ArchivedLogs:People Like Us
| People Like Us | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2017-08-26 "Does it speak to /you/?" |
| Location
<NYC> Washington Square Park - Greenwich Village | |
Behind a majestic white marble arch, a smaller cousin of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, this beautiful green space is a popular destination for the young, the hip, and the artistic. A huge circular wading fountain is the centerpiece, ringed by benches, playgrounds, dog runs, gaming tables, and lush green lawns. In fair weather, the park is almost always crowded with tourists, students, chess enthusiasts, and local families come to tire out their children and dogs. Settled on one of the benches near the beautiful fountain is Allison. She is curled up against the arm of one with her guitar, strumming along the notes as she hums a few bars to herself. With the evening approaching in an hour or two, she has been simply enjoying the day. Next to her, her phone buzzes and vibes now and again as the screen lights up, though she barely pays it much mind sides a glancing look now and again. Racing through the park -- for /some/ given definition of racing, given stubby short legs and a not extraordinarily developed sense of proprioception -- one small toddler is zooming over toward Allison. This particular toddler may perhaps have been allowed to dress herself today, given her eclectic outfit; glittery blue and silver sequined skirt is on /over/ a pair of bone-printed black leggings that look like they might have been part of a skeleton costume; she has an oddly accurate looking version of Captain America's uniform top (sans armoring) on to go with these. Light-up Finding Dory sneakers on her feet. It's probably none of those things that draw side-eye glances as she careens through the park's usual conglomeration of tourists and picnickers, buskers and lazing college students. /Those/ might have something to do with her very green skin and the fully blossoming collection of white flowers sprouting from her head in place of hair. Zoom! For now she has vanished to duck and HIDE beneath Allison's bench. One hand clapped over her mouth to stifle a very brief squeak of giggle. Not far /behind/ the rampaging flower-child, a far less green adult: tall, skinny, shaggy jet-black hair around his thin face. He's dressed far more blandly, faded old jeans fraying at the hems where they fall over battered workboots, a t-shirt reading 'ceci n'est pas une lune' under a picture of the Death Star. Stopping to lean against the far arm of the bench from Allison -- perch a foot on its seat (right over where the SmallThing happens to be nestling herself) -- he is not really looking down. Up, around, over, anywhere but down. "Don't suppose you've seen a little --" His hand is so-high to the ground now, demonstrating, "Tiny princess Captain America passing by?" Hive is asking Allison this conversationally, one eye half-squinting shut as he looks up at the sky. /Maybe/ against the sun. (Maybe, to those who know him, against the battering press of so-many-minds busily occupied around the park.) (Notably, grimacing of any sort does not help block out the psionic chatter.) Obie is bounding after toddler and man both. Or was, anyway. The beagle completely fails to notice Tola's extremely clever hiding, and runs right past the bench. On the other end of the leash, a smallish boy is loping along to keep pace, wearing a blue t-shirt that reads 'On My Worst Behavior' in bold black text, indigo jean shorts, and aqua sandals. Spencer is maybe a /bit/ more alert than his dog, if no less easily distracted as he skids to a stop near Hive. "Obie, that's not the right -- oh wow hey!" This last is definitely addressed to Allison. "You're the --" << I /really/ shouldn't bother her, she's probably doing work and also sick of people coming up to her all the time. >> "-- um, lo siento I can leave you alone." Though now his eyes go wide. "Are you /writing a new song/ is it about mutants?" When the girl scoots beneath her bench to hide, Allison's fingers pause along the strings of her instrument. She tilts her head downwards at the giggling, giving an amused smile before looking upwards to the man who speaks to her. "A tiny princess Captain America, huh?" She leans back on the bench once more. "Ah... I can't say that I have. I am sure such a hero though is most likely doing heroic and royal duties." Brushing a hand through her blonde hair to pull a few whispy strands away from her eyes, she looks over to the younger voice now. "Hi there." She says to him with a nod of her head. "No, not writing a song about mutants. Though I suppose this song could ..sort of speak to them in a way. It's not one of my own. But it's a favorite of mine from Kelly Clarkson." "Oh, I have no doubt she's very occupied with important matters of," Hive considers this momentarily, "valor. It's just that the /neighboring/ kingdom she just saved wanted to reward her with popsicles and it's hard to collect if --" "-- no I still get popsicles," pipes up a very small royal from under the bench. Big green eyes are peering up through the slats, chubby green fingers poking up at the bottom of Hive's shoe. "Do you know songs about mutants?" So hopeful! "I wrote /four/ songs about mutants," though after a brief reconsidering of this claim, "but one was about a werewolf. Obie!" Her excited cry does not in fact succeed in calling the dog to her. Hive gently sets his foot back down on the ground, leaning slightly against the back of the bench. Looking down at Tola, then -- also kind of down, at Allison. There's a sleepily half-lidded cast to his eyes that belies the sharp-clear awareness of his mind, acutely attuned to the thoughts of those around him. There's an idle curiosity in his voice with the question, "... what song?" "I know some Kelly Clarkson songs!" Spencer bounces up onto his toes, then rocks back down to his heels. << Mmm popsicles... >> "I know your song, too. But you're also a --" << Wait should I say that? Everyone knows she's a mutant already it's probably alright. >> "I mean." He consider this words for a moment. "Does it speak to /you/?" The boy kneels down and coaxes his dog back toward the bench. "C'mon, Obie! Find Tola!" Obie snuffles Spence's hand hopefully. Then snuffles at Allison's guitar, even more hopefully. He somehow has not noticed the green toddler less than a foot away, or if he has, he gives no sign. The popstarlet giggles at the young voice behind her bench and she shifts a bit to get a look at her. "You wrote four songs about mutants, huh? That's really cool. Maybe one day I'll get to hear them on the radio. That would be super cool, huh?" Her fingers give another strum along the guitar as they dance along the notes of the song she was humming to. "You can say it." She says to Spencer. "I'm a mutant. I think everyone knows now." She gives a weak smile to the boy before she answers the older man. "Oh, it's called People Like us. It's not about mutants, but I guess it can be a song for anyone who is feeling beat up and pushed around or bullied. It's a song about lifting yourself up and banding together. But yes, it's a song that speaks to me. I've always liked it, but now when I listen to the lyrics, I feel like they can relate to me and my situation." Lifting a hand for the dog to sniff at it, she waits for a moment before giving him a gentle pat if allowed behind an ear. "Useless hound." Hive's head is shaking, kind of /fondly/ at the rather inept beagle. Tola has less patience for this -- when Obie comes near the bench she skids out from under it, mooshing her face straight into the beagle's side before she grabs at the seat of the bench to pull herself back to her feet. "-- Yeah, I know, popsicles!" Hive's response comes before Tola has even looked at him; she beams, pleased anyway with his prompt compliance. His smile is quick and sharp as he reaches down to take the little girl's hand. "S'cool," he adds to Allison, "guess you find inspiration where you can. Pretty important to have when dealing with..." His quick headshake pulls dark hair down over his eyes; he doesn't bother to move it, though it looks considerably like it is impeding his vision. "/Everything/." To Spencer: "I'm buying, if you keep corraling the mutt." Scooping Tola up in one easy motion, he backs away from the bench, chin lifting in an easy twitch of nod before he heads on past the fountain. "Good luck." | |
