Logs:Night Elf and Purple Finch

Night Elf and Purple Finch
Dramatis Personae Anastasia Ingrid, Blink, Dawson
In Absentia	2020-05-15 "Are you demons too?!"
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. The sudden wave of long-awaited spring warmth has transformed the city. If people were relieved to get outside before, they are going outside in enthusiastic droves now. Tompkins Square Park is bustling with a lunchtime crowd, though still light on the tourist side all things considered, this only concentrates its quirky character. The dog park is full of wagging and running, the ball courts have queues, and the benches are completely filled. There's plenty of lush green grass available, though, where visitors are sprawled singly or in groups enjoying picnics or just people-watching. Blink is one of these last, sitting with her legs folded beneath her on a red-and-white gingham blanket. She's dressed minimally by her standards, but still far more modest than most others around in the sudden heat, in a soft pink 3/4 sleeve mandarin tunic with purple frog buttons across the diagonal closure and matching capris. She had on purple sandals, but has kicked them off and set them aside with her bag. Her magenta-streaked hair is done up in a neat and elaborate spiral bun that shows off its color to interesting effect, leaving her long, pointed ears clearly visible. "This is so good, by the way," she says, presumably about the half-eaten curry pastry which she is jealously guarding from bold, hopeful squirrels. "I won't tell mama, but this is better than hers." Sitting cross-legged on the blanket opposite Blink, Dawson's attire is staid as well. As usually he's extremely prosaically dressed in crisply pressed grey trousers and a white button-down, short hair combed neat. The short sleeves of his shirt leave his mechanical arm clearly visible -- unlike many prostheses it does not make any attempt to disguise itself as flesh, painted today in a birdlike feathered pattern, raspberry red and white along the underside and dappled darker with brown along the top. "Hive's had a lot of practice lately. I mean, he was always a good cook, but there's been -- a lot more time. Maybe not so great for his bank account but lucky for the rest of us." He leans back, propping himself on the robo-arm, and nibbles on a puff of his own held in fleshier fingers. He's glancing from the squirrels up to one of the trees nearby with a small twitch of smile as a bright yellow and black finch lights on a branch. Anastasia wandered into this park at the sound of the barking dogs. After staying the night at the other park a few blocks over, she left to explore new grounds. It had left an uneasy feeling in her chest after recent encounters. Like wounds that just begun to heal had been aggravated. It was her own fault for assuming that people outside her home and the church were any different from them. She shouldn't have been so open. She was dressed in her usual attire; a dark hoodie with a band logo on the front, a black shirt with a catchy phrase she didn't understand underneath, dark navy blue pleated skirt that was overshadowed by her top, black stockings that at some point had torn, and matching ballet flats. She had picked these clothes initially because they went with her hair though the store she wandered in seemed to have favored black regardless. Her dark hair was just a bit disheveled and stopped just below her bottom. She had a dark brown satchel draped over her body and she held the strap protectively with both hands. While her clothes weren't the neatest they were still somewhat new. What stood out was her pale skin and dark circles; she looked unhealthy. She had first been out going for food when she heard the dogs. Deciding to wait, she wandered into the park, taking in the new scene with much enthusiasm on her face. Quietly she walked, not minding so many people. They all looked so happy. Her eyes settled on Blink...And she blinked, confused before she took in Dawson's appearance, but more specifically his arm. They were strange. They looked different, especially Blink. She had yet to see anyone so different. She stopped on the side walk, just across the way from the green grass where people were picnicking. She wanted to ask them about their differences. She wondered how similar were they to her. But she couldn't move her feet, nervously shifting on each foot. What if they weren't very nice like the last people? Was it worth the risk? "Yeah a bunch of Sunyatans got up to that, too, but uh..." Blink scrunches up one side of her face. "Well, there was a lot of white people chili and lentils, so..." She shrugs dramatically. "Let's just say it didn't taste much worse when I lost my sense of smell." Her eyes, disturbingly taken up almost entirely by gigantic and unnaturally dark green irises, follow Dawson's gaze up. "Oh, that's a goldfinch --" She breaks off when she spots Anastasia in her peripheral vision, then finishes the question a bit dubiously. "-- right?" Turns more fully to the teenager. "Can I help you?" Her tone is not harsh, but kind of flat. "Oh noooo." Dawson's wince is exaggerated. "Just. Huge pots of cumin beans. And yeah, American goldfinch." He confirms this with a bob of his head and a small curl of smile creasing at his heavily scarred face. He sits up, spreads the fingers of his mechanical hand to peer at the finch through it. "This one's a finch, too, just --" He breaks off with this thought unfinished. Drops his hand back to the blanket to follow Blink's look with a -- slightly birdlike -- tilt of his own head. He sets the unfinished half of his curry puff down on a napkin in his lap. The small smile fixes in place, his weight settling back on his organic arm this time. "Hey. Did you need something?" Oh! They caught her staring! Well, it wasn't like she was hiding, but still. Her back instinctively straightened and she looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Ah um-..." She opened her mouth to speak, but no real words came out. She didn't know what to say! She knew what she had wanted to ask, but would it do more harm than good? She wrung her hands around the strap of her satchel as if that would provide her some relief from her anxiety, but it only served to make her treatment of the poor nylon more constant. She turned on her feet, facing away from them as if she was just going to leave, but then she turned right back around to face them. It was their faces; their unusual features and scars. They couldn't be normal right? They had to be like her right? She had started to suspect that she wasn't alone from her last encounter, but she didn't have any definitive proof. Their obvious differences solidified it right? Was she really not alone? "Are you demons too?!" She moved closer to them and blurted out. Her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Her face had a level of seriousness and panic all mixed into one. She didn't mean any harm by her statement, but she wanted so desperately to know. Blink's expression softens as she watches the young person fidget, but then at the question she stiffens. "Demons," she echoes, not questioning. "Some people think so, but I'm going more for 'night elf' here and he's clearly a purple finch." Her unsettling eyes remain fixed on Anastasia as she takes another bite of her curry puff, chewing slowly. The smile hurries away from Dawson's face. Some of his waxmelt-network of scars twist tighter as his lips press thin. He shifts on the blanket, turning just slightly. Away from Anastasia, facing Blink a little further. "Original," he says, quiet. "But what we are is trying to finish our lunch. If you don't mind." Their statements didn't seem to clear up any questions she had. "...Night Elf...Purple Finch.." She repeated as if it would help her understand better, but it really didn't. "But a Finch is a bird and-..." That didn't make any sense. Were they not being serious? She looked at them and then down at her feet a bit dejected. She overstepped. She was disturbing them. "Right...I'm sorry. Enjoy your lunch." How could she have assumed they were even remotely similar? They were outside, unabashed by the people around them despite their unique appearances. They couldn't be similar. She stepped back quietly to leave.