spring. [serafine, grace]

Kiara Woolfe
[I'm doing the thing with the sensing because, y'know. Dice.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

SerafíneEarly evening, midweek, springtime - warm in a way that feels bonesoaking after the long, dark winter.  Now though: my god, the sun, the dogwoods, the tulips and the anemone, the late-blooming daffodils, the iris bristling-green but not yet in-bloom in dark stands around the lake.  The redbuds a bruising blush of magenta, here and there a cherry tree that has just come into bloom or has come-and-gone while you were looking at it: tender tender tendersweet.

Spring.

The park is flooded with people from every walk of life and every socioeconomic strata.  Skateboarders, joggers, frisbee throwers, dog-walkers, dog-runners, dog-carriers, picnickers of both the makeshift and the wellplanned varieties.  Puppet-show creators and street artists and balloon-sellers.  Grandparents running after toddlers, teenagers trailing after the world's most clueless adults.  Bird-watchers, goose-feeders, toy-sailboat-captains, roast-nut vendors and on, and on, and on.  Pick-up softball games and a stray game of intramural quidditch and not one, but two people in Chewbacca suits neither of whom knows the other -

and amidst all this agitation, green-green-growth and exultant tumult a certain creature, laying on her back in the green green grass, dark glasses over her eyes, golden hair threaded through the grass, head back, feet flat on the ground, knees bent, arms spread wide wide wide.

Kiara WoolfeThe warmth had hit her like a freight train. All that deep, deep cold and then suddenly; sunshine. Suddenly the world twisting just so and then - oh. Spring is sprung and there's a poetry to Washington Park again that somehow felt hushed and suspended while the snow fell. As if winter had pressed her finger to her lips and shushed the world and the travelers that once upon a time traversed it. Kiara Woolfe had been one of these - not to say she'd entirely stopped visiting but - her absences had been longer.

Her presence stirring here and there - conversations via Ginger - a flash of dark, wild hair in a Café, a bright red smile across a room - there and then - gone. As if pinched and snuffed out; leaving only the wisps of curling smoke; the suggestion of the Verbena.

That was in essence so very much the brunette's way, however. She was a wilding at heart and as much as the city entertained her there was forever curled around Kiara the notion of something borrowed but for a time from nature. Some sprite that manifested in a flash of sharp white teeth and dark; laughing eyes. Just as it does now - Serafine on the grass and then a shadow sliding across her form. The sensation of rebirth; the tickle at the senses and suddenly -

"Hey, stranger."

- Kiara; sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose; head tilted to the side. Drinking in the sight of the other woman; her fingers idly curled around a bottle of water. Kiara; who smelled like sunshine and coffee; vital and sweet and yet - something else, too. The curl of her lips suggestive. "Mind if I sit?"

Grace[Awareness!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

GraceThe warmth does not hit Grace like a freight train. This Phoenixite loves the warm, and even embraces the hot. It's amazing she manages to get through the winter without freezing a toe off. Warmth hits her like a fluffy pillow. She just wants to roll around in it.

Maybe that's why she's out here in the 'wild' nursing her internet addiction by strolling around with her face in her phone. Or, she could be peeling away the universe's veils and poking stuff on the inside, it's really hard to tell...

But she isn't. At least, not in any way less mundane than anyone else does with their own quantum-tunneling pocket-sized sums-of-most-human-knowledge.

After some fashion, the skittering wanderer wanders inexplicably towards the others, as Mages are so wont to do. Like attracts like, or something like that. But she still doesn't look up from her phone. Maybe she's just not quite aware of them yet, drifting their way like following a familiar scent.

SerafíneThe creature has to feel it from a long way off: that singular sensation - devouring rebirth, the voracious energy of it, but she does not move, does not stir, does not sit-up-and-wave or otherwise embrace the sensation until Kiara's shadow moves over Sera's skin.  Which is already bronzed, as if she had spent those last dredging weeks of winter-to-spring somewhere far, far away.  Someplace with white sands and luminous seas and a golden sun.  St. Tropez or Rio or Santorini or Phuket or fucking Bali.

Maybe it was fucking Bali.

Maybe it was just Jamaica.

Whereever: she has three bracelets made of braided grass and cheap glass beads around her left wrist, tattoos scrawling dark on her fingers, wrists, forearms, her left bicep, curling up her negligent flank, disappearing into shadow or beneath the straps of her leopard-print bikini top.

Next to her head, sweating in a plastic-domed Big Gulp cup, a bright pink Slurpee.  Guarantee you it is dosed with something.

"Hey."  This see, as much to Kiara's shadow as to Kiara.  Quiet really, for a Sera, the edge of her mouth: curving, faint.  This lift of her chin, both subtle and supple, rather hard to see for the angle except for the way it makes her hair slither through the grass.  "I'd mind if you fucking didn't sit."

The glasses are too dark for anyone to see her eyes, but the sense of her attention is clear.  The direction.  The strange, drifting precision.

Kiara WoolfeThere's quiet laughter at that.

At the idea that she'd find offense in it; Kiara's decision whether to sit or not to sit which - frankly - was really no decision at all but an eventuality. She had always had the intention to - it was the tease with formalities she really had no great care for that slowed her descent to the grass. She drops a bag down; it rattles with authority; the contents burdened enough to impact with some weight; to compress the soft earth beneath it before the Verbena folds herself down beside it.

"Guess I'd better fucking sit, then."

Scoops her sunglasses back over her face so her dark eyes are visible. Uncaps the water bottle and tips it against her lips; swallows and watches Serafine out of the corner of her eyes; smiling as she turns her face afterwards. Her mouth is cherry red tonight; the water leaving it gleaming wetly in the gathering dusk.

There's almost something feral about the imagery; the bold, wet, red. She reclines back on a hand and tilts her head - quiet for a beat before: "Grace." A slanted look to Serafine; the edge of humor there around her supple lips. "Have you ever noticed - " Kiara settles down on her side; cupping the side of her neck and pressing an elbow down to support herself; draping across the narrow margin of space between herself and the Cultist as if she had no concern of Serafine minding the invasion.

The way it brought the Verbena's long lashes into greater clarity; the sweep and settle of them against her cheek. The steady weight of her regard through dark eyes. "The way we seem to converge. You'd nearly think it was magic." A slow, satisfied shift of her mouth, then. She lifts her chin.

Watching Sera while she lounges in all her leopard-print bikini-topped glory.

GraceGrace marches up to the two of them as Kiara is speaking on the oddity of convergences, and Grace -- while still not looking up from her phone -- adds: "It's a consequence, I think. Entanglings, you know? I felt something familiar over here, and my feet must have moved for me."

She puts her phone into a pocket on her jeans, her black t-shirt one with a graphic of a robot in yellow and white, advertising: "Pass your Turing test in 2 weeks! $99"

"What's up. Is this grass taken?"

Serafíne"Like magic, sure," comes this note of quiet, humming agreement from the Cultist.  Except, somewhere within or around the phrase is something else: something not-querelous precisely, so much as it is contrarian.  Her golden head turns as Kiara descends, as if on a fulcrum.  That same sense of both weight and calibration which somehow both belies and telegraphes her physical state of some-sort of inebriation.

Here's the truth: right now, just now, Sera is really rather stoned.

It's the best way to be stoned, with the sun cracking brilliant above you like the golden yolk of a perfectly cooked egg.

" - but not exactly magic.  And it's not really a consequence.  And it's not really a convergence: it's a choice.  A whole bunch of fucking choices you know?  To walk: towards, instead of: away from.  To be open right?  Somehow and on some level to everything that is.  Or at least, the pieces of it that hit you on your fucking wavelength, yeah?"

The sustained sense of eyecontact: the dark lenses and Kiara's dark eyes just - momentarily - hanging.

Then a glance up.  The frame of her dark glasses a cluster of tiny crystal-eyed skulls: of course.

"Hey Grace."

Kiara WoolfeSera is really rather stoned and Kiara is - mellow, to put it one way. Her smile lingering there as the blonde turns her face toward her and their eyes meet; holding there as the Verbena reaches over with her free hand to catch and surrender a strand of hair away from Serafine's brow; her wrist jangling with its usual assortment of brevity in chains and stones and the silver catch and gleam of something resembling a pentagram.

It's no wonder Arionna possesses the dismay for the brunette she does - she wears her beliefs without compromise, Kiara. There's no attempts to disguise her tendencies when it comes to faith - or the lack of it, in certain things.

The Verbena's touch though, where it ghosts along her skin, is gentle. Barely there to be felt stronger than the breeze before - "That depends, what's the password?" This, Kiara twisting back a little; her sunglasses dropping forward onto her nose as she settles back onto her elbow; pushing space between herself and Serafine; toeing her bag out of the way of Grace's invited situation.

"Been a while." This, Grace's actual greeting beyond the initial drawling tease, a thin eyebrow arching. "How's my favorite technological wizkid been doing? Not behaving yourself, I hope."

Grace"I wasn't really aware of my making a choice, but hey -- I'll take credit for being open to everything," Grace says, smiles down at Sera.

"The password is: I'm sitting on the grass and you can't stop me?" There's a smirk, and then a plop as she adjusts to the sudden downwardness.

"I am totally not. Behaving myself. Ever."

Because fuck that, okay? Grace doesn't reach out to the others in their touchy-feeliness, but she doesn't seem bothered by it either. Doesn't seem so willing to put distance between herself and others these days.

Serafíne"Like magic, sure," comes this note of quiet, humming agreement from the Cultist.  Except, somewhere within or around the phrase is something else: something not-querelous precisely, so much as it is contrarian.  Her golden head turns as Kiara descends, as if on a fulcrum.  That same sense of both weight and calibration which somehow both belies and telegraphes her physical state of some-sort of inebriation.

Here's the truth: right now, just now, Sera is really rather stoned.

It's the best way to be stoned, with the sun cracking brilliant above you like the golden yolk of a perfectly cooked egg.

" - but not exactly magic.  And it's not really a consequence.  And it's not really a convergence: it's a choice.  A whole bunch of fucking choices you know?  To walk: towards, instead of: away from.  To be open right?  Somehow and on some level to everything that is.  Or at least, the pieces of it that hit you on your fucking wavelength, yeah?"

The sustained sense of eyecontact: the dark lenses and Kiara's dark eyes just - momentarily - hanging.

Then a glance up.  The frame of her dark glasses a cluster of tiny crystal-eyed skulls: of course.

"Hey Grace."

SerafíneAck.  Not that one!

SerafíneSera is quite remarkably still as Kiara's arm - with its gleaming cachement of baubles and bangles - shades her face.   That stillness is somehow still very inhabited; immediate; cognizent: aware, implicitly, explicitly.  Though her eyes are hidden, there is still this sense that she sinks into even the impression of contact.  The layers of it, as fine and finely calibrated as the layers of skin, and blood, blood and bone.

Sera tilts the crown of her skull back and back, chin rising to plant a supple, quiet kiss at the base of Kiara's palm.

Lets it go, turns her hidden gaze in Grace's direction as Grace sits in the still-lush grass.

--

Somewhere in the grass: a low buzz-buzzing.  Sounds like a bee.  Isn't a bee.

The hum of someone's phone, low, insistent, which starts over again as soon as it stops.  Sera is patting down the grass, looking for the thing, looking-looking for it as it starts its buzzing chorus all over again, and finally finds it, shades her eyes against the lowering sun to read the screen, makes a noise and then rolls over and lifts herself up from the grass, dusting herself off, this twist of apology in her mouth as she wanders a bit away to take this call thingy.

Kiara Woolfe"Access granted."

Kiara's smiling as she hauls herself upright in a clink of necklaces and charms; resettling and drawing her legs beneath herself in an adoption of ease. The jeans she's wearing have a frayed patch over her knee; the glimpse of bare skin sliding beneath the denim; the jacket she's thrown on over a black shirt lightweight; the cream offsetting the dark brilliance of her hair where it falls in wild waves.

There are zips everywhere; on its cuffs; the edge of collars; along one side. At some point between this movement and resettling - Serafine rolls over; searches through the grass for her phone; reclaims it and takes the call. Kiara's eyes settle on her; linger there for a beat before there's the lift of her chin and her attention shifts to Grace.

Her fingers toying with the cap of her water bottle.

"Glad to hear it. After everything that happened with our - " There's a pause, a flicker of - what - uncertainty, caution that registers across her features. There and gone. Smoothed over with the slight inflection of humor. " - recent visitors, I wasn't sure what to expect venturing out."

Grace"I don't think they're out yet. And even if they were, that's no reason to barricade ourselves. I tried not to show them we were afraid of them for a reason. More like, 'you guys are small stuff and we try not to sweat the small stuff'. You know. Just because they have the capacity to kill us doesn't mean they're the worst things I've ever seen. Creepy, though. Eugh."

There, an exaggerated shiver, punctuating the 'eugh'. Grace has opinions on vampires, you see?

She rolls her eyes up to the trees, leans back on her hands. Hey, nature. When did you show up?

"I think I got the message across to them though. We aren't a threat as long as they're not sacrificing people to demons. And it's in their best interests to have us around because we deal with all the shits who pose existential threats to the universe, which includes them. I think it'll be okay on that front. I think."

Kiara WoolfeKiara's head lifts, just so, as a couple cross over the grass nearby; their feet lightly trampling the grass underfoot as they pass. She watches them for a moment, the Verbena, her gaze flicking between them as Grace notes the vampire's probably aren't out, yet.

The lights in the park have only just come on; buzzing into existence as if summoned by the Virtual Adept's words. There's a subtle bent to the brunette's mouth; her eyes jump back to Grace. "Very creepy. I'm not a huge fan of the whole 'bend others to your whim so you can use them for snacks' mind games they play, either." Her lips purse; she sits up; rolling thin shoulders as if to shake off the idea of the creatures.

"When it comes to vampires, okay is more than enough." A beat; the edge of her mouth curls. "That and a lot of distance. I don't have the same capacity the others do to shield myself against their games." She drops her eyes to the grass; idly plucking blades of grass between her fingers.

"Things that old, I'm not sure they have the same capacity to see the world the way humans do. It gets - " Kiara gestures with a wrist; splaying her fingers out. Her palm is dotted with the indentations of the ground; the shape of leaves pressed into the skin. " - distorted.

I was a little worried about Kalen, though."

Grace"I... uh... I could teach you how, but I don't know if it would work well. Maybe ask around? It's really a relief, you know?"

Grace's eyes spot the lights coming on. The sun's setting. The undead will be out soon, and then? Well, they probably aren't suicidal enough to start a war.

"Kalen is... Kalen. He'll do what he likes. And if any of them hurt him, I will anonymously end them." Grace just shrugs, like that's the way of things. "I'm more worried about what his little organization is going to do to him."

Kiara WoolfeKiara looks at Grace for a moment; her expression unguarded; open and considering and honest. There's a touch of the vulnerable to Kiara in moments like this. The slightness of her build; the impression of a dimple in her cheek when her smile grows large enough; sincere enough to demonstrate their existence there. The way her hair falls over her face as she finally ticks her eyes away from Grace toward the ground. A delicacy that offers the misleading impression - by physicality alone - that the Verbena is lacking in the capacity to hold her own.

Of course, then - there's the way she shelters herself; draws back; slides the telltale smile across her mouth; lets it settle there that armor. "I appreciate the offer. Maybe Ian can show me a few techniques if all else fails." The notion of learning anything from Ian seems, at least judging by the gleam of Kiara's eyes as she says this, unlikely. Though perhaps the tease is the easiest form of deflection.

"Ah, yes. His little out of town visitor. How's that going for him? He's been unusually quiet on Ginger which can either mean splendidly or he's been chased out of town."

GraceGrace catches that strange not-vulnerability. Perhaps she misreads. It's an easy thing for her, to totally miss the point of body language. But she tries, you know? So, there's a tilt of the head while she tries to figure Kiara out, and then...

"It's not you. I tend to see things so wildly different from most others, I tend to just say maybe it will work, but don't get your hopes up? I mean, I view mental processes as implicate/explicate order transformations on a fractal holographic base? So. I realize there are chasms to cross. Commonalities exist, yeah. Minds-as-wholeness, that's a concept that's pretty relatable. Or the unification of all minds maybe? I'm not saying no. Not at all. I love sharing."

After that, her eyes wander off to a streetlamp.

"As for Kalen, his out-of-town visitor has yet to land. And Elijah's freaking out, thinking he's got to make the best first impression ever. The only time I ever met a Quaesitor, it wasn't a good experience. But hey, different people are different, no matter what label they like to stick on themselves."

Kiara Woolfe"No, it makes sense - it's just - " Kiara's expression shifts, as if she's searching to find the appropriate words to articulate herself in the settling darkness. It's bleeding across the park now; the shadows drawing long and low across the ground; the breeze that had felt so pleasant and nice dropping that few degrees to scatter leaves and stir rubbish collecting around trash bins; to raise the hair on arms.

The subtle shift.

Loungers on the grass begin to pick their belongings together; the cyclists wheeling their bikes back toward the winding pathways; the lovers strolling; shoes in hands; arms around shoulders; the dog walkers throwing balls whistling and re-attaching leads in the preparation to head home. Night falls and a different subset of visitors begin to fill the park.

" - The way I view things might not be so compatible - there's a lot of - " The Verbena's head cants; she brushes a gathering of grass from her hands. " - we call it the second sight. It's passion. And emotion. The way we channel it. The place it comes from. It might require a little - " Kiara's mouth twitches; curls up at the edge in that familiar way of hers. "Hard wiring, of a sort."

Her eyes follow Grace's toward the streetlight, then. She grows quiet for a beat and uncurls her legs; stretching out the muscles. Starts to gather her things; scooping up her water bottle; her sunglasses; pushing both into the vestiges of her bag. "In my experience, the harder you try to make an impression, the harder it becomes to forge any kind of connection." A beat, Kiara slings her bag over her shoulder; pushes herself to her feet with a tiny head nod that serves for her notification she means to depart - and Grace should walk with her.

"Elijah's a sweet kid, though. I think he could manage to charm most people without even realizing it." There's the slightest dip in the Verbena's tone; a pointed edge of sharp bemusement. "I mean, he seems to be the only one I've seen Arionna warm to."

GraceAhh. Yes. They are out in a place known for vampire attacks, and Kiara has admitted to being unable to shield herself from their 'games'. At least, that's how Grace takes the 'we should both leave' motions. It honestly hadn't occurred to her. She quickly leaps to her feet, and then twists her spine to check her butt to see if she's picked up grass. She has.

It gets brushed off, and her hair gets ruffled just in case any twigs have found a home there. This is also a thing that happens when you allow yourself to get lost in the wilderness of an orderly park.

And so, she follows Kiara, having no idea where she was planning to go just yet. Just it seems like a good idea. Safety in numbers and all that.

"Arionna. Yeah. Elijah's a sweet kid who is prone to mistakes, especially when it comes to young women. I don't think he knows what he's in for, you know? Arionna is a tragic case, but so are most people who go on to be homicidal maniacs. It doesn't excuse what they do. I hope she doesn't go that route, because fuck if I want to deal with a raging misanthropic woman with awesome cosmic power. Again."

Kiara WoolfeArionna is a tragic case.

The Verbena's eyes tick to Grace; they were fine ones, all things considered. Framed by long, thick lashes and decorated on a regular basis by Kiara's fondness for heavy; dramatic eyeliner. She fanned a certain sort of flame by painting her mouth bold, brassy reds; her fingernails to match; adorned her lean frame in monochromic shades to offset the effect. Polarizing, some found the brunette with her mouth nearly always provoking a smile and her bright; intent stare.

Yet there was a certain easiness to her company when all was said and done.

Kiara was not a soul to demand confidences or push beyond comfortable silences. She relished the physicality in walking beside Grace; letting their arms brush; taking stock of the lingering park-goers as they moved along the pathways. The Verbena wore dark boots; the heel of each striking the cement with a subdued click as if to mirror the casual intention of their steps.

"Is she? I suppose I don't really know. I've tried to talk to her once or twice, but - " A flicker of something passing over dark eyes; annoyance; resignation. Some degree of curiosity, perhaps. " - I always get the decided impression she thinks I'm something to be endured. Our ideologies don't exactly mesh, in a manner of speaking."

Then: "Elijah seems like the kind who wants to be in love. I get it. I get him. Arionna - " She lets out a slow breath. "I don't know. I guess we just have to hope she knows."

Grace"She told me some things about herself. When we last yelled at each other. I'd rather just leave it at that," Grace says, walking alongside. The Virtual Adept is plainfaced tonight, a shadow of grays when you catch sight of her. There's just this constant cast of nondescript about her, like the passing person would always have a little trouble figuring out how to describe this person. Male? Female? Short hair or long? In the dark, is she blonde?

"I always get the impression that..."

Grace sighs. Talking about other people, even if they might be a threat? Just. Yeah. There's a reason why she's not going to repeat the specifics about what Arionna yelled at her.

"Nevermind. If Arionna goes Krakatoa, she goes. If not, good. That's up to her, and us talking about her isn't going to fix that."

Kiara WoolfePerhaps therein lies one of the differences between the pair.

Kiara doesn't flinch to offer her thoughts, they're not offered with cool-eyed disdain or mustered bravado but - simply. Unadorned by much but her unfiltered considerations. What few experiences lay open to her to dissect the people in question. She makes a quiet noise of assent to Grace's words.

Holds the silence for a beat, not cruelly, or to siphon out any confessions from the other woman. There's a fork in the path ahead and the Verbena skirts to the left; a hand delves into a pocket; returns with a set of keys wound around her fingertips.

"C'mon, I'll drive you home and let you tinker with my stereo." There's a gleam to her eyes that says she's aware of how it sounds; the offer; the sly meaning that could be incited from it, but the proposition lacks any real heat. Her flirtation is punctuated with a twirl of her keys in her palm; the hook of her elbow in offer and she begins stroll ahead.

Kiara Woolfe[*to stroll ahead. Also that's a wrap!]