ArchivedLogs:Nature Walk

Nature Walk
Dramatis Personae Peter, Rahne	2013-04-10 Peter meets Rahne while she's on a nature walk!
Location <XS> Forest
Quiet and shady, the trees rise all around here high and thick. In stillness, woodland creatures make appearances, though sudden noises scare them back into the cover. Dappled sunlight filters down between the thick foliage, and the ground underfoot is heavily overgrown, though here and there paths have been worn, by deer or years of students wandering familiar trails. Peter is out in the woods. Doing... something. With webshooters. Probably something Not Good. No, this is something /awesome/. He's currently clad in blue jeans, tabi socks, and a red hoodie -- the hood up for the latter, the strings tied /tight/ to leave only a tiny space for him to see out of (and for his face to be seen). And he's clamboring - up the length of a tree - and... what the /hell/ is he doing to the tree? He seems to be... coccooning it? These clunky wrist-watches of his are making a soft 'ssss' sound as he scrambles from branch to branch, a web-like 'sheet' or 'veil' swelling up from his wrists, rising in a spray, /coating/ the tree in sticky, stretchy, cellophane-like webbing. Like a massive caterpillar coccoon. Rahne has been a bit scare as of late, outside of required activities. She can be found during mealtimes, during classes, and always in her room for sleeping. Beyond that? Scarce. Maybe even, you know, actively avoiding people. Apparently in the relative quiet and solace of the woods around the school, because here she surfaces, bewildered but way too curious to not investigate what is going on. The wee Scot is bundled up for the evening cold, in a new coat since her last one was ruined and one of the faculty probably eventually noticed, and as she slowly, nimbly picks her way over tree roots and through caches of old, dead leaves, she peers up at the coccoonery. "...what..?" slips out of her in a small voice, not really meant to be said aloud. Stretchy-stretchy coccoons. Mmmm. Peter is /enjoying/ himself, by the looks of it. Maybe just a little too much - he skitters like some sort of /insect/, clamboring head-first down toward the root of the tree, then up and around along a branch, swinging - more coccoons! MORE! - until yet another segment of the tree has been /engulfed/ in that elastic-like /carpet/ of silky, sticky webglue. ...but then there's the 'what?'. Instantly, Peter stops - and springs - off the branch. Landing, with a rustle, somewhere over Rahne's head. A good 5 yards up - and hanging, upside down. Legs wrapped around a tree branch, arms dangling. For a moment, the poor girl might think Peter's about to descend upon her and coccoon her as a bed-time snack. But, no. Instead, Peter offers this: "Hi." Followed by: "This isn't what it looks like." Followed by: "Wait. Wait. What does it look like?" He looks at the thoroughly webbed tree, as if trying to figure that out for himself. Rahne did not grow up with horror flicks. ...actually, she didn't grow up with movies, period. Anyway, where somebody a little more up on pop culture might be able to process this whole scene a little better, if with a 1950s drive-in double-feature bent, she remains bewildered. Because what on God's great, green earth. She reaches a bare hand to touch fingertips to some of the webbing that she can reach, curious, before Peter springs and startles her. By the time he settles, she's hiding behind a tree trunk. But the familiar voice has her peeking out and up. "Erm," she thinks aloud at the question, the sound fluctuating briefly from that short dose of nerves now winding down. "..I dinnae ken?" To the touch, the webbing is surprisingly firm and taut; it gives - stretching under the fingers - but more like a tightly stretched rubber band than a simple strip of unfastened cloth. Stranger still - it refuses to /break/. It also feels moderately tacky. "I only speak English," Peter tells Rahne, and he sounds /apologetic/ - but a moment later, and he's giving a start: "Oh - OH! Oh wait, oh that /is/ - I remember you have that accent - ummmh, but I have no idea what you just said but /anyway/ I'm just testing out a new setting on my glue gun and hello! I haven't seen you for a /while/. I'm the Spider." Just in case. She doesn't remember. At first, Rahne looks confused, thin brows drawing together while lifting toward the middle. But then Peter goes on to point out her accent and confusion trades places with a mild dose of embarrassment. Her cheeks color faintly, probably not even visible in the dark of the woods, her eyes drop and she chews on her lower lip a brief moment. "I said I don't know," she offers, the words slow and forced out of her mouth and sounding like they feel wrong, especially the don't, with how she makes an attempt at imitating an American accent. But curiosity is a strong thing, and she creeps out from behind the safety of the tree trunk to go back to touching the webbing with a quiet fascination. "This is from a glue gun? How?" "Ooooh, 'dinnae' is like, don't - and ken - that's know?" Peter asks, trying his best to imitate the sounds - and probably failing spectacularly. At least he's /learning/, though! "Oh, oh, right - it's actually -" And now Peter lands with a /THUMP/ right besides Rahne, the hood over his head still drawn tight - so tight his face remains obscured. He holds up one of his wrists for her to see, though - on top of it is an unusual looking wrist-watch, clumsy and soldered together from spare parts; it doesn't apparently tell time - rather, it has a nozzle at its tip, and two brass canisters - one on either side. Also, there's an unusual copper-colored 'strip' of plastic that extends from the watch to his palm, taped to the center - with two contact points poking out, ready to be touched. Peter demonstrates by bending his fingers in to 'tap' one of the contact points - instantly, there's a THWP, followed by a 'stream' of glue, splatting on the distant tree - immediately solidifying into a rope. "Aye," she confirms. And that's okay, Peter, you can fail at a Highlands accent while Rahne fails at American. She jerks slightly just out of reflex from somebody thumping in right next to her, and takes a small step backwards as she turns to face him more fully. Having no real head for mechanics, the wee Scot dutifully observes the wrist thingamajig when he shows it off, though her faintly befuddled expression never changes to one of dawning understanding. That is, until he THWPs. She takes another small step back, again out of reflex, when it happens. She can be a skittish little thing, can't she? "Why d'ye always hide yer face?" she non sequiturs. The silver cord is now detached from the nozzle; Peter holds it in his hand - giving it a reassuring tug, as if to demonstrate that it's not going to promptly lash out for her. But then at the mention of his face - he releases the cord, letting it flutter to the ground. "Oh," he says, as if puzzling this one out. "Well -" His mind cycles through the viable answers: 1) HORRIBLE SCARS ACQUIRED FROM THE MAN WHO MURDERED MY FAMILY. 2) I LOOK LIKE JEFF GOLDBLUM FROM 'THE FLY'. 3) BECAUSE THE SIGHT OF MY FACE IS TOO BEAUTIFUL FOR MERE MORTALS TO BEHOLD. He settles on option 4 - the (relative) truth: "I dunno. I guess, it's just - I figured it's what superheroes do. And in the city it's illegal to do mutant stuff, so... I guess it's kind of silly to do it here, though - by now everyone knows who I am anyway." And then he gives his hoodie's strings a tug, opening it up a bit. He looks - well, ordinary. Teenage boy. Goofy hipster glasses. She cocks her head slightly at the tug, maybe just a tiny bit lupine in nature, but then looks back to him. Truth be told, Rahne probably would have only scoffed at option 3. She takes a moment to think on his answer, and offers, "Aye, we arena in the city right now, are we?" Her reaction to his reveal is pretty mild, though a slight smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, hi there," she even says, with a light tease to the words. "Bet it's a bit easier ta breathe now, aye?" And then she goes back to being fascinated by his web stuff, nudging the dropped cord with a sneakered toe. "Yeah," Peter mumbles, before adding: "People keep telling me I look like Harry Potter. I'm not Harry Potter," he adds, as if to deflect this possible idea /pre-emptively/. As she nudges the web with her toe, he soon adds - casually unstrapping the device from his wrist - secured via a strip of leather and a buckle. "You can try it if you want - just, um, don't shoot yourself. It's /really/ strong glue. I've got the solvent for it, but it stinks." He holds the device out to her, then. A watch, along with a strap of insulated wiring with contacts that gets neatly taped to the palm - it's actually got adhesive on the back just for that. "They think ya look satanic?" Rahne baffles at him, because he doesn't look very much like he's of the devil to her. Though looks can be deceiving, but still. She starts to protest trying out his web-slinging contraption, but then Peter has already taken the thing off, and it would probably be rude to turn him down, and... so here the wee Scot is, accepting the device with brows drawn while she puzzles over it, at first, before trying to put it on. It probably takes her a couple of tries to get it right, but there. On. "How do ye...?" she then asks, of the THWPing. "Harry Potter's not - what?" Peter asks. He helps her - delicately! - with setting the device up if she needs it. The strip of wire goes over her palm; at its end are two small metal contact points. Once she's got it centered, Peter reaches - carefully! - to aim her at the tree. And then tap the left contact with his finger - twice. THWP - out goes the string, slapping on the distant tree with a moist SPLT. "Double-tap the left one for a cord; double-tap the right one for a glue-ball. Double-tap /both/ for the coccoon, but you have to hold it," he explains. "What do you mean 'Satanic'?" "What?" counters his what. But then Rahne focuses on his helping and explaining, lower lip caught in her teeth and brows set low and straight while she does. THWPing = srs business. She jumps just slightly, again, out of reflex when she THWPs the tree with his help, staring at it after for a short moment. Then, oh so tentatively, she tries again. THWP. Poor tree. "Those books are full o'... wizards an' witches an' magics, aye?" she says, voice lowered for the last part, as if saying such words would invite disaster. "You got it - with the strings, I grab 'em and swing on them, but - um, you probably shouldn't do that unless you've got /really/ good reflexes," Peter adds with just a hint of caution. "The other one - it shoots glue balls? Like if you need to glue somebody's feet to the floor. And with the coccoon..." He lets that thought trail off. Letting her go on about wizards and witches and magic. And... "...yeah, but it's - not /real/," Peter says, eyebrows scrunching. "I mean, I dunno - I kind of think of this place as Hogwart's? Like a wizarding school. I mean, I can stick to walls and you can turn into a wolf, I /think/ that is pretty wizardy." Sheepish grinblush. "They're decent, but I cannae hang upside doon like ya tend ta favor, I'm sure," Rahne says, of her reflexes, light tease back in her voice. And then she tries a glue ball. After it hits the tree, though, she seems to have a small change of heart. "Does it go awa'? I dinnae want ta hurt the tree..." With the talk of Harry Potter, though, and their home being like Hogwart's, well, the wee Scot flushes. And looks down a long moment before starting to undo all the bits to take off the web-slinging contraption. "Aye, suppose some might think tha'," she says, and a shadow crosses over her features. "Oh yeah, don't worry," Peter says, waving his hand as if to dismiss the tree's considerable pain and suffering. The 'glueball' is just a splorch of that greyish mass; it hits the tree and spreads out into a wide, silvery splat-mark. "It starts dissolving after an hour - it just evaporates into nothing. Like it wasn't even there. I wouldn't be spraying everything if it didn't. Vinegar can dissolve it faster, though. I always keep some in my school bag, just in case I glue myse - I mean, GLUE SOMEBODY ELSE." Peter never glues himself. That just wouldn't happen. When she moves to undo the web-contraption, Peter watches - and once it's off, he takes it back - strapping it right back to his wrist. He's wearing two, apparently; another one sits on his opposite wrist. "I guess you never read the books? There was the Hogwart school, and there were other ones; some of them were - I guess not evil, but not all that /nice/," Peter says. "But anyway I think of this place as Hogwart's and maybe some of the other places as - well, I guess there aren't any other places, not yet. But if I'm gonna be a wizard, I'm gonna use my wizardry for good. I'm gonna be an - AWESOMANCER." Peter grins, apparently quite proud of himself for thinking this one up himself. "Oh, good," she murmurs about dissolving webstuffs, and she actually does sound relieved. Maybe it's her favorite tree or something. Or maybe she just doesn't want the woods all webbed up for good. But after that, Rahne takes to staring at Peter. "Ach, nae," she says, immediately and defensively, as if reading the books was a crime. The more he talks about them, the wider her eyes get, and the more nervous her body language becomes, with fidgety hands and an attempt to take up as little space as possible with a hunch of shoulders and a general drawing in. "Ya... want ta be a wizard..?" "Well I mean, like -" Peter may be pretty dense, but he's not /oblivious/; he can tell something's up with the way Rahne's responding to him. "- I guess? I guess I want to be more of a - superhero. The wizard thing, I mean - I'm sorry is that making you uncomfortable? Did - did a wizard murder your parents?" From anyone else's lips, that might sound like a tease. But Peter, by all appearances, is genuinely asking. It seems like the most likely explanation as to her behavior. Peter's mind /might/ be a magical place. "I'm sorry that's kind of a dumb question," he quickly adds, "because I am pretty sure wizards aren't even /real/." Well, yes. That is /one/ of the reasons the question is dumb! Out of pure subconscious action, one of Rahne's hands sneaks up to hold and rub the small, gold cross that hangs from a chain around her neck between fingers. It's an action performed purely out of the need for comfort and reassurance, like a child might suck a thumb. Only, with less slobber. Her forehead wrinkles and a small frown appears at Peter's question, genuinely asked or not. "Magic is the devil's work," the wee Scot tells him, and she sounds quite convinced of this. It's not an opinion, it is a fact in Rahne's world. "But magic's - oh, /oh/," Peter says, and now he's looking at that gold cross, and he's blushing /furiously/. "OH, oh I totally didn't - I'm sorry oh wow I didn't even /realize/ like, /duh/ Peter - you're religious, right? I mean - that's cool, that's totally cool, my parents, um, I mean, I never really got into any of it so it's a little weird to me sometimes - not that it's /actually/ weird, it's just - um, I guess - I don't have a lot of experience with it?" Peter's face stays a warm shade of apple red; he's still wearing a sheepish grin. "But, I guess I don't believe in magic. I mean, it's totally cool if you do." They have the strangest conversations, don't they? Rahne has decided this. She looks quietly baffled by him again, lines still set in her forehead. "Aye, I suppose," she confirms that she is, indeed, religious. But where Peter has totally gotten her to turn a ridiculous shade of red before, she turns apologetic for doing the same to him, even if it isn't quite directly her fault. "Ach, it's all right, ya didna ken." After a beat, she adds, "Most Americans I've met 'nevar got into any of it,' seems like." This idea seems to trouble her briefly. But Rahne does not go off on some spiel about how Peter should go to church or turn to Jesus or find God. She leaves it alone. For a long bit after that, Peter is quiet; he lets the silence speak for him. It's got a lot to say, apparently! But then, apparently thinking better of it, he states: "My roommate controls bees. Wanna see?" This total change of topic is welcomed by Rahne after the long quiet, with the relief that shows on her features. Though her expression is quick to shift to a puzzled curiosity right after. "Bees?" she questions. "Aye, all right. If he doesna mind it." She wouldn't want to impose on somebody, after all.