ArchivedLogs:Chasing Fireflies

Chasing Fireflies
Dramatis Personae Dorian, Isak, Morgan
In Absentia	2014-17-07 Freaks in the park
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These 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. The summer sun is not quite setting over Central Park, but the shadows are beginning to lengthen on this wonderfully comfortable summer's day. The park is fairly crouded with tourists this evening, as they mill about the iconic park, consulting maps and guide books and various apps on various devices. Fireflies have begun to dance along the green spaces, illuminating the shadows beneath the stands of trees, the occasional child pulling at a parents hand and asking to go chase the fireflies aross the expanses. Among one of the darkening areas beneath the trees, one person has apparently given in to the temptation of chasing the lightening-bugs that flitter through the area. Not exactly a child, Dorian is bouncing around gleefully in the grassy area, bounding around the trees after a swirling group of fireflies, occasionally dropping to all fours temporarily. Dressed in a pair of worn denim shorts and a very loose fitting tank top, he has done nothing to mask his physical mutations - dark brown fur coats his shoulders and the tops of his arms, occasionally interrupted with long-healed scars. This matches the long, tapering tail that flails along behind him as he bounces about. The fairly obvious mutant is oblivious to the occasional glances and whispers, or the people giving him a wide berth - he is too wrapped up in chasing fireflies. There's a curl of smoke coming from a nearby bench. The smoke is coming from a cigarette pinched between the long fingers of Isak Blomgren. His blonde hair is stylishly messy. He's wearing a loose-fitting v-neck t-shirt with white linen shorts and a pair of boat shoes. There's an anchor pendant around his neck and designer sunglasses on his head. He has a plastic cup of something slushy from a coffee house balanced on one knee. He really doesn't /mean/ to be one of the nosy onlookers watching Dorian romp around in the twilight, but it rather begs attention. In mismatched jogging clothes and hair pulled back into a bouncy ponytail, Morgan trots through the park. Shes lead by a massive wolf-like shepherd on a long, red lead and would likely be one of those people giving Dorian a wide berth if not for the dog setting the course. The distracting static of loud rock music follows her, trailing out from her earbuds. It goes well with the woman's stern, determined expression. Overly trusting of the animal, she follows the shepherd's path in the otter boys direction. On her way, the blonde quite regally breaks through the cloud of what is presumed to be cigarette smoke from Isak. She doesnt cough or even bat a lash at it. Dorian is unbothered by the nearby smoke, or the disapproving stares and occasional snicker - at least while he is bounding about after the fireflies. Bouncing around the tree again, Dorian freezes when he sees the dog heading towards him, his eyes wide in surprise as he is suddenly reminded that he is actually in public, where there are other people. Without another step or bound, Dorian unceremonially plops himself down at the base of the tree he had just been running around, fireflies forgotten. He is barely winded, taking very deep breaths slowly, his eyes on the large dog in front of him as he sits very, very still. The impression he gives is not entirely unlike that of an animal that seems to worry that it has been sighted by a predator. Glancing around nervously to see if anyone was going to do anything, he nervously holds out a scarred hand, palm up, toward the dog, an invitation to sniff. Everything else about him seems to drop into a subtly submissive posture if the dog keeps approaching, his shoulders relaxed and down, the tiny little rounded ears hidden in the rumpled curls of his hair in a neutral position. "Hi," he finally squeaks, both at owner and at the dog, still frozen anxiously in place. It's quite the scene, and Isak watches it with raised eyebrows and a look of interest, cigarette held against his lips. He takes a slow drag and exhales just as slowly. There seems to be more smoke than a single cigarette should produce. "I do hope he's had all his shots," he drawls. Hard to say if he means the dog or Dorian. The dog doesnt reduce his speed until hes nearly right up on Dorian, at which point he juts sharply to jump the young man but mid-air, is pulled back on his harness. "Shit!" Morgan is jerked forward by the weight of her dog before she pulls back on its reign with a toned arm. "Alpha, fucking heel!" Her earbuds get torn out during the commotion and dangle at her collarbones, blasting music out to go along with the dogs excited barking. Too preoccupied to yet speak to anyone else, Morgan briefly shoots Dorian a look of blame. There's a momentary look of hurt at the commentary about shots, and Dorian retracts the offered hand suddenly, the first move he has made in several long moments. He brings his arms across his chest, the offered hand rubbing nervously at the dark fur of his bicep. Perhaps he was about to provide an answer, but whatever it is is lost in a terrified squeak as the dog lunges at him. With surprisingly quick reflexes, Dorian throws his arms up around his head, forearms blocking his face, cowering into a defensive position. He is pressed back against the tree and otherwise unmoving while the dog barks excitedly. "{I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry,}" Dorian babbles in fluid French, the words pouring out in a jumble that may only be barely understandable, "I didn't mean to cause a scene or bother anyone or do anything wrong. I didn't think I'd broken any rules, I was just playing. I was just playing, please don't hurt me. I'll go. I'll... I'll go." Isak stands up and moves towards the chaos. "Hey, kid. It's not your fault. This lady needs to fucking control her dog." He moves around the dog, closer to Dorian than the animal and its owner. He looks over to Dorian. "You don't have to go anywhere." He exhales from the cigarette, then crushes the butt beneath the toe of his shoe. "Alpha, Heirr! Platz!" Morgan snarls after wracking her brain a moment, commanding the dog to snap to attention before hitting the deck, laying down with a bit too much exuberance. She puffs a whisp of loose bang from her eyes. You gonna fucking talk about me like I'm not here or you gonna offer me a fucking cigarette after that?" Morgan flashes her eyes from Isak to Dorian, "You," her index finger flies up authoritatively, but its obvious she knows she doesn't have a leg to stand on, "I apologize." That was painful for her. Dorian is a bit shaky as he lowers his arms away from his face, once the dog stops barking as though it were about to attempt to eat him. Looking up at Isak with a surprised expression, before nodding in thanks. Slowly, the young man rises to his feet, still staying pressed against the tree behind him. His shoulders are slumped and he cowers away from the others, a touch hesitant after the chaotic excitement. "S'ok," Dorian says quietly, bobbing his head in thanks to Morgan, anxiously rubbing at the tick fur on his arm. "Kinda wasn't paying attention to anything, didn't realize the dog was there until he was there," he mumbles, incredibly eloquent, this one. Isak looks between them both. He relaxes when it seems like the situation has been diffused. He reaches into his pocket, checks the contents, then tosses a cigarette package at Morgan. There are two left in it. "Play nice," he says with a nod towards her. He looks back to Dorian and says again, "You weren't doing anything wrong. Don't apologise for shit." And on those sage words of wisdom, the tall Swede pulls his phone out of his pocket, checks it, then starts to move away. "Mutie oughtta be on his guard," Morgan lets the cigarettes land on the ground between them, not wanting to give the dog a window by reaching to catch them. ...and not wanting to lose face by missing. "This isn't the kindof place to be frolickin' the fuck around." Behind her in the distance, two little very human looking children frolic by. Not dropping her guard, she crouches down to retrieve the pack. Dorian looks confused at the chastising statement, blinking several times at Morgan, before glancing after Isak. He looks rather crestfallen, hanging his head, a defeated snort escaping him. "Right," he mutters, a silent laugh shaking his scar-crossed, furred shoulders, "In that case, I should take my fuzzy self home, for fear of offending the furred citizens who obviously deserve to enjoy the park far more than me." Sidling away from the tree, away from Morgan and her potentially angry dog, back on the main path. Once at a decently safe distance, he bows in deference to the dog - not to Morgan - and offers a dismissive wave. "Have an absolutely /lovely/ evening," he says, shoving his scarred hands into his pockets, and turning to fall into step alongside the lingering tourists. Morgan yanks on her dogs leash, scoffing dismissively at Dorian's sudden confidence. Where was that a moment ago? With a deep frown, she leads the shepherd back into a trot, plugging her ears with one headphone at a time. "Freak," she mumbles.