Archive of Our Own ^beta

Parker tilted her head, squinting thoughtfully at the wind tossing the fallen leaves on the ground. “Hey… do you think the wind has an accent?”

Eliot glanced at her, brushing his hair from his face as the gusts whipped it around. “An accent?”

His voice carried the faintest hint of that slow, soft Oklahoman drawl, barely noticeable unless you listened. “Well… that’d depend on… where it’s comin’ from, I s’pose.”

Hardison snorted. “Right, because somehow a breeze from New York suddenly has a snappy tone and one from L.A. is like, mellow?”

Nate chuckled and shook his head. “Logically, wind doesn’t speak, so no accent—but if you anthropomorphize it, its ‘voice’ would match the region: sharp mountain gusts, soft coastal breezes.”

Sophie smiled in turn. “Accents are patterns of speech, so if the wind mimicked its surroundings, it would pick up regional character—brash in the Scottish highlands, delicate in Paris.”

Parker’s eyes went wide. “So… Oklahoma wind would sound like… a cowboy?”

Eliot grinned in amusement, the drawl just barely coloring his words. “Yeah… reckon that’s about right. Slow, warm… like it’s wanderin’ through the plains.”

He glanced at Parker, smirking. “Ya’ve got quite the imagination.”

Hardison laughed. “Now I’m just picturing a cowboy wind tippin’ its hat at me.”

Nate shook his head again, amused. “Eliot’s probably the only person who could make a prairie wind sound charming and somehow believable.”

Parker leaned closer to Eliot as a gust tousled her blonde strands. “Well, if the wind’s gonna have an accent… I hope it’s yours.”

Eliot’s eyes softened, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Heh… well, I’d be proud to be the voice of a breeze for ya.”