From X-Men: rEvolution
Dramatis Personae

Eve, Lucien, Marinov, Matt


"You're kind of a big deal."


<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.

A muggy thunderstorm-filled day has turned into actually a quite pleasant night, cooled down from the rain and cleared up, now. The park isn't crowded, now, but even at night it's far from empty; there are people sprinkled around the benches, a pick-up basketball game happening on one of the courts, a saxophonist busking near the Temperance fountain, a fairly intoxicated dancer raptly dancing to his jazzy music.

Over in the dog run, leaning back against its back fence, Lucien has a tall black thermos in one hand and a very gritty muddy red Kong ball in the other. His blue-black hair is tousled, though his outfit is otherwise quite well put-together; impeccably tailored vest over a neat green button-down, grey jeans, longwing brogues. He is giving the ball very careful consideration, rather than actually throwing it. "Do you think all the grime makes it more appealing?"

And Miss Priss herself, Preciada, is now treading the dog run with a dignity greater than her owner... who is looking down at her cellphone as she leads the dog about on her pink rhinestone leash. Clipped to her belt, she lets the chihuaha prance about as it wishes, with Eve only glancing up from time to time so as not to bump into things. Noticing Lucien causes her to click her tongue and point. Preciada seems to get the gist and goes prancing in the direction of Lucien, a hand waved in his general direction. Look, a person!

An evening like this is a perfect time for a jog, and Marinov is happy to be out and taking advantage of it. They are in casual sportswear, wearing a midriff bearing grass green tank-top and a pair of black shorts, with a small backpack strapped to their back. They slow down, though, upon getting nearer to unhook the backpack and check their own phone, looking around the park to try and spot something- or someone. It's only when they sniff lightly at the air that they manage to get on track, returning to a casual jog in Eve's direction. "Hey!" Their eyes follow Preciada on the journey towards Lucien. "Geez, your dog sure seems to know what she wants outta life! Unless she does not, in fact, want glitz."

There is a wheelchair parked near Lucien, its color scheme tending toward the brassy side, the disk caps on its large rear wheels painted like antique clock faces. Its occupant looks somewhat pale and exhausted, though smiling at the antics of the dogs all the same. "It's not /grimey/, it's /seasoned./" Matt's wearing a blue t-shirt with a cartoon stick figure reading in a fortress of books, bracketed by the words 'Best Time Machine EVER!', khaki cargo shorts, and brown athletic sandals. His hair--actually a wig, on closer examination--is notably a bright, bright green that matches his eyes nearly perfectly. He has a closed book in his lap (/The Palace Job/ by Patrick Weekes) and and silver thermos of his own tucked beside his thigh, but he's waggling fingers at /Lucien's/ thermos instead. Catching sight of , the grabbyhand turns into a friendly wave. At Marinov's voice he cranes his neck and looks around.

Flèche is not easily distracted. She's sitting (or, by this point, sort of hovering half-sitting) in front of Lucien, both ears perked, staring up at the filthy ball in his hand. Her (similarly grimey) tongue darts out to lick her nose as she emits a disgruntled whimper.

"Seasoned." Lucien echoes this with a soft hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm sure it gives it a certain something." Eyebrows hiking up, he glances to Matt's grabbyhand and -- holds out the grit-covered ball, instead. Lifts his thermos to his lips for a slow sip. The prancing approach of the tiny chihuaha draws a twitch of a smile. He nods to Eve and Preciada both, finally throwing the ball across the run and digging in his pocket for a small torn jerky-like bit of meat. "Do you mind?" Asked of Eve with a nod to the chihuaha. He waggles his thermos casually to Marinov. "Bonsoir. And congratulations. You put on a quite a show this past weekend."

Oh hey, it's Marinov! "Oh hey! You look awesome, as ever. Totally killing it in those workout clothes, I gotta say. This is Preciada, and she totes knows what she wants. She is, as far as she is concerned, queen of the universe. "Marinov, this is Lu- OH. You know them. That works. Okay. No need for intros, then." The girl nods to Lucien, a hand offered to each of them, before she asks of Matt,"You okay?" The man was NOT in a wheelchair last time she checked. She's pretty sure anyway. As for the meat-snack? She nods,"Preciada. Someone's offering you food. Attention!" That dog sits its butt down, raises one paw up daintily as if asking to 'shake', and then watches Lucien expectantly. "That ball is uh... kinda filthy?" Eve's dog spares a glance to the side for Flèche, and then sniffs the air. "She's... kind of got, like. princess syndrome."

"Yea, sometimes when you've got amazing legs like mine, you gotta flaunt 'em," says Marinov in response to Eve's compliment, nodding once. Marinov's ears swivel towards Lucien before the rest of their face follows suit, they raise a hand to wave, "Oh! Spasibo, I'm glad that people enjoyed it. Did well enough that it'll probably be around again next year, and maybe I'll actually get to have something set up for myself!" They lean against the fence, eyes flitting to the dogs for just a moment, before meeting Matt's gaze. They rub their arm lightly and their ears flick back for just a moment, "Hey Mr. T. Are you havin' a good evening? I like your hair."

Matt gives a narrow side-eye to the ball when Lucien holds it out, but doesn't stop smiling. "Oh me?" Bright, casual, matter-of-fact. "Quite alright, I just have cancer. Or rather, I /would/ be quite alright..." He wheels himself closer to Lucien and reaches up to swipe at the thermos. "...if my /brother/ would share his /tea/. And it was /brilliant/, Marinov. I can't wait until the next one. Have you recovered?"

Flèche is off like her namesake, zipping across the dog park after the ball. A couple of other dogs lope after her, though she has a head start and a lot of motivation. Snatching it out of the air on the second bounce, she comes strutting back toward Lucien, tail wagging high and dirty slobber dripping from her mouth.

"Oh, delightful. Good girl, Preciada." Lucien drops the torn off morsel of meat towards the chihuahua after the little raised paw. "And /you/ were extolling the virtues of that -- delectable morsel there." Lucien's (well-manicured) fingers uncurl, tipping outward toward the slobbery slimy dirt-coated mess of a ball. "How was I to know you wanted tea with such pleasures available." Still, he lowers the thermos, relinquishing it now to Matt's swiping hand. Leaning forward, he ruffles Flèche's head absently. "Drop." As he plucks the ball back up, tosses it far across the yard again, he's nodding in agreement with Matt. "It was truly a delight. I do hope you are proud. -- And that you've found a moment to sleep since."

"Yeah, Marinov. You're kind of a big deal. You totally managed to art the crap out of the event." Eve doesn't understand art of course, but she likes helping, and so her contribution to the conversation on that field is rather limited. It does make her feel fancy, of course. "If you haven't slept since then, and you've been JOGGING..." She shakes her head a little bit. Preciada waits until Eve snaps her fingers to take the meat morsel. She eats it with great dignity, even as Eve makes a sort of strangled at the mention of the big C. "Oh my god. That's awful. I'm so sorry." Of course, he's probably heard this more than a few times, but now there's a fifty-fifty chance she'll actually cry a little.

Marinov chuckles at Matt's question, "Ask me after exam week if I've recovered, I had to get right to hitting the books to prove that all this didn't affect my studies. I got some sleep in Sunday night, though, I felt like I deserved to give myself that at least! And... yeah, I'm proud. It's nice to have stuff like that, yeah?" They look over their shoulder, take a step back and then hop the fence, landing softly. "I run and stuff, like, all the time," they remark to Eve, "I've gotta be go-go-go or I just, pfft, skid to a halt." They make a crashing gesture with their hand and then ask Matt and Lucien, while gesturing off to Flèche, "Is she okay with pets from strangers?"

"I was just speaking for Flèche." Matt gives an indignant huff and takes the thermos, popping its cap open and taking a long drink. "Cancer isn't the /most/ fun, but I've done it before. Besides, it's given me impetus to explore new looks." He brushes a lock of bright green hair out of his eyes. "Fortunately, exam week comes with its own break built in. I hope you'll have time to rest between cramming over the weekend, at least." Matt looks over at his dog--Flèche has dropped the ball in front of Lucien as instructed and is now waiting tense and expectant. "She's fine with pets, but might be a /bit/ focused on the ball right this moment..."

"More than nice, for many of its participants, I think. I spoke to a few artists who had traveled far for the opportunity. I daresay they found it even more of a delight than I did. -- If you take the ball she'll sit through as many pettings as you can dispense," Lucien adds. "Though it may be hard to locate under its protective coating of sludge." Helpfully, he nudges it just a little closer to Marinov with his toe. Eve's apology puts a very faint tension in his shoulders, though it's brief, dissolving soon enough into his previous languid drape against the fence. "He's gotten quite practiced at some of his sickroom chic. He's working on this whole Lord of the Netherworld getup that really elevates the gaunt and pallid to an art."

Eve smiles as Preciade sits patiently, chewing, and finally unclips the leash. The dog prances over to Matt, and paws at his leg as if demanding attention. This is how she demands to be picked up, darnit! Eve rolls her eyes at the prissy dog and asks of the brothers,"How on earth did you get her to play fetch? I can't get Preciada to do pretty much anything." As her apologies for the cancer draw a sort of reaction, she looks on a little awkwardly. Finally, she asks,"So... gonna do that whole scarf chic? Or think you'll rock it old school?" Whatever that means. She looks at Marinov though as she approaches Flèche, finally deciding out loud,"Last time I tried to touch a small thing that didn't belong to me with teeth that good... Things didn't work out so well. It IS a very cute dog, though, I'll admit it. I wish Preciada played with other animals better."

Marinov quickly lunges to snatch up the ball when it is kicked towards them and they indeed reach to give Flèche a couple of enthusiastic pets before tossing it for her to retrieve, "Most dogs I know don't need a lot of coaxing to play fetch. They just know that spheres have great mouthfeel, yeah? I mean, I assume that's why they like chasing balls. But I guess sticks too, and frisbees." After a moment, they nod and add, "Yeah, I mean, it was more than nice for a lot of people, I expect. It was something I needed too, though, you know?" They give a helpless shrug and note, "You gotta work with what you got. And if you got gaunt and pallid, well, you just gotta master rocking that look." To Matt directly, they add, "I'm thinking of starting, like, a fashion club at school. Maybe you'll be able to do an article on this 'sickroom chic', yeah?" Marinov chuckles a bit awkwardly.

"Oh, yes, it's going to be /splendid/. I'm going to have a throne of /bones/ and a scepter with a /skull/ on it and everything." Matt sounds--genuinely excited about this, as though he were just discussing a costume he's putting together for some convention. "I'm not sure about a scarf, though I /might/ go in for a hooded robe. At least on special occasions. If you shoot me an email when you get your club set up, I will happily write up my experiences with /sick/ fashions." Flèche tears off after the ball again, and Matt's eyes follow her. "I'm pretty sure she'll chase just about anything you throw when she's in the right frame of mind. As will many dogs, though some must be taught to actually bring it /back./" He's hardly even done saying this, and the pup has already returned with the ball, tongue lolling out of the /side of her mouth this time.

"Getting her to stop is the tricky part." Lucien's bright green eyes track Flèche's excited darting, a smile tugging at his lips. "Goodness, look." Now he's glancing down to Preciada and her pawing. "She's near as demanding as I am. Next she'll be expecting you to bring her tea. She seems to play with /human/ animals just fine. Perhaps she just cannot abide any competition for attention." He reaches to pluck the silver thermos from Matt's wheelchair, opening that one up now for a swallow. "Fashion club?" His head tilts just slightly; the lilt to his tone is one of curiosity rather than dismissal. "To what sort of end? Observing trends? Dispensing advice? Actually helping to outfit people?"

"She's trained to stay put, and she barely listen to anyone but mother on basic commands. When Mom's around, she's like a little puppy all over again." The girl reaches down to pick up Preciada at this time, curling her under her arm. Eve's dog seems to calm at this, and then she's looking over to Marinov,"Eeeew... you touched the ball. It's gross. Ewewew." The girl flaps a hand about as Marinov touches the dog's ball, making such an awful face. She faces back to Lucien and Matt, informing them,"Scepters are so gauche. Last season. It's all about tiaras this year, and you know it. CROWN of skulls is more like it." Sniff. "Jeez. My school has, like, athletic clubs, and I think a chess club. I'm a little jealous. Sounds like a private school."

Marinov laughs delightedly by Matt's bone throne and sick styles. They glance to Lucien, "Well... I'll tell you when I flesh the idea out more! But I was thinking of helping to outfit people, yeah, and dispense advice. I can tell you all about what does and does not go with rosettes. Though it's sorta hard, yeah? All kinds've style out there, so I can only give advice through the lens of... well, me. But I expect anyone who wants to join would bring their own perspective, yeah?" says Marinov, trying to coax the ball out of Flèche's mouth while giving her pets. Once it is successfully dislodged, they give it a toss, not seeming to be bothered by the dog goo at all. "If you want to start a club at your school, couldn't you do that, Eve? Or is there like... a club limit? I'm not really clear on the rules for starting a club, but I imagine I'd need at least one non-me member."

"I keep trying to tell this one--" Matt kicks lightly at Lucien's chin by way of indicating which one he means. "--that I /do/ have a fashion sense. My /style/ just happens to be t-shirts and jeans. Or shorts. Or skull scepters with flashing red eyes and a hideous recorded laugh. I'll take your gauche and raise you /sinister./" He's not letting that one go so easily, unlike Flèche, who relinquishes the ball to Marinov without much fight so that she can shoot after it again. "Oh, there's a process, even at fancy private schools, but I'm not actually sure you necessarily need more than one member to start out. You generally need approval from the administration and a faculty sponsor. Sometimes a petition or connections in the student government helps, and there are some schools--entire districts, even--where getting non-traditional extracurriculars established is like pulling teeth." He takes another sip of his stolen tea and sighs appreciatively. "Alas, I am wearing out faster than the pup even just sitting here. We had probably best get home--I'm sure actual supper will be ready." He does not sound the /most/ enthused about this last, but he never stops smiling, either. "Good luck on your exams, Marinov, and it was nice running into you again, Eve."

"Your style is Halloween all year round. I've never claimed you had /none/. Only that it's not -- always appropriate to every occasion. She is onto something, though. A crown /would/ be a nice added touch. Especially on Tuesdays." Lucien is straightening, swiping a harness and leash from where they are draped on the fence nearby him. "{To me, Flèche. Sit -- paw.}" He stoops to harness the pup back up, though the ball is still in her mouth and her eyes still fixed hopefully on Marinov. Wrapping the leash around his wrist, he tucks the silver thermos back beside Matt and slips around behind his brother, unlocking the brake on the wheelchair as he takes its handles. "Good to see you again, both of you. Have a good evening."