Logs:Brave and Lucky

Brave and Lucky
Dramatis Personae Amber, Flicker, Steve
In Absentia	2020-03-13 ~You help remind people that chivalry isn't dead.~
Location <NYC> Central Park
Perhaps the most famous urban green space in the world, Central Park's over 800 acres of green and blue is a popular escape from the City's hustle and bustle for residents and visitors alike. It houses not only stands of trees and water features, but Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. Those areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. Spring has come early to New York City, but despite the mild weather not many have taken to the park to enjoy the sunlight or the myriad blooming flowers. Other than the more or less perennial fixtures, the winding wooded paths and broad green fields are quiet but for the birdsong and the ever-present distant din of traffic. Despite the pandemic and the state of emergency, Steve has been strolling leisurely through the depths of the park. He's wearing a heather blue t-shirt, black slacks, and black combat boots, all smelling strongly and pleasantly of coffee. His right hand is loosely wrapped in clean white gauze. At the moment he's paused to peer up into the canopy, squinting at the dappled sunlight as he attempts to locate the source of a particularly bright chirping. "It's hard to find a *good* side to a horrifying pandemic, but --" Beside Steve, Flicker is holding up a pair of binoculars for the other man, a slight smile on his heavily scarred face as he points across to where a small glossy black bird with a steel blue sheen is ruffling its feathers up in the branches of a distant hornbeam. "I've *never* seen a purple martin here before. There's been barely a dozen seen here in decades." For his part he is dressed in neatly pressed khakis, a grey-trimmed green polo shirt; there's a thermos held in one hand. His other, holding the the binoculars, is very clearly and distinctly mechanical -- segmented and painted up with black-speckled brown feathers and a flash of yellow on the inner arm, the prosthetic doesn't make any attempt to disguise itself as flesh. A person could only stay inside so long before cabin fever starts setting in. While Amber had been far from that kind of restless, she did have a schedule to keep up with. Instead of waiting a few hours, she had gone out to the park earlier than normal. She had spent her night away from her body, walking around the park for hours until the alarm clock had woken her. Since then, she had been eager to get to the park and see it during the day light. It was beautiful, but cast in shades of grey it lacked the eye catching wonder she had seen hours earlier. The view was bitter sweet, but it only helped her focus on her rhythm and stride. Her black shoes hit the pavement in regular beats, her sweatpants keeping her legs semi-comfortable from the chill of the air. Every one in a while, she would adjust the straps of the mini backpack she had over her chest. It carried everything she would need for a jog, which admittedly wasn't much: water, cell phone, and baton. Her whistle was tucked securely under her red under armor long-sleeve, a green oversized T-shirt hiding the small bulge from view. The outfit was... not color coordinated to say the least, but she didn't seem to care. As she rounded a corner, she could see two people in the distance and considered turning back. When she realized she would need to break stride to do so, she instantly dropped the thought. She had been keeping a great pace, and was not about to let her paranoid mind convince her it was safer to go back. Amber was getting ready to pick up her pace, but her ankle rolled under her. She pitched to the side, rolling into the fall, and stopped on her butt with her back to the two men. Adrenaline coursed through her from the fall, pain burning its way deep into her ankle and dripping slowly into her foot. She cursed under her breath and grabbed her ankle, seeing if it would move. It did! But the pain got worse. She scooted off to the side, partially into the grass, and rolled onto one knee. She managed to get up and slowly lowered her injured ankle to see if it would bear weight. The wince told her it probably wasn't the best idea, but the worse idea was sitting around in the park until she felt better. She was not about to let herself be a sitting duck. She spotted a bench, perhaps half way between her and the two men. If she could make it there, she would pull out her phone and see if someone could come pick her up. Steve follows Flicker's gesture, accepting the binoculars without taking his gaze off the spot indicated, and lifts them to his eyes. His faint smile comes just a beat ahead of "I see him. Defiant-looking fella. But shy, too?" He glances aside at Flicker, eyebrows slightly uplifted. "I guess a lot of birds aren't fond of --" Something at the very edge of his peripheral vision catches his attention. Steve pivots, smooth and inhumanly fast, placing himself between the sudden movement and Flicker before Amber hits the ground and likely before he fully registers what he's looking at. Relaxing out of the combat stance he had just begun to adopt, his alert expression shifts to a frown of concern. "Do you need help, Miss?" he calls out. Not waiting for a reply, he's already bending to scoop up the backpack Flicker had left beside the path, handing it to his companion as he makes his way over towards the injured jogger. "It's real early for this one to be up so far north," Flicker explains quietly. His smile softens as Steve watches the bird; he rocks back on a heel, sipping slowly at his drink. "I don't know if they're shy so much as that the park isn't really -- mm. These guys actually have kind of a synanthropic relationship with people. Folks leave gourds outside gardens for them to nest in so that they --" He breaks off abruptly as Steve moves; his motion is lightning-fast, too, although harder to track. Just a tiny blip-shift of movement that reorients him to stand (much more casually) behind Steve, his thermos capped once more and his brows slightly hiked. He follows after Steve, taking the backpack but keeping just a little bit more distance as they approach. Amber heard someone call out to her and tried to wave them off. This was working up to a bad scenario she had trained for, and it was not helping the voice in the back of her mind that had been screaming to turn back. She was injured in a nearly empty public space, and now had the attention of two strangers. There was so much room for this to go wrong. Even if she could use her whistle or phone, it would take time for someone to come if the two approaching her meant her any harm. Still, she hobbled towards the bench despite the distance between them growing smaller, trying not to put too much weight on her foot. She bit her lip when she realized they were not going to leave. It was a split second choice: talk and sound sick and have them running for the hills or start using sign language in hopes that they would be there to help. Her eyes glanced over both as she considered it. The closer one seemed genuinely concerned, and the other man was keeping a polite distance. She noted the scars and prosthetic. No way they would be up to no good when they would be so easily identifiable. She pointed to herself and began signing slowly. ~I'm ok. Hurt my ankle. I just need to get to the bench.~ Steve slows his approach when Amber seems diffident. Lifts his hands slightly to show he is only holding a pair of binoculars. Then blinks uncomprehendingly when her hands start to move. He glances back at Flicker helplessly, then back at Amber. Then, hesitantly, he raises his voice. "Hi, are you a deaf-mute?" He speaks slowly, over-enunciating each word. "Can we help?" Flicker is still hanging back behind Steve, slipping the thermos into a side mesh pocket on the backpack and shifting the pack up onto one shoulder. He stops as Steve talks, his eyebrows hiking up higher and his hand lifting to scrub his palm against his cheek -- briefly, his hand hastily dropping to his side after this. A deep flush has shot through his face, throwing the knotted waxmelt scarring twisted through his skin into starker relief. "Steve --" There's a bit of groan dragging this name out longer. "She -- they hurt their ankle. Need to get to the bench." An apologetic wince crosses his expression before he addresses Amber herself -- his own signing is quick, smooth, if clearly not quite expressive enough to be that of a native signer. 'Hurt bad? You need help? Phone call? A hand to the bench? I have some ACE bandage or advil too.' A hand swung up abruptly at the question, bringing the palm to Amber's forehead with a loud snap. She dragged her hand down her face and eyes locking on him like she was debating something. When she heard the second person pipe up, she made a mental note of the name and quickly dropped her hand when he began to sign. Someone up there was looking out for her! He could sign! The fact that he looked embarrassed for his friend made her smile slightly, though with the pain flashing across her face she worried it made her look a little cynical. His own wince had her attempting to appear fine, not wanting to scare away the people who might actually want to help her. She replied to the series of questions in order: ~No, no, no, yes, yes please. I can hear, so you don't need to sign if it's easier to talk. Steve is a little~ She hazard a glance at him before looking back at his friend. ~special, no?~ She reached over to Steve, gently grabbing his forearm just below the elbow to keep her balance. She would have rather reached for the other man, but he was too far away. Steve glances at Flicker again, nonplussed at his tone, but nods his agreement at the explanation even if he transfers his staring to /Flicker's/ hands when he signs his reply. Then back to Amber, like a golden retriever at a tennis game. He offers his arm readily when reached for and makes for a steady crutch, gamely adjusting his gait to provide more even support. "Can you ask her -- them? -- how bad it is?" He asks Flicker as they move to the bench. "Whether they need first aid..." He blushes suddenly. "Sorry, that's certainly more your wheelhouse than mine!" "Um --" Flicker scrunches one eye up, sucking his cheeks briefly inward as Steve talks. "I'm -- sorry, it's --you can ask yourself, they can hear. Sorry, I -- he's just, uh. Old." He trails after the others, fingers squeezing tight at the handle of his backpack. "Are you hurt bad? Is there someone we can call?" He still hangs back several feet from the bench even once they have reached it, plucking his phone from his pocket instead but not yet dialing anyone. "Do you need some ibuprofen? Or help wrapping it? -- Oh, gosh, where are my manners. I'm Flicker -- is there something I can call you?" Amber quickly adjusted to the support, trusting Steve to allow her to lean on him as she hopped to the bench. She patted his arm when he blushed, trying to get his attention. She signed slowly, mouthing the words as she did so. ~Thank you.~ She sat down and pulled on her pantleg carefully, hefting her ankle onto the opposite thigh. Her gaze went back to Flicker, head tilting slightly as he spoke. ~Old? Oh! My name is Amber! Sorry to cause you trouble. Yes, painkillers would be great. I should be able to wrap it myself, it only feels sprained. No, no. Mom and Dad are working. I will text some friends.~ She slid the backpack off of her and opened it up, pulling out the water bottle and the cell phone. She did her best to hide the baton, zipping the bag up quickly. She watched Flicker, noting his hold on the straps. Had she made him upset? Or was he uncomfortable? She offered a smile, trying to diffuse whatever was causing his tension. ~I promise, I don't bite.~ Her eyebrows drew together after she signed it, then she shook her head. ~I won't bite.~ Steve does a double take at Flicker. "She can --" He manages to catch himself this time, still blushing furiously. "Ah, you're welcome," he says as he steps back to where Flicker stands, still speaking a touch slower than he might usually, though nothing near as exaggerated as before. His eyes follow Amber's hands as she signs, fascinated. Belatedly, he tucks the binoculars into the front pocket of Flicker's backback. If he notices the weapon in Amber's, he gives no indication of alarm. "Amber," Flicker echoes, nodding, "nice to meet you. It's no trouble." He crouches, unzipping his own bag to get out a bright red zippered pack marked with a red cross -- the stretchy ace bandage he pulls from it is sealed in its plastic packaging. Then a small bottle of ibuprofen. When he glances up it's with another blush, a slight duck of his head. "Oh -- oh! Sorry, no, I -- I didn't think you were --" He shakes his head. The bandage and the pill bottle disappear from his hand -- -- and, in very nearly the same instant, reappear to land neatly (with a quiet rattle of pills) on the bench several inches from Amber's side. "It's not you, it's just this whole, ah. COVID-19 thing, you know? I'm not sick," he hastens to assure her. "I just don't have the greatest immune system and only just got over the last thing that tried to kill my lungs before this pandemic started. I'm probably being overly cautious but I've been taking this social distancing pretty, ah, serious." Amber ran her thumb over her sore ankle, absently trying to locate the most sore areas while she listened to Flicker. She couldn't help but smile at the blush. She wasn't sure why he kept doing that, but it made him seem far too innocent for what his scars said about him. No matter how he had gotten them, he went through something. She wanted to say she understood, let him know she had been through some stuff in her own life; but dismissed the idea. His scars were not about her. One moment, she saw him holding the medical supplies, and in the next they were gone. Her eyes stayed on him even as the pill bottle gave a faint rattle. Her free hand shot out to the bottle, steadying it and the contents. She offered Steve a short glance, making sure he hadn't moved, then settled on what was trapped under her hand. Her eyes widened just slightly as the realization hit her. He had moved the bottle and wrap to her, without moving. Trying to act like that was totally normal, she picked up the pill bottle and opened it, tapping the bottle against the edge of the cap until two pills dropped into it. She tilted the cap until the pills dropped into the same hand that was holding the bottle, then capped it and sat the bottle back down. She popped the pills in her mouth and took a drink of water, looking back at him. ~Yes, sorry. I wasn't thinking about that.~ She wrapped her ankle carefully, going as low as her shoe would allow. When she was done, she pulled her pantleg down to cover the bandage and looked between them again. Something her father said came to mind. ~You are very brave Flicker, and lucky.~ Steve is quiet, though he looks not too troubled that he can only follow Flicker's end of the conversation. He does tense at Flicker's mention of the pandemic, his jaw tightening briefly. "I don't know if you have as much concern for it yourself," he tells Amber, "but you shouldn't need to worry about catching anything from me, at least." He gives an encouraging smile. "Steve has some kind of super-soldier special. All the bonus immune system that I'm lacking. Coronavirus doesn't stand a chance with him." Flicker's expression is quite serious, but there's a quiet amusement buried in his tone. "All good?" His eyes have tracked Amber's expression with -- just a touch of extra caution after his teleporting medicine delivery -- though once she accepts the pills there's a subtle easing to his posture, shoulders relaxing as he hitches his backpack back into place and stands again. "I'm -- brave? Lucky?" His head tips to one side, slight and almost birdlike. "For -- why?" Amber nodded slightly at Steve, watching him but signing for Flicker to interpret. ~I am careful, but if I stayed inside much longer, I would have lost my mind. I needed fresh air. I'm not sick either, thankfully.~ Her gaze went back to Flicker, the news of Steve's special and the name suddenly snapping into place. If he was indeed the Steve, she was as safe as it got! Too bad her dad would never believe who she had run into, on a near literal level. ~Yes, thank you.~ Her chest ached at the question. For anyone to do what Flicker had done, so openly, and not realize the courage it took... She picked up her phone, stalling for a moment as she thought over how to reply. She placed the phone in her lap with a sigh. When she began signing, it was with a furious pace, as though she wanted to make sure no one else (in the practically empty park) would catch a glimpse. ~Mutants aren't looked at kindly. To be yourself, and have friends who accept you as you are, is something most people only wish for.~ Flicker winces slightly, nodding along with Amber in understanding. "-- Yeah, no, I totally get that. -- uh, that staying inside too long makes you kind of lose your mind," he adds to Steve. "Trying to balance being careful with mental health is -- a lot. Kind of figure that just makes it more important than ever to --" He gestures between himself and Steve, and Amber. "Look after each other, you know?" He falls quiet after this -- there's only a slight furrow to his brow, teeth digging into his lip as he watches the intensity of Amber's signing. His eyes flick between her and Steve, one mechanical finger tapping lightly at the strap of his bag. When he does speak again it's slower - just a bit more deliberate, just a bit more thoughtful. "No, you're right," he echoes, "mutants aren't looked at kindly, and I am very blessed to have friends --" with a slight nod to Steve, "who accept me. An entire community who does, actually. There are a lot of us in New York, you know? I can't say that it always makes it easy -- there's always going to be dangers to living openly -- but having the support and solidarity of my community makes it worth it, I think." Steve's lips press together, and he tips a small nod at Flicker. "That's more or less why we're out here." His smile comes bright and easy now. "And it is just such a lovely day." The turn in the conversation seems to startle him slightly, and he opens his mouth before closing it again. Gives his head a quick shake. "It's not right, how things are for mutants," he agrees. "Yet the folks who went out of their way for me before anyone knew my history -- were mutants. I think looking after each other is its own kind of courage, and its own blessing." Amber looked between them, keeping her phone cradled in her hands. She rubbed one corner of the device with her thumb, trying to put a polite smile in place as they talked. They didn't sound wrong, quite the opposite. It sounded wonderful. But she had yet to fully accept herself for who she was, so how could she ask anyone else to do the same for her? Besides, it wasn't the same. There was no way for her to show she was different, and no way to protect herself against other mutants. They had a choice. She let her phone go, her gaze flicking between the two as she signed once more. ~Looking after anyone takes courage. But to be so open seems more detached from the world. People target you for what you are, not who.~ She licked her lips quickly and letting out a small rush of air. ~Just be careful, ok? We need people like you two.~ She lifted her injured ankle, trying to lighten the mood she had created. ~You help remind people that chivalry isn't dead.~ Steve tucks his bandaged hand beneath the opposite arm, his expression a study in neutral if slightly perplexed interest, his eyes flicking occasionally to Flicker. When Amber finishes, he offers her a polite dip of her head. "Well, Miss, I'm glad we were able to help you, even if only a little. I hope the rest of your journey today is less eventful." Flicker's speckle-painted finger taps a bit faster, sharp and staccato against the strap of his bag. His teeth suck inward at his lower lip. Lightly at first, but then harder, biting down as he edges closer to Steve. Stops juuust shy of leaning his weight up against the other man's side. There's a brighter cheer in his voice when he finally does speak again. "Little known fact but reminding people chivalry isn't dead is actually the primary driving aim of the LDS Church." Now he does rest a hand on Steve's arm. "You going to be be alright, Miss?" Amber watched the two, resigning herself to being once more alone. It wasn't any different than before, she had gone through it often. Still, it didn't feel any better. The racism she had heard for hears always made it hard to open up to people, especially mutants, about herself. Her fists clenched tight at the last question. It was like a life line, being thrown one last time. It should have been simple. ~What? This?~ Her fist drooped in reply, one of few indications that she felt otherwise. ~Yes.~ She motioned to the pill bottle and her ankle again, looking concerned. ~What can I do to repay you guys? Or, how can I return the wrap at least? It's crazy out here now, but maybe when it settles down?~ A half smile peeked into view when she realized the answers she might get. ~And don't give me that civic duty crap. I mean it.~ "No, really, it's nothing. I mean, I picked a miserable time to go back to med school --" Though Flicker sounds oddly chipper about it all the same, "-- but trust me my apartment is usually swimming in stray medical supplies. Just -- take care out here, yeah? I have this sinking feeling anyway that this whole pandemic situation won't leave you short of opportunities to pay it forward." His smile is bright; he bobs his head in a quick nod to Amber. His weight sags a little more heavily against Steve's side, fingers closing more firmly against the taller man's arm. The flutter of motion that follows is lightning-quick and almost too fast to track. For just the briefest instant there is a ghostly sort of afterimage that hovers along the path -- a trail of blurred silhouette-imagery of Steve and Flicker left briefly in the wake of their path before they've vanished altogether off through the trees.