ArchivedLogs:Signs of the Times

Signs of the Times
Dramatis Personae Clint, Gwen, Shane
In Absentia	2015-12-26 "To be fair, half the time people aren't making any sense anyway."
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. It's a cloudy, rainy day, and even with the mild temperature it's perhaps surprising just how many people are out and about in the park. The lightposts are decorated with huge red velvet bows, and the trees are strung up with lights, though not yet lit for the evening. A plain-looking man in a black rain jacket with purple reflective trim, black jogging pants, and a black sling pack lying across her back sits at a picnic table, heedless of the drizzle. He has a large pizza box open before him, the pie in it (pepperoni, extra cheese) a quarter eaten. A scruffy brown mutt sits at attention before him, eyes fixed on the corner of the box where it protrudes from the table as if willing the pizza to come to him. The cold and rainy weather doesn't seem to be bothering one tiny blue teenager, currently trudging through the park from the direction of the lake with a phone in hand and head bowed over its screen. Though mild, he doesn't seem adequately dressed for the weather -- jeans and hiking boots and a sleeveless undershirt, a light jacket slung over his arm. There's a pair of short swords crossed at his back, a boxy pair of wristcuffs at his slender wrists, and he's currently chewing on a strip of spiced jerky. It's the dog rather than the man that brings him to a halt, pulling to a stop with a small twitch at the corner of his lips, pitch-black eyes widening just a touch. "{Always hopeful, huh?}" /These/ words are in quiet Vietnamese, though the tone is amused, fond. He lifts his brows towards Clint, tipping a hand out towards the dog in obvious request -- May I? Despite the rain, Gwen is not only walking about but wearing nothing more than jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt and, oddly enough, thin gloves with a goldish tint to them. She walks casually, as if having no particular destination and simply strolling through the park for the sake of it. Like the blue one, her attention is not drawn by the human. Nor is it the animal but it's the pizza itself. She presses her lips together, quietly staring at the pizza as if she might just reach out and take it. Though she soon realizes how odd she might look, and she quickly clears her throat and offers the two present a faint smile. "Hi..." she says, her voice fading awkwardly once she remembers why she hasn't spoken to anyone in ages. "I...don't know anything...not English," she explains, tentatively, as if gaugeing to see if this will be an issue. Clint has just bitten into a slice of pizza when Shane wanders by. His head turns sharply to regard the blue teen, eyes focused on his very, very toothy maw. He looks almost as confused as unnerved, but the gesture he understands, at least, and answers with an inward sweep of his open palm. He turns to the young woman quite abruptly, too, and /also/ stares at her intently while she speaks. "Are you sick? I'm not, so..." He shrugs. "You hungry?" Shane's brows lift, a smile -- small at first and then wider (and wider) (and wider) (and wider) spreading across his face until it splits -- most of the lower half of his face open. /Uncannily/ wide, certainly far wider than any /normal/ human mouth should split, an extravagance of serrated sharp teeth gleaming behind his blue lips. He bobs his head in a quick thanks, hand touching to his chin and then coming away before he crouches to scruff behind the dog's ears. He tucks the strip of jerky back between his teeth as he pets the mutt. His eyes lift, flicking between the others as they speak -- he doesn't contribute anything to this exchange, though his lean muscles tense, the gills at the sides of his neck fluttering open and closed rapidly. "No, I'm not sick. Just got...death glares for while, whenever I spoke, so I just..." Gwen's words fade off as she gets distracted by Shane ever-growing smile, which coupled with his obvious blue-ness which only just sinks in, both disturbs and intrigues her. "You're...one of them," she stammers. 'Them' should be pretty obvious to define as she seems to be mostly distracted by Shane's non-humanness. Still, she doesn't appear to be all that threatened or upset by it, she does stick around to watch Shane pet the dog. Just...surprised. The dog turns and tilts his head at Shane's toothy smile, ears perking up until one of them almost comes unflopped. But he remains sitting and seems happy enough for the petting. His black nose twitches fractionally closer to the jerky with each sniff, his tail thumping the ground, slow and uncertain. A brass tag hangs from the bright purple nylon collar on his neck: 'Arrow' it reads, above a phone number. Clint stares at the girl while she speaks, eyebrows raising up and up. He takes another bite of his pizza, chews for a while, considering. "Well," he says languidly, at last, "there's cause for concern. I recommend you start learning." His expression is not unfriendly, for all that. Shane chuckles as the dog edges closer to the jerky, his sharp teeth snap-snap-snapping to pull the rest of it into his mouth. He digs in the pocket of his jeans afterwards, though, pulling out a packet from which he extracts another strip of jerky, lifting his brows to Clint questioningly as he waggles it. Nodding to the dog, other hand still scruffing at his ears. Gwen's stammering just gets a lift of his (hairless) (prominently overhanging-ridged) brows. High. Very, very, high above the (entirely pupilless) (pitch-black) (disproportionately enormous) pools of his eyes. He looks down at his (bared) blue arms. Clawed fingers. Looks back up, cocking his head towards her, casting a /look/ towards the woman that does not need any words to interpret: you have /got/ to be /kidding/ me. He does not bother to answer this question, though at Clint's languid answer his shoulders shake slightly, the slitted gills running down his neck fluttering quickly. Gwen once again realizes she's just making a fool of herself and quickly clears her throat and offers Shane a faint smile. "Sorry, I...I'm just not used to seeing mu-people like you," she attempts to justify herself, before glancing towards Clint. "It would be convenient. School and studying was never my strength though. I don't know if I could stomach learning an entire language. Besides, I'm by myself most of the time anyway..." Clint nods at Shane and chuckles quietly, though he does lean away from the boy ever so slightly when the lift of his eyebrows makes his eyes disturbingly huge. Arrow doesn't seem to care so much about that, watching Shane's hand with eager eyes, sitting up even straighter, tail whipping fast. See how good he's sitting? Perfect form. Narrowing his eyes slightly at Gwen, Clint just shakes his head and finishes the slice of pizza in his hand. "Your choice," is all he gives by way of reply, though he also digs a dogeared business card out from a pocket of his pants: 'ASL Meet-Up,' it reads in big, bold Comic Sans, 'Beginners welcome!' followed by a URL. He offers the card to Gwen with his non-pizza hand. Shane holds the jerky out to the dog. The tension does not fade from his muscles at Gwen's apology, though his smile (and his eyes) both return to normal proportions. Normal, anyway, for /him/ -- which is to stay still disproportionately enormous for any regular human. 'Go ahead,' he invites the dog to take the jerky with a sweep of his other hand. His brows have lifted again at Gwen's answer, though. Another flutter of gills. He just looks at the dog again, scratching behind Arrow's ears as he sacrifices his jerky on the altar of Pup. "{/Americans/.}" He directs this kind of incredulous comment to Arrow rather than the others; Spanish, this time, not Vietnamese. His mouth hooks up at one side as he glances at the card Clint passes over. 'Death easier to stomach than /foreigner/ languages.' Now signed, clawed webbed hands deft -- or, rather, once-webbed; the webbing hangs kind of loose between them, thin cuts slit between each finger to separate them where they should be joined. Gwen takes the card and tucks it in her pocket, glancing towards Shane as he begins signing. While she may not understand what he's saying, it's pretty obvious it's about her. Or maybe she's just untrusting and mildly paranoid. Either way, her eyes immediately dart to the ground. "I...should be going," she quickly says, quickly offering a smile to both Clint and Shane (though the one directed towards Clint is a hair warmer). "Nice meeting both of you," she adds before quickly turning and leaving them alone before either of them has a chance to respond. Arrow snags the jerky from Shane, chomping it twice and swallowing before immediately snuffling at the blue, clawed hand. Clint squints at Shane when he speaks the singular word, but sits up straight when he starts signing. 'Many people, not know where to start,' he replies. His own hands move jerkily, mechanically, but the sign production is precise. When Gwen excuses herself, he waves his farewell, and looks down at the remainder of his pizza as if to offer it again. But she has already turned to leave and he subsides, shrugging. The next slice he picks up he just hands to Arrow, while with the other hand he signs 'Hungry?' to Shane. Shane doesn't return Gwen's smile. Or offer any response, either. He leaves his hand out for Arrow's snuffling, scritching beneath the dog's chin for a moment but then returning to signing. 'Many people don't care to start. Fucking apocalypse and the news was complaining that the mayor's speeches were un-American. Why? Because Spanish.' His nose twitches as he eyes the slice of pizza, pale pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, but he shakes his head regretfully. 'Milk, bleh.' The face he makes looks kind of queasy. His mouth twists slightly to the side, considering Clint for a moment. 'You learn because of the zombies? Signing?' 'True, true,' Clint agrees, mildly. 'Me, I don't care. I just want communication.' Arrow flops down between them, scarfing down the greasy pizza, tail thumping the damp grass happily. 'I learn /Spanish/ because zombies.' His grammar is very English, as with many hearing signers. He smiles, very faintly. 'I learn sign because deaf. You?' His eyebrows only raise up slightly. "Ohhhh." Shane nods, his smile returning brightly. Toothily. 'Nah. I learned because I just want communication.' He pauses, here, torn fingers flexing for a moment and then pressing against his jeans, gills briefly fluttering as he stretches them. 'Some of my friends are deaf. Some of my friends can't speak normally because their vocal folds aren't human. I like people.' Shrug. 'Like being able to talk to them how they're comfortable. Learned many languages because of that.' Finishing his pizza, Arrow pops right back up to wait for more. Clint rolls his eyes, smiling, and scruffs at the back of the dog's head instead. 'That is good reason.' He nods. 'I not know many languages. Spoken ones, slower to learn now.' This with a very slight shrug of one shoulder 'Still learn. Lipread Spanish, I not good.' There's an understated quality to the last comment. 'My name C-L-I-N-T." 'I can't imagine, lipreading seems hard as fuck. And lipreading a second language?' Shane lifts a hand, bent fingers shaking by the side of his jaw in time with an impressed puff of air. 'I'm a polyglot hipster, anyway. I learned most of my languages before zombies ever happened.' His grin is sharp and amused. 'I'm S-H-A-N-E.' He starts to extend a hand for a handshake but, flicking a brief glance down at the torn flaps of webbing hanging limp between his fingers, corrects this gesture at the last moment to a curled fist for tapping instead. The look he gives down to Arrow is amused. 'Glutton. Just like my pup at home. No shame.' Clint taps Shane's outstretched knuckles, kind of cautiously. 'Nice to meet you.' That phrase, at least, comes more fluidly to his hands. 'You were prepared. I learn Russian before zombies. Then, could still hear some. But not learn good enough to be useful.' He slips Arrow another slice of pizza, his shrug kind of fatalistic. 'I'm kind of same with pizza. We understand each other like that.' Then, finally, 'Your hands...' He indicates the space between his own fingers. 'That hurt, to sign?' 'Russian, I know.' Shane bounces slightly on the toes of his hiking boots with this. 'And Spanish. And Vietnamese. And Japanese. And French. And --' He breaks off, looking down at his hands with a small flutter of gills again. One shoulder hitches up. Quickshrug. Casual-dismissive. 'Lipreading is hard, though?' The toothy grin softens as he looks to the dog again. 'They're good like that. With -- understanding.' Clint's eyebrows raise up a touch, and his lips pull down slightly as he nods: not bad. 'Lipreading hard, yes. English, I can OK. Miss many words, but can guess.' He looks down, chuckles self-consciously, as at a particularly embarrassing memory. Arrow takes the opportunity to cover lick the side of his face (and sniff hopefully pizzaward, again). 'Sometimes very confusing. Especially now. If I not already /know/ what language someone speak?' He shakes his head. 'Words make no sense.' His hand drops to rub behind one of Arrow's ears. 'Dogs, speak with their body. That I understand.' 'To be fair, half the time people aren't making any sense anyway.' Shane's grin has slipped a liiittle crooked here. 'Dogs, though, they're straightforward. I like that about them.' Though after a moment of reconsideration: 'The F-L-O-O-F is nice, too.' Clint's laugh is little more than a snort. 'Maybe true. Maybe I not miss much.' He doesn't look all that confident about this, though. Producing a slim smartphone from one pocket, he nods. 'Time we go home. Have meetup later, can't bring Arrow.' He closes the pizza box, to Arrow's visible disappointment. 'If you go to deaf events, maybe I see you around.' Shane pats Arrow on the head sympathetically when the pizza box closes, nodding at Clint. 'Maybe.' His chin jerks up in a quick nod, and he turns, only now finally shrugging back into his jacket as he wanders off.