ArchivedLogs:A Walk in the Park

A Walk in the Park
Dramatis Personae Parley, Howl	2013-06-27 Howl is discovered. o:
Location <NYC> Central Park North
All the climes of the great city of New York are tense and twitchy, mutant and human relations in cooperation with all the ease of hot grease and water, meaning Parley has fucked off from such business to lurk in the dappled shadows of the northern-most half of Central Park. He's over-dressed for a jogger in the muggy summer heat, but a high mandarine collar and three-quarter length sleeves in loose gray cotton go a long way to hide the tawny fur and spots that might otherwise make his life hard. His charcoal cargo shorts flap about at his knees in a passing gale, and he pauses on his course to fix a shoelace. /Eyeballing/ a pair of policemen in the far-off distance riding horseback through the park. Droppin' road apple, trailing long pretty pony tails like banners. The nice thing about Central Park is that, if you're homeless, it has a reasonable amount of cover. /Horse police/ don't help much in that regard, but Howl has found that if he keeps on the move somewhat regularly, he can mostly avoid notice. He is, for the most part, concealed in shrubbery at the moment, though sharp eyes may notice him. He's also just a few feet closer to the horse police than Parley is, and his attention is pretty much entirely on them. <<gogogo centaurs don't come over here,>> he is thinking at them. Very intently! As though he thinks it might do something, which it won't, because obviously psychic powers aren't /real/. Ohho? Probably there are two courses of action one would expect of a man in Parley's situation, picking up this earnest mental flow; one, to bail out now. Or /two/, to benevolently offer assistance to the lurksome HowlShape crouching in the shrubberies. Or you could actually /be/ Parley, and conform to no such common standards - just critical /fascination/? Like a cat marking something creeping around in the tall grass? His presence has a silence to it, a sort of hind-brain camouflage that makes his arrival and departure a hazy event. One moment, Howl is alone in his hiding place, and the next, Parley is leaning against a tree near him, arms and ankles crossed, watching the plump horse-asses of the mountee-cops trotting further down a bike path with all those pretty little clippy-clop thuds of heavy hooves. "Do you think they spotted you?" Yes, he's just /suggesting/ that, ever so lightly. While itching at his chin. "No," comes Howl's response, /ever so casual/. And when it becomes clear that the cops are indeed heading further away, he calms down a bit. He's still going to stay in those bushes for now, but. Less antsy-like, at least outwardly. <<oh god oh god who is this guy? just-- just keep cool, like the Doctor, oh god why is all of this happening now>> Parley is probably close enough to at least catch glimpses of the way Howl is dressed, and the entire image is... kind of pathetic. At a /glance/ one may mistake him for a particularly skinny Russian grandmother; he's wearing a floor-length /skirt/, and an only barely matching blouse over that. With a folded-over kerchief over his head. There's some odd white fluff towards the bottom of said skirt, but boots are probably visible there. It's all very strange, and entirely too warm for the summer weather, but he doesn't seem concerned with the temperature so much. Instead he does finally turn to face Parley, without lifting himself out of said shrubs - he'll just stay as hidden as he can for now, thank you - and clutches a backpack close to himself. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" His accent is /incredibly/ Welsh. "I don't," Parley pushes up onto his toes, looking after the police - they're gone now. Still, he leans around the other side of the tree to watch them in the far distances, "think so, no." He'll meet Howl for casual, and raise him one /bemusement/ when he returns to taking a more full-body scan of the man's attire. Does this call for the raising of eyebrows? Yes, maybe a /little/. His head tiiiips to the side to try and peek between the branches. His expression dead /serious/. No, really, Howl. Go on. Do a THING. This is better than TV. "Well then." <<Why won't you just /leave/.>> Howl fidgets for a moment, trying very hard not to look as uncomfortable as he /feels/, and rubs at the stubble on his chin. /Claws/ are probably visible at this point, and once he realizes that, the hand is dropped a bit too quickly for one who isn't trying to hide anything. He's also trying very hard to speak so that his fangs aren't evident, but they've probably been spotted by now. And so instead he just sort of. Stands up. To his full height of 6'5", since mama didn't raise no slouch. The skirt puffs out in the back, one may notice, giving the illusion of /junk/ in the /trunk/. There's also an odd bit of white fluff along the bottom, though probably that's just the style. Fluff-hemmed skirt-backs? In any event, he looks down at Parley, giving the younger man a slow nod, and repeating, "Well then. I suppose that's that." There's a pause, as he gives a brief look around, to make sure there aren't any other cops approaching from the other direction. Seeing none, he just. Nods again. Entirely uncertain how to disengage, but managing, at least, to hide what is gradually nearing /terror/. Of a guy a decade younger and a foot shorter than him. So he just sort of stands there, uncomfortably, just. Assuming Parley will be the first person to wander off. Parley's face tips up... and then (.../damn/) has to tip up even further, stretching up the front of his throat, to keep Howl's face in his sights. His features remains mostly composed, /engaged/, even, with eyes opening a fragment wider from their general dead-pan half-mast, performing in a quick thoughtful up-and-down catalogue of details - the /fur/ fringe at the bottom of the skirt, dat fadass hanging lush off the back of his rear. Howl's hands. His fangly mouth. Howl can't see from his vantage, though, where a slight ridge of fur stands up along his nape. Well. Maybe his head hair - kind of sharp-bristly - shifts in its follicles a smidge. "Ah. --yes." Because god knows he's not going to /argue/ with a 6foot+ man with claws and fangs. His subdued presence is, at least, far from giving off the sense of something threatening. And, he does find himself compelled to inquire, "Are you going to be alright?" Because mister. Mister, you don't look alright. If nothing else, Howl doesn't seem terribly mindful of the fact that his height - and overall appearance, really - is a bit. Off-putting? As far as he's concerned, it's just terribly useful for sentry purposes, even if ultra-vision isn't one of the skills his mutation has resulted in. On the other hand, he's just as ignorant of the fact that this outfit is really /not/ a very good disguise. Now that he's standing, though, and he has taken stock of his surroundings, he just sort of pauses a bit at that question, but answers, aloofly, "Should I not be?" <<oh god now what, why can't things just /stop happening/>> His head tilted to one side in a curious sort of expression, he barely manages a sort of distant gaze. "I see no reason for concern." <<aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa>> A short /rush/ of air is pushed through Parley's nose; some semblance of weary acquiescence, in which he closes his eyes and dips head, palms raising up and facing outward instead. Maybe at the onslaught of REASON(??) Howl voices... or maybe from the sharp tang of panicky sentiment leaking off his mind. Howl will NEVER KNOW. "--nnh. No. You're right. I'm sorry." Score one point in favor of HOWL. With a quick at the side of his mouth, Parley is slipping around the tree, because /two/ can play at this game of insouciance, "Do take care, though. This city is dangerous. And wary of men that hide in shrubberies." /Especially/ of men that hide in shrubberies. Parley is turning to head off across the park, adjusting his collar as he goes, "I'm called Parley. By the way." He doesn't pause or turn around to say this. Just - letting it flow along behind him as he goes like a stream of smoke. /Something/ about Parley's shift in demeanor has Howl calming down just a touch, though mostly only in the sense that he's starting to think maybe he doesn't need to be entirely terrified of /this/ particular stranger. So, that's one person at least. There is a bit of a twitching under his head-kerchief which Parley may or may not be able to see from such a short angle; odd wrinkles one may have assumed to be hair but probably are /not/, given that hair does not generally. Twitch. "There's no need to apologize," he replies, allowing just a smidgen of confusion to creep into his brogue. <<Did I say something wrong?>> But the advice is taken with a slow nod. "I'll take that under advisement," he remarks, and indeed it almost looks as though he's already about to start looking for somewhere else to go, the way he starts looking around. <<Not that there's anywhere else to go.>> "But I'm sure I can take care of myself, should the need arise." Crouching to the ground, he comes back up with a large stick which he holds with one end against the ground, hiking style. "Parley?" A brief pause. "John Smith." It's said so un-ironically that it seems entirely possible that he really is completely ignorant to just how inept he's coming across as. Parley only has a soft, kind of gently scoffy 'kheh' laugh as he continues his exit, waving over his shoulder, "Take care then, Mr. Smith. Perhaps I'll see you around." Turning to watch as Parley leaves, Howl just sort of brushes his hand over his head, letting out a long, relieved breath. Talking to people is /scary/, apparently. Once he's satisfied that the empath is gone, he turns in the opposite direction, seeking out a new hiding spot. Something near the reservoir. Maybe there are /fish/.