Logs:Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.
| Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-10-16 "You look very ready for the season." |
| Location
<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. It's nighttime, and Tompkins Square is far more bustling now than it was in the daytime. There's some sort of concert-slash-puppet-show happening on a stage near the center, a little too avant garde to properly track what the plot might be if it even has one, but judging from the color theme it seems to be some vague and incoherent commentary on the state of affairs in Israel/Palestine. There's a raucous pick-up basketball game happening in the courts, several barely-averted (and one not-actually-averted-but-at-least-interrupted-quickly) dog scuffles at the dog park, a busker twirling fire just fire enough away from the puppet show to make it clear they are Not Together but close enough to take advantage of their lively music. DJ has been somewhere on the outskirts of the Puppet Show Crowd, dressed in extremely humdrum khakis and pale blue button-down and corduroy jacket, his Mendel Clinic badge clipped identifying on his belt. He's been conversing -- sort of? -- with a blobby looking figure, tall and greenish and vaguely gelatinous. At least, his body language and proximity suggests he's been conversing, though the blobby figure is only offering squishy wet noises that are definitely not English, and he is offering nothing (aloud) back. As his strange companion starts to goosh away, he is turning his very puzzled scrutiny to the puppet show. A sloooow frown is developing on his face. Leo has been threading his way quietly through the park, dressed crisp and autumnal in soft peachskin jacket in black with cyan piping, cuffs, and hem, medium wash cigarette cut blue jeans and black chelsea boots, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His thoughts are cluttered -- at least 90% of this by volume is anxiety, some vague and unplaced while several (heavily circling around School, around the returning alien captives, around the newcomer aliens) are taking more concrete shapes. The anxiety is interrupted by a brief flutter of warmth, furry and dog-shaped as he's passing the dog park, and though his chronic << (wouldn't it be nice --) >> whim is not actually going to resolve into adopting any dogs any time soon he is indulging the brief fantasy of having the kind of life where he might. The sight of DJ sends all these thoughts crashing down into a jagged icy wreck. His steps have hitched only briefly, his angry unhappiness collecting itself into a tight knotted ball and stashing quietly away. His mind is considerably quieter when he draws nearer, unhappiness washed away in a soft litany of rosary prayers. His eyes drift after the blobby figure as he slots himself into their spot at DJ's side. His eyes fix on the puppet show. It does not take long for his frown to begin a slow creep as well. "... is this for or against genocide, I am lost." Alestair had been darting around the crowd, but found himself stopped sort of just staring at DJ and his gelatinous acquaintance <<Reminds me of the Market.>> he thinks to himself. In most other places the wizard would stand out, but this is New York, so he’s just another weirdo dressed in a black button down, pressed slacks, and a medium weight cloak dyed deep purple. After a moment of indecision he takes another step forward, “I think they’re for money.” DJ has crossed one arm over his chest, fingers tapping lightly against the corduroy of his opposite sleeve. He shakes his head slow and ponderous, eyes not leaving the show. "I think it's very charitable assuming they have a point." He's nodding his agreement with Alestair's input. "The music's decent, at least." He's only now looking away, glancing over Alestair briefly. "You look very ready for the season." "Any time of year I come by here there's someone in this park ready for Halloween. It's why it is one of the best parks." Leo has gotten his reflexive stress well enough in hand to turn more towards DJ. The blobby figure is surfacing in his mind. "... is your. Friend. Settling in okay?" <<Halloween? Oh, yes, Halloween.>> Alestair glances back in the direction of the puppet show, apparently trying to decide if they have a point or not. “I actually dress like this more often than not, it might as well be part of my brand. I own an esoterica so I do my best to dress the part.” There’s a small smile on his face but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "It's Leo's favorite season." DJ's posture eases when Leo turns to face them. He's angling away from the stage, too, and looking a little more curiously at Alestair's clothing. "You own a -- what? Is that," he ventures a little bit uncertainly, "like..." But he's trailing off without quite managing to decide what it might be. "Like magic," Leo fills in helpfully, and while he is not exactly trying to troll he is feeling a quiet background curiosity about whether this is An Affront To Mormonism. "The occult. Witchcraft. The outfit is good advertising. Where is your shop? Do you get a lot more business around this time of year?" “Yes, magic.” Alestair agrees, his mouth curling faintly upwards in a smile. “It’s in Greenwich, I mostly sell supplies but I’m also a florist. I only just opened earlier this year but there has been an uptick in business recently. I doubt I’ll see many of them again but I certainly won’t complain about taking their money.” It’s only then that he really notices DJ’s missing arm and his eyebrows raise, <<What kind of enchantments power that? I wonder if it’s made from mysterium like mine.>> "Oh! That's -- Greenwich is a great place for that." DJ had not looked particularly overtly discomfited by Leo's clarification, just nodding along thoughtfully. He is blinking after this, though, giving a startled glance to Alestair as his colorfully feather-painted fingers twitch reflexively. "Mysterium? -- It's just carbon fiber, my, uh, muscles power it." "What?" Mysterium is mapping in Leo's mind to board game night and from there there's a sting of pain that he is trying not to project too hard onto DJ. His strong desire to ask What The Hell DJ is talking about is clashing up against a vague sense that it is not polite to ask this and a less vague sense that DJ should not be responding to mind-things, that is practically just encouraging rudeness. He frowns back at the puppet show, more disgruntled now with the abstruse messaging than he was before. Alestair jerks like DJ struck him, a wild panicked look flashing in his eyes for just a moment, before he regains his composure. “You can hear my thoughts.” His eyes drift closed for a second and he releases the air from his lungs. <<A promise broken accidentally is still a broken promise.>> With a practiced movement he pulls the glove from his right hand to show his own prosthetic off to the pair. “I take it you cannot, so this is what he was referring to.” he offers Leo, waiting another heartbeat before sliding the glove back on. “Now. What is carbon fiber?” "Sorry, yeah." It's polite but rote, DJ does not look particularly sorry. He does look fascinated when Alestair removes his glove, peering a little closer at the unusual prosthetic. He's lifted his own hand, sleeve pulling back a little bit to display more of the arm. "This is carbon fiber, it's a -- sort of woven carbon polymer. Stronger and lighter than a lot of other materials and I can 3-D print a new one when I break it. I'm sometimes hard on arms. I've never seen one like yours before, what is mysterium?" << Mysterium >> this time repeats kind of incredulously, << what kind of trashy fantasy novel name -- >> though from here Leo is almost idly wondering << please tell me he doesn't mean real magic >> though this is very fleeting, dismissed from his mind as passing absurdity almost as soon as it's surfaced and replaced with the firm confidence that Some Nerd in some materials lab somewhere was just having a good time when they came up with this nonsense. He looks from Alestair's arm to DJ's and, very mildly amused: "... I think most people who have those got them by being a little hard on arms, sometimes." “Interesting” Alestair stares at the prosthetic for what might be a moment too long before nodding in Leo’s direction. There’s a flash of memory, a group of likewise cloaked but armored figures in the doorway of a florist’s, fire dancing in the palm of the lead figure before Alestair manages to push it back down. “Mysterium is an incredibly hard to mine metal with… unusual properties. To explain it in depth you’d need to find somebody smarter than I. Honestly this carbon fiber sounds more interesting, and like it wouldn’t require a dragons hoard to purchase it.” DJ's laugh is bright and a little startled. His smile is a little wider, a little warmer; he rubs at the back of his neck with a slightly affected sheepishness. "I'm actually less hard on arms than I used to be, but this kind --" Another waggle of carbon-fiber fingers, "doesn't heal itself." His head tilts small and birdlike, and his hesitation is very short before he ventures, "Yeah, it's -- a little pricier than plastic but -- pretty easy to come by. Useful for a lot of things, like --" He frowns then, pensive. "-- Okay, most people probably don't need their arms to be able to withstand a fire blast but it's still nice to know it could." Leo is making a curious mental note to ask some friends in the less squishy sciences about mysterium, and from here a small and sorrowful pang that he neither places nor dwells on. He's pivoting back to light amusement: "-- There's a pretty critical failure point there, though. Have you considered making the rest of you out of carbon fiber, too?" “Interesting.” Alestair says softly and pulls out two business cards, offering one to each man. “If those are your concerns I may be of assistance. If not, I still may have something that would interests you. The world is a strange place, it always helps to be prepared.” There’s a slightly unsettling look to the smile that creeps across his face, but if he has any ulterior motives his brain does not betray him. “At the very least I carry plenty of literature, and you both strike me as bookish types.” "Thought about but I feel like there'd be a couple other installation problems." DJ has almost instinctively shied back a half step closer to Leo at Alestair's smile, but he does take the card. "You are not wrong about the weirdness. Thanks." "He was a Boy Scout," Leo has automatically offered, a moment later considering uncomfortably that he doesn't actually know if this was true. He takes the other card, studying it a moment and then disappearing it into a pocket. His mind is turning over aliens and other dimensions with a faint anxious apprehension that it doesn't seem possible, anymore, to prepare for the weirdness of the world, and while he has a healthy skepticism that flowers and crystals will help he's still dipping his head politely, and means it when he adds. "Thank you. I will stop by." He's starting to turn -- hesitating -- considering asking DJ if he's had dinner yet, if he wants to -- but then just dips his head again, stiffly, and heads off. “You both take care.” Alestair offers before turning his own way with a flourish of his cloak to head out. << I’ve really got to work on how uncomfortable I make people. >> "You too." DJ is kind of admiring the flare of the cloak as Alestair leaves. He's lingering to watch the rest of the show, but his voice touches to Leo's mind in parting: << Scoutmaster >>, a little wryly, and then quieter: << and when you're ready I'd love to grab a meal. >> | |
