In passing.

Ian

It was after sundown, but not yet late enough that Washington Park had cleared of visitors. Joggers ran in staggered numbers down the winding trails. A group of teenagers occupied one of the fields for a game of soccer, shouting rambunctiously over muted din of passing cars. A few couples were playing doubles in the tennis court.

Ian wasn't running tonight, as he often did. Instead he occupied a patch of ground beneath a couple of tall, overhanging trees. The grass beneath his feet was cold and brittle from winter, but the unseasonably warm temperatures had melted the last snowfall. It'd been like that for months, snowing and melting in sporadic bursts.

He was rehearsing something. Or at least, it looked it. Testing out how certain moves flowed and letting them settle into his muscle memory. Dancing alone in the park at night without music. Stopping and starting periodically with slow, measured movements. His expression was focused and withdrawn. With the temperature in the 40's, he had on only a sleek black windbreaker over his athletic clothes (the lower half of which consisted of running shoes and a pair of 3/4 length sweats with cargo pockets.)

Grace

The park holds a special place in Grace's heart. She knows she's not alone in coming to see the lake, just for the prospect of getting to talk to The Message again. But today has her wondering why...

Why did she decide to step out of the nice warm Inside and go to the Big Room? It's a refrigerator in here. Colder than a refrigerator, even. At least she had the presence of mind to bundle up in her coat, gloves, and that scarf Kalen bought her for Christmas. His gifts are practically the only vehicle through which Grace manages to show a sense of fashion. Underneath all that, she's got jeans and old sneakers on. It's a strange mix of upscale cashmere, wool, and grubby. Whatever, eh? It's not like she cares.

There's a trail of crushed crunchy grass behind her that meanders, because this free spirit does not enjoy being constrained by sidewalks. And then, she sees Ian. It's hard to mistake him, even at a distance. Few other people in the city are such graceful dancers. The meandering stops, and instead, she shuffles over to him in a straight line, hands in her pockets to keep warm.

Arionna de la Babin

[feeelsins the feels]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )

Arionna de la Babin

Arionna was not jogging. She was not playing soccer. She was not dancing or engaging in any form of physical activity. Instead she does what she often does, and she simply walks. Spring is coming, a season her mother would rejoice in, being her own embodiment of it. Odd how Ari took to winter; the season of death and slumber. With the last throes of winter so near, it seemed only right that she should walk and enjoy what little remained.

The moon would be peeking over soon, and she would feel the pull of it. But for now... she only walked.

The others slid into her perception soon enough, though the true intensity of it was deeply muted compared to their previous encounters. It might be her own ties with the moon, or perhaps...she was merely preoccupied in her thoughts. The cup of coffee in her hand expelled steam through the small hole, and Arionna took a moment to sip from it. Did she dare it? T hat was often the million dollar question. Was it worth it?

Ultimately, she decided on a small, and almost insignificant 'yes.' Her steps deviated, moving slowly towards the sensation.

Ian

[oh look, resonance]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )

Ian

Temperature could be such a subjective thing. For someone from a warm climate, 40-odd degrees might seem like scarf weather. For someone used to the cold, it felt like spring.

He didn't look up at first when he felt Grace drawing near, keeping his focus on what he was doing. His awareness of her was an instinctive thing - the way he was aware of the trees and the wind. He heard the shuffle of her feet behind him. Felt her resonance shift and soar. She was something familiar. He never seemed to mind when she watched him.

Arionna was... less familiar. But her approach was slow and distant. Ian waited until she was within easy earshot before he stopped dancing and turned to regard first Grace and then her. Grace got a small, knowing smile. (It always seemed like he was keeping some kind of secret.)

"What, no basketball tonight?"

Grace

[Magedar!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Grace

"I don't basketball," Grace says, in a complete lie. "I just sometimes crash other people's games when they beg me to. You must have me confused with someone who owns..." balls? No. That would be bad. Don't say that. "Sporting equipment."

She skips up, breathing in the cold. And she is cold, this southern desert creature. Phoenix is not known for its freezing temperatures, after all. She almost doesn't tie it to Arionna, but then... oh yes. Her.

Oh well. You shouldn't let people get to you, any more than you should the cold. Arionna is her Arionna's problem to deal with, as we all are. Still, one of Grace's hands pokes out of her coat, gives Ari a wave. It's a brief thing. Hopefully, it won't be seen as too fucking altruistic.

Arionna de la Babin

If Ari had felt supremely comfortable with the situation, and the people, she might have found Grace's demeanor amusing; in some way she still did. They both seemed to lack social capabilities, though in amazingly different ways. Perhaps that's (part of) the reason why they don't get along quite so well. The others were...self evident to those in the know of her person.

She pauses nearby, close enough to talk, far enough to give them all space from her, more for her than them. "You're doing better." Better from last they met, when he left rather quickly. Grace's small wave casts a glance her way and Ari....sips her coffee. Not an overly active individual.

Ian

Arionna surmised that Ian was doing better than he had been upon their last encounter, to which Ian offered her a look that felt blandly cryptic (almost dismissive.) He didn't humor the assumption with a verbal response. Instead, his attention slid back to Grace.

"Oh I see. That was a different Grace I played last time. Your more fun twin. Does that make you the evil one?" His aloof expression melted in a subtle grin. "You should give me her number." He trotted back a few steps, glancing at the tree overhead. There was an hint of animal energy in the way he moved. The ready way he rested his weight on the balls of his feet, like any moment he might spring into motion. And sure enough, a moment later he jumped up and grabbed the overhanging branch, hanging there experimentally to be sure the tree would hold his weight before he swung and landed closer to Arionna.

"Arionna, right? From the Pho place?"

Grace

"I have to grow a goatee before I can be considered the evil one. Duh. I though everyone knew that," Grace says, totally dry.

She watches him do his little jumps and swings, and rolls her eyebrows. But there's a little smirk there too. She's only slightly mocking his showing off. After all, if you've got it, flaunt it, right?

"Arionna and I, uh... at least share one thing in common. We both have an appreciation for noodle shops."

Arionna de la Babin

"They also cackle. Villains cackle. Terribly. Sometimes they have a mustache that they twirl. A sort of Dali-esque, though hardly as grandiose. " She cast a glance towards Grace. "I think the mustache would suit you. But now the usual goatee. Far too tame and boring." Though Grace wasn't on her list of most entertaining people. She only seemed less of a mundane, and more of the sort of person who might twirl their mustache, if given one.

Maybe Ian was showing off. That was typical of men, was it not? A youthful male, in his reproductive prime meets a youthful girl in her reproductive prime, and naturally one must woo the other. So does the dance go. So when he hangs, and jumps, Arionna takes a step back and gives a small cant of her head. Mostly his actions are interesting (though it didn't help that he did have a very nice figure and face).

"Yes. I enjoy food. Culturally different. Noodles is part of that. "

Arionna de la Babin

[ARE.. noodles ARE. holy crap english]

Cala

Doors open for her.

They always have.

Small doors and large doors, locked doors, every door she has ever encountered. Some of the doors are more metaphorical than others, but even the most literal ones - they click.

Open.

--

Here's one of the arts a refugee learns: how to disappear in plain sight. How to slip beneath the ordinary radar. How to seem like part of the room. How to drift with but not of the crowd. How to settle for a time - to alight - against a bench, on one's own haunches, meditative as the light sky darkens and the strangers start to desert the park. Time to go, which she knows with a glance at the sky and something else - something (distant) - that pulls her upright from the energy-conserving reverie, the slip-through-the-spaces determination with which she lives this life.

Across the lake, just on the other side of the boathouse, someone looks up.

Senses the skim of energy in the air. Closes her eyes to feel the beat of it against her senses.

And: gets up.

Walks the other way.

Cala

Too far away for Arionna to sense her, but both Ian and Grace feel the brief brush of a stranger's resonance against their senses. Distant, then gone. It feels like a key sliding into a lock. Simple, slight.

Cala

(That was just a cameo, guys. I've gotta get up early to hike through the neverending snowstorm and below 0 temperatures to get to work tomorrow, so need to get my rest now. :) night!)

Ian

"I would genuinely like to see Grace grow a Dali mustache," Ian mused, eyeing Grace's features in this sharply appraising way - as though he were painting the picture in his mind. "She wouldn't be the cackling type though. She'd be the kind who sneaks up on people."

Maybe he was showing off, a little. Maybe he was just finding ways to keep his body warmed up. Arionna was a good 6 years younger than he was, which... was not an insignificant number. (Though Elijah had been the same age, hadn't he?) Either way, the gesture was more playful than luring. And when Arionna stepped back to widen the space between them, he didn't follow.

"I prefer sushi, but Pho will do in a pinch..."

His voice paused and trailed off in a beat of silence, and he glanced over his shoulder as though he'd heard (or felt) something that distracted him. A brief skim of his eyes across the lake. Hunting. But whatever he was looking for, he turned away a moment later.

"You go to school?" (This to Arionna.)