ArchivedLogs:In Need of Handlers
| In Need of Handlers | |
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| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2013-03-10 Mirror and Parley OUT IN THE WORLD. Poor Eric. |
| 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. It was nicer earlier today - if you can't tell by the slush and the mud churned up and the gentle sag of the snow, you might gauge it by the /foot prints/ that have been tracking through it. Foot traffic always goes up when it's warmer. It's begun to abate again, however, with the sun not yet set, but fallen behind the buildings to cast most of it back into a chilly shadow. Wearing jeans, a gray tshirt and a thick flannel, Parley slips along the edge of the sidewalk like a shadow, his empathy unrolled to sample the drippings and droplets of surface emotions and flicker-memories and human sentiments. It does cost his own presence to get washed out in the shuffle, and those unobservant or distracted fail to register his passing. He watches these people with great thoughtfulness. He carries a carton of take-out Chinese food, held against his abdomen by a stiff left arm, while he chopsticks a bite of shrimp to his mouth with his left. Dressed in a black peacoat and a dark pair of slacks, Eric is dressed much more formally than he usually wears. Business formal, too, not a uniform. The attention to his phone is not altogether unusual, but his slow pace and look of concern is quite different. He stops near the fence of Tompkins Square Park, putting one hand on the fence as he leans against it, frown deepening as he continues to read. He looks up and around him as he pockets the phone, the concern palpable. To Parley, at least. He takes a few steps back and enters the little park, heading over to the swing set. He climbs on and just weakly moves back and forth, looking down at the ground. Worried!Eric. Among those surface emotions and flicker-memories and sentiments there is one mind that bears recent scars of loss, a young woman whose face has been seen in and out of the refugee dorms -- Scramble, Peace's fiancee. Beneath these Scramble!Hurts though, Mirror's mind is quieter, curious-thoughtful in her surveying of the park. She is dressed in paint-splattered jeans, a maroon v-neck t-shirt, a black corduroy jacket; all these secondhand clothings were cut to fit a man, too loose in some places and too tight where they hug her curves. Her hands are folded in her lap where she sits on the base of the playground slide, her exuberantly curling hair framing her dark face in an afro. She is watching passersby with curiosity. Gaze ticking from one to the next in quiet. Tickticktick. Tickticktick. TicktickParley. Her eyes follow the young man for a moment. Then turn to Eric. Watching his sad swinging. "Do you need a push." It's quiet. But nowhere near as listless as his swinging. Duck duck duck duck... goose. The 'goose' Parley lands on is the mind hidden beneath Scramble's, turning his head towards her. His path drifts inevitably in that direction as well, pausing when a bicyclist nearly mows him down without even noticing. Crossing traffic with a remarkably /missable/ presence is already becoming something he's had to watch out for. Cabs especially do NOT fuck around. He slips wordlessly up onto the slide's base behind Scramble(Mirror) and crouches down, "I got Chinese. Is she allergic to shellfish?" He otherwise will be offering the box over, appraising Eric's picture of misery with a passing of tongue over upper lip. "Hello," he adds in an unobtrusive tone that seems a pleasant accompaniment to Mirror's. It takes a moment for Eric to even notice that he is being addressed. When he does, though, his eyes snap into focus on Scramble/Mirror. The gears in his head take a moment to process the words and then he smiles, a warm look, the sadness vanishing off of his face in moments. "Oh, naw, I'm fine, thank'ya ma'am." he says, a thick Southern accent lacing his words. "Jus' thinkin' is all. Hiya." This last is to Parley. "How're ya both doing?" This question requires a moment of thought, Mirror searching through borrowed memories before answering with a simple "No." and a hand reached to pluck a shrimp from the box with thumb and forefinger. "You look like you need a push," she informs Eric. "That's not how you swing. Swinging should be -- happy." She pops the shrimp in her mouth, chews thoughtfully. Her brow pulls into a frown, considering, and eventually passing judgment with a nod. "Where did you shrimp?" "He's not happy. Just smiling." Parley says simply, his eyes steadily never leaving Eric, even while chopsticking himself some noodles. "It's shrimp lo mein. They shrimp it up the street. Hive showed me. Don't become Hive. He's messy inside." He leans slightly over Mirror's shoulder, his chin nearly resting there, "What's wrong?" This is presumably to Eric now. Eric's eyebrows furrow and he blinks several times at the two of them. A note of panic spikes through him as 1 + 1 finally stops adding up to fish, and he lowers his voice to a hiss. "You need to watch what you're saying," he says, eyes flicking around. "You shouldn't just let on to strangers that you're mutants. You're liable to get beat up - or worse - if the wrong person hears you." Even as he speaks, he glances around him and pulls out his cell phone. His eyes flick down to it as his thumb skims over the surface of the glass.
"A lot of people are messy inside, right now. There was loss." Mirror takes some noodles, next, scooping them with her fingers as well. Sluuuurp. She noodles them into her mouth. "It's a good shrimp. Today I had a pretzel. Well, bite of pretzel." Her head tips slightly to the side; not /much/, but with her extravagant expanse of afro it brings a curly puff of /squish/ to rest against the side of Parley's head. "Would you beat us up?" she wants to know. Quite seriously. Her expression is calm, but this comes internally with a rather /protective/ spike of -- something. It's not really violence. But it's the thoughtful /consideration/ of violence. Wordlessly, Parley leans his head to the side, where the tawny fur and rosettes lining up the back and sides of his neck becomes more visible. Then he returns his head to upright again, taking another bite of shrimp. The carton is held between them Parley's chin knead-digging into the muscle of Mirror's shoulder at the spike of protectiveness. "He doesn't have any violence in him. He's worried. And distracted. We're sorry." "Only if you made me." Eric says, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a wallet and opens up the fold. On one side is an ID, credit cards - the normal things. On the other side is a silver NYPD shield - less normal, to be sure. He closes it and pockets it a moment later, glancing down to his phone and smirking at the surface of the screen before he looks back up at the other two. "Don't be sorry. Be safe." he urges, softly. "There are a lot of people who hate mutants in this city. Not as many as other places, but... it's not something you want to advertise." Pain briefly grips at his insides.
"We're sorry," Mirror echoes dutifully, until amending (apologetically!) to, "Safe. Yes. We'll be that, too." Her expression is still calm, but there's a quick ripple of tension through her emotions at the sight of the badge. It quiets as she pinches more noodles. "Why worried? Are you one, too?" "We won't make you. We don't want that," Parley agrees in between Mirror's moments of talking, tucking noodles into his mouth when Mirror is. His eyes follow the badge carefully, rolling his full focus of attention onto reading the sentiment between the lines of what Eric chooses to say - scenting for indication he might /not/ be saying others. "Should we go?" "Nor do I." Eric says, with a wry little smile. He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. "You don't need to. Just... watch what you say around strangers." he says, a flash of a smile appearing in his eyes. He does not answer Mirror's question. Pointedly. Watch what you say around strangers, indeed.
"He's one," Mirror says, after a soft moment of examining Eric. This makes her relax, somewhat. And snag another shrimp. "It's okay," she adds, as if reassuring Eric, "we're just shrimping. -- Oh." Parley's question draws a frown from her, and she looks up. "Is this area off-limits? Are /we/ worrying you?" "He's texting with someone." Parley whispers to Mirror, as though he didn't want to interrupt Eric's... typing. "I can't feel communication in text. I think he's worried about what's being said to him. It's probably private. We should go. I want to see the park."
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