
It takes a moment for Ryan to catch on, and then he’s leaning in cautiously, although he’s still not sure of his welcome. Ray rolls his eyes, grabs Ryan’s shoulders, and pulls him close enough to push their lips together.
It’s Gavin who notices first. He walks in, looks at Ray, who’s leaning against Ryan on the couch, and does a double take. “Ray, do you have a bloody mouth?”
“What?” Michael looks over from the other couch, where he’s trying to beat Geoff and Jack at Mario Kart.
Jack pauses the game and sets down her controller, immediately going into Mom Mode. After looking closer, she shakes her head. “That’s not blood, Gav. It’s…paint?”
Ray grins proudly over at Michael. “Turns out he was not, in fact, a caveman.”