ArchivedLogs:Fangy in the Night

Fangy in the Night
Dramatis Personae Eric, Mariot, Sebastian, Shane
In Absentia	2013-04-13 A 20 time a day occurance.
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. As the sun begins to set on the Big Apple, not much really changes. Tourists still mill about the city like a plague of rats. People still bustle back and forth along the streets, in cars, cabs, and packing the subway. In Central Park, at least, things are a little quieter as the evening wears on. Most of the tourists have left with the sunlight to go infect Times Square and other places without the long-gone fearsome reputation of nighttime Central Park. The residents of the City know better, though, and many of them still walk through the park, some with dogs, some cutting through on their way here or there. Not far from the Belvedere Castle, Eric has his blue bike leaned up against a wall as he talks with another police officer in the more traditional uniform of the NYPD - not nearly as form-fitting as Eric's bike police uniform, but likely a bit warmer. His accent is closer to that of the tourists than the other police officer, a deep drawl of the deep south, but it does not seem to bother him. "Yeah, well, I know what you gotta do, Mike. You've just gotta tell her to pack her shit in a box and get the hell out. You're not gonna have any peace and quiet until she does, and you know I'm right." He smiles, warmly, and gives a little wave to the uniformed patrolman as he picks his bike up and swings a leg over it. "No excuses, yeah?" The other officer laughs and nods. "Sure, Eric, sure. Whatever you say." Not +exactly+ a tourist, though presently dabbling a little in touristy things, Mariot is currently prowling through the Park. Disdaining the distinctive amble of the clueless and wide-eyed newcomer, she moves with apparent confidence, hands thrust in the pockets of a long coat that swishes gracefully around her legs with each step, though she's evidently paying more attention to her surroundings than is typical for a homeward-bound worker's introspective state after a day's dull labour in an office. Eric's legs move quickly, propelling him along the paths of the Park. When he spots Mariot, he slows down, pulling along beside her and managing to keep pace with her walking with a complicated-looking manuver on his pedals, back and forth. "Good evenin', ma'am." he says, nodding his head once. "How are you doin' tonight? Everything goin' alright?" he asks, politely. There's a slight frown as Mariot looks around in response to the movement coming up beside her, and she quite evidently checks Eric (and his bike) for clear signs of identification before she offers either a hint of relaxation or a greeting. "Well enough, thank you", she says, in the kind of accent that Noo Yawkers tend to enthuse about - British, educated, and with a hint of the Celtic fringe in it. Identification there is, in droves. His bike has the word POLICE marked about the frame in large, bold letters, and has a little lightbar mounted at the front and back. The back of his uniform has NYPD emblazoned across it, and the logo of the New York Police Department sits over his breast - there is even a little 'NYPD' on his helmet. "I'm glad to hear that, ma'am." He says, not looking particularly surprised at Mariot's accent, and not sounding particularly educated in his own. A slight pause, perhaps filled with some internal wondering as to quite what the policeman wants, before Mariot ventures a slight smile. "And yourself? Is everything all right in your own evening?" "Quite alright, yes, ma'am." Eric says, brightly. He reaches down beneath his legs and pulls out a water bottle, taking a long sip from it before replacing it. "Sorry to disturb ya, just wanted to make sure everythin' was alright." He gives her a polite nod and a little salute. "Park is awful safe, but it never hurts to ask." Mariot offers a low chuckle. "I've no intention of +too+ thoroughly testing the Park's reputation, but it certainly seems to be safe enough thus far." "We do our best, ma'am." Eric drawls, brightly, his eyes twinkling as he lets his gaze sweep over Mariot. His smile curls wider, and he reaches into a jacket pocket. "If you have any... needs, please feel free to let me know." he says, brightly, a teasing tone in his voice. The card is not one of his formal business cards - he seems to have had a different set printed, that have his name on it - Eric Sutton, a phone number - and nothing else. Mariot only realises the unofficial nature of the card once she has - somewhat warily - accepted it, and she arches an eyebrow at the donor, holding the card between two fingers. "Is this standard police practice?", she asks, sounding somewhat amused. "It's standard Eric practice." This comes dryyy and with a toothy -- /very/ toothy -- grin, from a small blue teenager making his way over towards the path. He is dressed neatly, pinstriped vest and paler dress shirt and slacks; these things make sort of a jarring contrast with his otherwise roughed-up appearance. Healing scratches torn down his cheek. Dark puffy bruising around one eye. The other boy accompanying him (who looks alike enough they might be clones) looks much the same -- at least in terms of bruishing, splotched dark against his cheek; he's limping, too. Also kind of DAMP, spiky black hair speckled with water droplets. He's a lot more colourfully dressed, yellow tank top embroidered with darker yellow butterflies, dark blue skirt, pink and grey sneakers. He doesn't say anything. Rests an elbow against his twin's shoulder, dark eyes slanting between Eric and Mariot. "You should just get your number stitched on the back of your uniform," the first boy suggests. Eric glances over the twins and gives a little wave. "Heya, Shane. Heya, 'Bastian." Eric swings his legs out while the bike is moving, and he lands on his feet, stepping neatly alongside. "Wouldn't help. The whole point is for them to have my number to call later, not t' know my number while I'm still working." he drawls, eyes flickering greedily over the teenagers. He shrugs his shoulders, smiling warmly at Mariot. "Not exactly, but, you know how it goes." A wave of his hand. Mariot suppresses a double-take at the younger duo's unexpected colouring, raising a hand (and phone card) in acknowledgement of their arrival, before tucking it away - albeit only into an outer pocket of her jacket. "And just how many of these numbers do you hand out?", she asks, tone curiously amused... and also distinctly British and educated. "Dozens," says Shane, his shark-toothed grin stretching /wider/ at Mariots double-take. His teeth clack. Sebastian nudges his brother in the side. The gills at the sides of his neck flare. "Sorry, he's --" "-- dozens /daily/," Shane clarifies, his smile dimming slightly. Less disconcertingly toothily. "She's laughing," he tells Eric, "I don't think she's gonna fuck you." "/Sorry/," says Sebastian again, a blush darkening his cheeks where they aren't bruised, "he's a little, um, not -- tactful." Eric gives Shane a bemused look, and his eyes twinkle playfully. "Oh, come on. Not dozens a day." His eyes twinkle as he turns an apologetic look at Mariot. "Sorry, ma'am. Not dozens." A brief pause. "A couple." he says, lips lilting. He turns, speeding up to catch up to Shane and ruffle his hair. "You just like cock-blocking me, Shane." He leans in, voice a quiet whisper, "You'll have to make up for it later. I get off at eight." The bluntly crude language earns a much more marked double-take than the boys' appearance did, Mariot momentarily studying the duo in search of any clear signs of their actual age. The seemingly-playful interaction between the policeman and the youngsters at least +appears+ reassuring, and she smiles while shaking her head at the incorrigible copper. "Are they always like this?", she asks the politer of the two blue youths. Signs of their age are hard to tell, their sharklike features not mapping very well onto traditional human signifiers of things like age or race. But they are quite small -- just under five feet -- and the wide-eyed smooth-skinned elfin pixiefeatures certainly don't make them look /old/. Early teens, perhaps. Shane's toothy grin returns at Eric's words. "Cock/blocking/ would imply I don't want you to get some. Always like what?" His hairless ridged brow raises at Mariot's question. "I mean, no. Sometimes I'm actually rude." Sebastian scrubs a hand against his face, wincing. He takes a half-step away from Eric and Shane. Closer to Mariot. "They're, um, not, always really appropriate, miss. Um. Sorry. If -- I didn't mean to bother - to interrupt your --" Still blushing, he waves a webbed hand in between Mariot and Eric. Eric grins and waves a hand, dismissively. "Oh, come on, 'bastian. We were just talkin'. Nothing blush-worthy about that." he says, turning and flashing that same wide smile at Mariot. He reaches down and grabs one of his water bottles out of the frame of his bike and takes a long sip of it before proffering it to Shane and Sebastian. "Sebastian here will blush near at anything." he explains to Mariot, in a teasing parody of Sebastian's apologetic tone. "If it deserves it or not." He does not respond to Shane's comment. "You didn't want to interrupt my... being hit on by a total stranger?", Mariot asks Sebastian, smiling. Though she doesn't exactly seem to be bowled over and flattered to the very core of her being, she is at least apparently amused rather than repelled or horrified by Eric's antics. "Don't worry about it, honestly. So how do you come to know Central Park's most extroverted officer?" "I -- sorry," Sebastian says again, blushing deeper. "I didn't know if -- I don't know what -- I mean, I wasn't sure what was going on with -- you. Two. I mean some people --" "-- some people are into that," Shane says, shrugging. "He arrested me," he offers, by way of explanation to Mariot. Eric laughs and shakes his head, pushing Shane lightly as he recaps his water bottle with a brief push of his hand against it. He slides it back into his bike, then glances at his watch. "Sorry, I've got to be back on the road. I'm running late for a check-in at the castle." He swings his leg up onto his bike, turning and smiling at the little crowd of people. "Have a good evening, ma'am. Shane, 'Bastian... dinner tonight, maybe? Give me a call." He ruffles Shane's hair once more, then applies himself to the pedals to head down the path. Mariot raises a hand, offering the departing cop a somewhat bemused look (albeit one that comes with a wry smile), before returning her gaze to Sebastian. "Don't worry about it. Honestly", she says gently to the youngster. "And don't feel that you have to continue talking to the strange foreigner if you don't want to. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." "/You/, make /us/ uncomfortable?" Shane says that like it amuses him. Another very toothy grin. Sebastian /does/ look uncomfortable, though. He slips his hand into the crook of his brother's arm, tugging gently. "Hi. Um, I mean bye. I mean it was good to -- well. Um. Sorry," is what he ends up saying again, with a sheepish crinkle of his nose. He tugs his brother away, hastening down the path. Shane has a wide grin tossed over his shoulder towards Mariot in farewell. But then he's being dragged off. Mariot chuckles slightly in response to the brothers' very different reactions, once more raising a hand in farewell as she spends a few moments watching the strange duo depart. Then she turns on her heel, resuming her own evening perambulation. However much it's reputed to have improved, she's no desire to find out +just+ yet whether anything more fangy and strange than the brothers might emerge once full dark settles upon the Park.