horse. [grace, alexander, farrah, river, dan]

Kiara Woolfe
[Yay, people! I'm going to go type something.]

Kiara WoolfeFall was settling comfortably into Denver.

The trees beginning to shake off their leaves and leaving drying shells scattered over footpaths and manicured lawns the city over; the mountains turning brilliant shades of honey-gold and deep crimson red on the horizon and the weather starting to subtly shift; breezes bearing the intention of cooler days to come. Thursday afternoon in the city limits had dwindled into a pleasant, breezy affair. It was still warm enough for layers to be disguarded under the warmth of the sun, clouds scattering across its path.

Still the weather for lounging on the grassy expanses Washington Park had to offer; littered as they were of recent days with curling, crumbling leaves. You still found the poets with their heads buried in books, stretched out on the ground with their shoes beside them; feet bare to the world. Still the mothers pushing strollers along the winding pathways, dogs chasing balls and the glinting promise of the lake, birds diving and settling on its surface to glide along, shaking their feathers and dipping their faces into the water.

The face of a city that changed and within it - the ones who saw the other side. The shadows that fell, the noises and the ugly.

Kiara Woolfe wasn't to be found lounging on the grass as late afternoon sunlight slanted across it, she was on one of the park's many basketball courts, seated on the side beside a chainlink fence, tying her dark hair back, a basketball housed between her feet. She was the sole occupant of the court aside from a lone bird; perched high on the fence, watching her progress with tiny, anticipatory movements of its head. When she rose, scooping up the ball, it startled and took flight with a rustle of feathers.

Kiara moved out onto the court, the sound of the ball echoing as she began a slow circuit.

Alexander[Awareness?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Grace[Awareness?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

GraceThis place, man. This fucking place.

Last time Grace was here it was to inspect the remains of a woman-chimera with four arms who'd put a good friend into... let's say mental distress. Almost getting your face ripped off will do that to you.

Then, there was everything that happened after.

She doesn't even really know why she's here, other than perhaps something in her that wants to show the monsters who's boss. Don't show your face here anymore, right? We live here too, and we like this park.

Well, territorial, tribal ideology never sit well with Grace. She'll make an exception for dead things who like to reshape people into horrified and horrifying monsters. Call it the line beyond which Grace Evans will actually categorize a person.

Anyway, it's with that thought in mind that she's in the park today, dressed in her jeans and bite-proof grey turtleneck jacket, paying a great deal of attention to what's going on around her (while simultaneously shoving her head in her cell phone and walking). She hears the basketball. She feels the pulse of the world. She looks up, and starts toward the court.

Kiara Woolfe[Awareness, perhaps?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

Kiara Woolfe[All of time and space is the Verbena's.]

Alexander[Because I need to know if he fluffs or not for the post...  Arete: Spirit 1, Entropy 1.  Sensing the gauntlet, looking for weakness.  Coincidental, TN4.  +1 for trying something new, -1 for taking his time.]

Dice: 1 d10 TN4 (9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Kiara Woolfe[Playin' some ball. Dex + Ath.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

AlexanderKiara may not have been drawn here to lounge on the grass, but Alexander?  Well, that’s exactly where he can be found.  Not so far away, at a familiar spot near the lake, he’s lying on the grass.  It’s not particularly uncommon to find him here, although his visits maybe aren’t quite as frequent as they used to be.  There’s still hope in the visits, though.  Hope that he’ll meet someone again, hopefully in better circumstances.  Until he learns how to do more than look into the spirit world, this is the best chance he has for that meeting.

He seems to be watching the lake, but that isn’t really where his attention is at the moment.  The bottle of water that he’s slowly turning over and over in his hand might, to those who know him and how he Works, give the hint that his attention is elsewhere.  There’s also a frigid, frozen chill in the air around him as his will bends reality just a little.  Not enough to do anything obvious to those who aren’t attuned to such things.  Just enough to deepen his awareness of the border of this world and its mirror.  Scratching at the boundaries, looking for areas of strength and weakness.

He’s there for a while before other sensations start to make their selves known.  The pulse of the world not so far away.  The razor edge of fluttering wings.  The gathering of Awakened.  Letting go of the effect, he pushes up from the grass and heads towards the basketball court to meet the familiar – and not as familiar – presences.

DanTall guy in black skinny jeans, a fitted flannel shirt open over a t-shirt.  Blond hair, blond beard, hints of tattooes flashing at cuffs and collar like the evidence of ink on a scrivener's hand.  He has a battered leather bag slung across his tall, spare frame and is walking with a long-haired brunette in a flowing, flowered skirt that billows in the wind.  She, in turn, is walking this bright yellow-and-orange fixed gear bicycle along the path.   Has a basket on the front and paperflowers woven into the weave.

He's smoking a cigarette.  Well, maybe it's a cigarette, except she asks for a drag and he gives it to her while they stand at a cross-roads, looking not-at-all like park-people.  He catches a glimpse of Grace or maybe of Kiara, though.  Takes back the cigarette and touches the brunette's shoulder and says something low by way of farewell.  She climbs on the bicycle, nevermind the way her skirt blows in the high plains wind, and keeps on going.  He turns and lifts a hand toward - well, someone.  Maybe a couple of someones.  Maybe whoever will return it.

"Grace," Dan says, overtaking her with his long strides and lanky frame.  Then, "Kiara," when they reach the basketball court.  Listens to that peculiar ring of the ball against the court - elastic and resonant, all at once.  Taut.
"Fancy a game of HORSE?"
Wry grin at Grace.  Maybe a challenge.



River VasquezRiver doesn't know anyone here except Farrah. They haven't been to the park together but they have gone and gotten a new wardrobe. She's got a couple job applications tucked into her oversized purse and there she is, walking around the park with a pair of awfully high heels thrown into her purse so she can walk around and enjoy the feeling of the ground on her feet. It was starting to get cold, too. Or, at least, colder than the perpetually perfect San Diego.

Her hips swayed when she walked, exaggerated and like she was bopping along to some song that was playing in her head. The strut said it all: River was bouncing along to the Beegees Stayin' Alive. She doesn't really care where she's walking, just that she is walking and then this: she notices the sound of people on the basketball courts. She doesn't know who they are, but she is curious enough that she wouldn't mind seeing what tthey were doing.

A heel turn and redirection later, the dark-haired woman bops down the way to see people. She's got on yoga pants. Yoga pants and an oversized shirt and a sports bra that is more restrictive than a sportsbra has any right to be. No sir, nothing on River Vasquez was moving unless she damned well wanted it to.

And thus, the ball of sunshine bops over to the basketball courts.

Grace"Neiiigh?" Grace says, flashes Dan a smile. "Oh, wait. That sounds like no. I mean, yes. Unless that means you want me to ride you, in which case -- no."

She quirks her head, though not at anything in particular. Maybe analyzing her own speech for its utter strangeness. "How do you play horse? Also, hi Kiara."

Hi, sunshine. Well, that's different. Grace turns away from the court, looks the new one up and down. There, a little tick of the head upwards, like 'hey'.

Kiara WoolfeThe brunette navigates the court at a slow jog, bouncing the ball between her hands. She's a lean creature, the Verbena, with finely shaped features and dark, expressive eyes. She feels a little like a fixed pulse to the world and a lot more like the first flush of exhilaration. Nature in perpetual motion, that's the sense Kiara Woolfe gives as she lobs the ball toward the ring and watches the neat arc it cuts through the air, watches it hit the ring and wobble inside.

There's a flash of teeth at that, a private (or so she believes in the moment) surge of satisfaction.

She's dressed as much for the occasion as the weather, the pagan, in a pair of soft grey sweatpants that are tied loosely at her hips; in a fitted shirt that adheres to the curve of her spine; her middrift is bear where it cuts off and the dark lines of a tattoo are visible, teased at the edges where the hem rises as she reclaims her ball and turns to sight the sensations creeping along her skin.

The bite of Alexander, the shifting, keen sensation of Grace. Others, too. Some Kiara can't instantly place, that has her pause. Raises a hand to cover her eyes and look across the rolling slope of a hill, beyond the fence and the dappling surface of the water. The ball is tucked under an arm and she's still in transit as Dan appears, as they're greeting her.

"Hey Grace, Dan." There's a flush of color in the Verbena's cheeks, it suits her alarmingly well. "Do something fancy, shoot for the hoop. Next in line has to copy you or create their own." She raises her eyebrows in Dan's direction, gently directs her ball his way with a dragging edge of a smile.

"You can lead us off if you want. Show us what you've got."

Dan"I'm not one to insist on universalizing my own experiences," says Dan, and maybe he's smirking a bit behind the shadow of his beard, while also rather precisely pinching off the cherry of his cigarette(?) and then stomping the ember to ash beneath the heel of his Converse All-Stars.  He's wearing them for fashion, not function.  That smirk mingles with a vague, bemused grin.  " - but, you've never played HORSE?"

A lift of his chin, wordlessly returning Kiara's greeting.  Falls silent as she explains then game, then reaches out to take the basketball as Kiara passes it his way.

Those are musician's hands, not a ball handler's, but still.  Can't be a lanky guy from middle-America without playing some basketball, someday, somewhere.

"You do a 'round, repeat the last shot.  If you make it, great.  If you miss it, you get a letter.  Once you've spelled HORSE, you're out.  Last person standing wins."

He takes a minute to lift his leather bag over his body and set it carefully aside, then gives the basketball a few experimental dribbles, hand-to-hand before shaping a drive toward the basket.

First shot is simple: a lay-up.

DanDan retrieves the ball as it comes through the basket and passes it to Grace.

Dan(Lay-ups are easy, dif 4 if you guys wanna roll!)

AlexanderAlexander wanders over with no great rush.  There doesn’t seem to be any great disaster at this exact moment, nothing that needs to be rushed towards or away from.  And let’s be honest here, he is more likely to be rushing towards it – partly in case anyone else is in danger, partly because he’d just want to know what was happening.  Apparently he thinks the cat just got unlucky.

Yes, Alexander heads towards the court.  He’s not dressed particularly differently from the others this afternoon.  He wasn’t unfamiliar with colder climes, so the trousers favoured by the others are replaced by cargo shorts.  The guy seems to like his pockets.  Above that, a black sleeveless tshirt covered by a red flannel shirt, worn open and untucked and drifting vaguely in the breeze.  Some walking boots and a rucksack, now shouldered, completed his attire for the moment.  It wouldn’t be entirely surprising to find him with something tucked away for if the weather changes for the worse, though.  He’s lived here long enough.

He pauses at the gate to the court to watch what’s happening, and to wait to be noticed.  As if they wouldn’t have picked up on his approach any more than he picked up on their presence here.  But he doesn’t want to distract anybody from their shot.

Kiara Woolfe[I just like rolling to see how badly the dice roller crushes my dreams. Hup, hup. Lay up.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 4 )

River Vasquez[awareness: are these *gasp* unique people?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 6, 7, 7) ( success x 3 )

River VasquezShe is bright, a literal brightness that comes with warmth, that comes with the first rays of the sun that come back and fight their way through the vestiges of winter. There's a sort of determination that comes with those first sprouts of life that poke through the snow, something that is intent on becoming more than just grass.

But the other woman acknowledges her, the one who doesn't quite ping on River's senses as well as one would imagine, but we digress. She runs her hands over the rail, looks back when she feels the pull of something frozen on her senses. She turns around, regards the other stranger in a sea of them. She smiles, something bright and relaxed.

"The game just started," she said in a voice that has a fair bit of an accent. More Cuba than United States, but very familiar with English.

GraceOoh. Game. Some sort of sportsball game. Right. Horse.

Grace bounces the ball on the court, eyes flitting to the cold spire of Alex, and she smiles at him. Then, it's time to earn her letter. Or not. Who knows, she might just do the thing right.

She walks up to the spot where Dan shot from, and peers up at the hoop.

"Well, I didn't spend a lot of time outside when I was a kid. Jumping chollas and oppressive heat will do that to you," Grace says, and she doesn't follow that up with 'oh yeah, and none of the other kids would play with me', but there is that too. She has people to play with now, so. What does it matter?

[Dex + Ath = copying Dan's layup!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN4 (1, 1, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

GraceNot bad, nope. Went through the hoop at least. Grace assumes that counts, and picks up the ball to throw it to Kiara.

Kiara WoolfeThere are days when Kiara feels acutely connected to the world around her. Feels the way every tiny hair on her body reacts to stimuli: the sun, the gentle, curling breeze, the brush of fingers, the rough give of her basketball. The awareness of others, like her, who were at once a part of and more to all of it. She feels it today, beneath the afternoon light. The prickle of her senses - a hand raising to cup the back of her neck and she twists in a slight, fluid motion to watch Alexander's approach.

The edge of her mouth retains that same smile she'd offered Dan not a few heartbeats ago.

"Hey," she's studying Alexander now, her dark eyes absorbing a hundred tiny details about the man she knew by sight, by sense, but barely at all. The frozen lake in winter. She gestures at his rucksack, resting over a shoulder. "Unburden yourself and come join the game. I'm ambitious enough to want to see how I rank against everyone, today." Her smile widens and a dimple flashes into a cheek. "It's the day for it."

Then, warmth. Inviting and bone deep.

She turns to River, inclines her head. Her hand falling away. "It has," agreement, consideration. "You're welcome to join too, if you want." This briefest tick of eyes over her figure and she turns back in time to catch the ball lobbed her way by Grace. She moves across to take up the other woman's place, canting a little smile sidelong as she does. "Not bad, Evans."

Then, her face adopts a slightly more focused expression, eyes on the hoop, her entire body sings with it. The anticipation of landing the shot. When she makes it, her shirt lifts enough to reveal the full design of that tattoo on her lower back, a spiraling shape with a line cut through it. It gives the impression of something vaguely oriental, some designation or belief inked into the pagan's skin.

Her shot sinks into the hoop neatly and Kiara makes a tiny hop-step of satisfaction.

DanThey're all Special People, resonant, the signature of their magic charging the air around them so distinctly and assuredly.  All Special except for the guy with the roughly worked head of blond hair and the wallet chain and on and on and on.  Him?  He's ordinary.

Gives Grace an ordinary little grin/smirk in response to her ellipses of understanding.  Then gives her a few beats of applause when she makes the lay-up.  Watches the ball as she passes it to Kiara then his eyes cut back to Grace as she walks or maybe-jogs across the court and out of Kiara's way.  Drops his mouth to Grace's ear and mutters something.

(Muttered: "It's all physics, Grace.")

Which he knows would never make sense to Sera, who does not believe in physics.  He figures Grace does, though.

"Game just started," the guy affirms to River, either in echo of overlay of Kiara's statement.  "No one has an H yet."  Is: retrieving the ball from beneath the basket or maybe wherever it rolled after that shot - bending low and scooping it up with long-fingered and rather deft hands, tossing it back and forth like he's deciding whether or where to go when his phone rings.

Or rather: his phone starts playing the opening riff to The Breeders' Cannonball.

Which means: his phone rings.

He has the presence of mind to toss the ball in Alexander's direction (hey! join the game!) even as he's reaching for the phone in his back pocket.  Pulling it out, putting it to his ear.  Maybe he gives them a gotta get this but isn't that obvious?

"Hey.  Where the fuck are you?" He might be overheard saying as he walks off,  pausing only long enough to grab the bag he dropped off when he stepped onto the court.

Alexander[Catch!  Dex/Ath]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

AlexanderWhen Grace smiles, Alex offers one of his own along with a small wave.  It’s a momentary thing before she turns with the ball and takes her shot.  A shot which flies straight towards the hoop and sinks in without any great drama.  A short round of applause comes from the man leaning against the gate.

“Are you sure you’re not really some kind of hustler?  Trying to persuade us just how bad at this you are before you come up with ways to make it more interesting?”  He’s smiling as he makes the joke – and it is a joke – to take any sting out of the jibing.

River gets some amount of attention.  More attention than the game gets, really.  As if the standard weirdness around the city wasn’t enough, there was also the prospect of Union become more of a feature.  And look, here’s a complete stranger who just happens to wander up to them.  Hmm.

The game’s just starting, and there’s an invitation to join.  Hell, there’s even a ball flying in his direction just as he’s shrugging the back off of his shoulder.  There’s a flurried movement as he brings a hand up to block the ball from hitting him while trying to unravel his shirt from the bag strap, but he gets free just in time to grab the ball with both hands after a near fumble.

Bag sat just inside the gate, Alexander bounces the ball towards the stranger.  “After you.”  If she does have anything untoward planned, there would be four-now-three of them against one.  But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he relaxes just yet.  Not until he gets a better feel for her.

Ahh, paranoia.

River VasquezKiara says she can join, and her face lights up. The young woman, who seems to be very much averse to the idea of shoes, takes the after you offered by Alexander and goes on in. She walks a little more head on, purse soon enough ditched at some location by the fence. She takes a few steps away, holds her hand out as if she was beckoning the purse to stay. Purses tended to get up and walk away in parks, you know, especially if you didn't keep an eye on them. She straightens out her oversized tee shirt (white. She's got a black bra under it but she doesn't seem to care. It matches the yogapants).

Her nails are painted dark blue.

"Thanks," she tells Alexander, and goes on to introduce herself to other people. Offers a hand to Kiara, "I'm River."

Like the water feature. Or the chick from Firefly. She gets both pretty regularly.

GraceGrace bows for Alex, an overly-dramatic affair. However, the ball gets left without an owner, floundering around outside the court into the grass. So, she chases after it, kicks it back onto the court, in the general direction of the new girl (What, you're not supposed to kick basketballs? Whatever.)

The newcomer is named River. Interesting name. Better than Grace, for sure.

"I'm no hustler. I can't play sportsball for anything. Really."

Kiara WoolfeDan's phone starts to ring and he's offering the universal excuse me glances that receive a little nod from the Verbena as she moves out of the road of the approaching newcomer. "Tell Sera I said hey," is the brunette's called farewell, an absent, easy parting before Alexander is issuing accusations about hustling and Kiara's eyes, bright and playful match her glib tone.

"I'm shocked and appalled at the accusation. Now put the ball through the hoop or wear your scarlet letter." There are times when Kiara's native roots emerge, that direct, challenging New Yorker energy thrums from her as she smiles in Alexander's direction, then:

I'm River.

The stranger offers a hand, Kiara's focus shifts, down to that hand and her own clasps it. They're warm, the pagan's. Her fingers long and finely shaped, the nails carefully manicured into short, painted ends that are coated in the faintest pink shade. "Kiara. That's Grace and Alexander and that was Dan." This with a gesture at the tattooed man's departing figure.

"And you're up, River. Show us what you've got."

Alexander“You protest too much!  No doubt you’re forgetting to mention that you used to be captain of the high school team.”  The smile is still there, if a little more guarded.  It’s not Grace, though.  There’s still warmth there for her.  It’s something – someone – else.  Someone apparently called River.

There’s a small nod at the mention of his name.  Thankfully given correctly, to this stranger.  He can be Alex.  To Grace, he is.  To Kiara, who he doesn’t really know yet, and to River who he’s only just met?  There’s some formality in how he prefers to be introduced and in how he prefers to keep the relationship.  Call it a quirk of upbringing.  Duzen.

For now, Alexander remains propped up against the gate post and watches.  Although, again, he’s watching River more than the actual game.  Although he is aware of it enough to follow what’s going on.

River Vasquez[dex+athletics: allyoop!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 2, 3, 8) ( success x 1 )

River VasquezOnce she has the ball, she looks awkwardly at the net. Bounces it a few times and looks downt o roll up her pants legs so she can actually run and dribble with the ball and, you know, actually performa  layup without falling flat on her face. The hispanic woman takes a few steps, gets her run up and then tries to make the shot into the basket.

She was not tyhe captain of her team in high school. She wasn't the captain of her team in anything, in all actuality, and she has her run up, the shot, and the basked ball bounces off the rim a couple times, wiggles and she stops and looks up with quiet schoolgirl terror at the prospect of being the first person to get a letter in the game.

"Nononononono-" aaaaaaand in the net, "yessssss!"

Hands in the air. The young woman goes to pick up the ball and holds it out to whomever is willing to take it.

"I'm better at soccer," she admits.

GraceGrace chuckles a bit at Alex. Let's just say that if she'd known that he liked to keep it formal with his name, he'd be known as 'Al' to her from then on.

She waves at River, little smile. Not her usual exuberant 'I know you're a Mage! Let's be friends!' approach, but they are in the park after all. There's Technocrats in the city, she knows. This might as well be 2 red flags for poor River.

At least River doesn't seem to be a horrorbeast. You can never really tell...

Kiara WoolfeThere's conversations Kiara needs to have with these people. Not strictly are they ones she wants to have, but - there's an awareness there, just beneath the surface as they laugh and throw a ball around and behave, outwardly, just like any other group of young people in a park on a picturesque fall afternoon - there's things she knows that she thinks they have a right to.

The Union closing on their ranks and Alexander is savvy enough to it to keep an eye on River, who they don't know but feels like the unshakable radiance of the dawn. Kiara too, at a point, at another, watches the Hispanic female with a certain consideration. A capture through half veiled lashes, the approximation of how far the edge of the fence is; what cover the benches that dot the edge of the court would offer.

She'd walked the wilds of the Umbra not a handful of days ago but for all of that, she can't look at this stranger and know, unflinchingly, whether she was to be trusted or not.

Still, in the now, in the moment, River connects with the goal post; the ball dancing on a razor's edge around the rim before it tucks down and obediently drops through it. The precision is unsure though, it wobbles as it hits the ground and is reclaimed; Kiara, a hand at her waist, the other pushing the fall of dark bangs over her brow, walks forward to accept it.

Dribbles it a few times. "It's all in the stance. Your body translates the intention. Feet. Back. Wrist. Ball." She catches it up into her hands, the Verbena, her chin lifting a touch. "Slam dunk." She looks at River for a little lingering second, then her eyes tick to Grace. "Grace, you're up.

Time to make the shot your own."

Alexander[Per+Alert - do we notice Kiara's checking out the lay of the land?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

AlexanderOf all the times for an Awakened to be arriving in the city, this probably wasn’t one of the most auspicious.  There were strange things going on outside the city – things that he still needed to look more into.  The Union had already been spotted in the city – not by him, but by someone he trusted enough to believe.  It had been a while since things had settled down to what could be called remotely normal.  And who the hell knew when another cannibal, Fallen, Marauder, or some other form of danger would arrive to plague their lives again.

Watching the women move around the court, Alexander takes a breath and tries to mask the sigh that follows.  It wasn’t a good way to live, considering that newcomers could be the next incarnation of city-threatening evil.  But it wasn’t safe to assume the best.  Not any more.  Not if they wanted to survive.

Alexander wonders for a moment if the Verbena was guessing what was passing through his mind as she skips past him and brings Grace’s turn to shoot around again.  His gaze passes over Kiara and there’s a recognition that she isn’t quite as relaxed as she might first appear.  Her gaze wanders too, scanning the court.  Something practiced?  Perhaps.

For now, though?  He’s content to keep watching.  And idly wonder if he should start carrying a weapon off duty too.

River VasquezRiver, for her part, is clueless. She doesn't know what's gone on in this city, only the climate that she left in San Diego. Something balmy with things lurking under the surface. She doesn't know what is going on, doesn't know that the city has seen its fair share of viruses and marauders and cannibal killers- though if she did she might get sick. Though, if she did, she might understand. There's a lot of variables to have.

And River Vasquez is not offering any explanation. River Vasquez, for her part, is content to listen and take in people. Her attention stays with Kiara, takes in what she has to say about shooting a decent basket and, for what it was worth, the dark-haired woman took it at face value. They're just strangers who offered to let her play at the park with them.

They're strangers that all have something very strange in common, but at the end of the day, they're strangers.

"Your body is just an extension of the shot," she says, waits for some kind of confirmation that she understood what the woman was saying, turned her attention to Grace to see what she had up her sleeve.

For her part she seems shy, River. Doesn't seem like she's ready to dive in head first. Doesn't seem like she's going to make the first move with these people. There's a reason they're not talking about that elephant in the room, and for her part she was trying to piece out the why without having to think on it too hard.

GraceOh, shit.

Make it her own? Yeah, that's how the game is supposed to go, right? You get trickier...

She takes the ball from its bouncing trajectory, and ponders. Then, she lifts a leg, and thus unbalanced, tries to do that layup again.

"Then, my shot is wobbly-assed," she says.

[Diff 6 'cause one foot!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

GraceWobbly, but she sustains it. Huzzah! And upon capturing her wayward ball, throws it to Kiara.

Kiara Woolfe[She shoots and ... ]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Kiara Woolfe[Ooh, just.]

Kiara WoolfeAlexander is a sentry at the gate.

He catches the dark haired Verbena assessing the risks contained about their location with eyes trained to do exactly that; glimpse the nuances of things. See the details that offered tells about a potential threat's next movement. The tick of a eye, the flex of a finger. The tension laced across shoulders. For the most part, Kiara seems at her ease but that tension is there, just beneath the surface.

Scratched aside, there's a particular care to the way she holds herself, with and without the ball in hand.

Weight balanced on her heels, her body never entirely still, moving in a gentle motion that seemed rhythmic, almost idle but for the fact it kept her muscles looser; kept her in a state of readiness for sudden action. She bends forward when Grace lines up her shot, bracing her hands on her knees, smiling with the faintest trace of competitive spark.

"Wobbly assed shot, coming up," She declares, catching the ball when Grace throws it her way. Lifting up a foot and closing one of her eyes.

She does, teeter a little.

It throws her aim a notch to one side and Kiara sets her foot down as the ball collides with the backboard heavily, then rebounds through the hoop, rolling back toward her. She jogs forward to collect it and turns, raising her eyebrows at Alexander.

"C'mon Alexander. You have to try at least one shot. Peer pressure."

Alexander[For when he shoots...]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

AlexanderHe considers it for a moment.  The ball has bounced around the group of women but, apart from the brief contact when Dan was leaving, he hasn’t really been involved in the game.  He had been content to watch.  The game.  River.  Both.

He can be playful, though, and it is a temptation to join in.  Kiara seems to be comfortable enough to pull him in from his watchful position – although admittedly he is the weakest magically of all of them there, but being tackled to the ground can be somewhat disruptive to concentration – so he relents.   Maybe for the one shot, maybe for more.  Only time would tell.

So he pushes off from the gatepost and holds his hands up, ready to receive the ball from Kiara.  Expecting it this time, he easily catches it.

“Wobbly assed, gotcha.”    Walking onto the court, he lifts up one leg and closes an eye.  Just as Kiara had.  The ball flies true and, bouncing off the backboard, sinks through the net.



River Vasquez[Can I make this shot?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

River VasquezShe claps. Grant you, she claps after every shot, but this time it is mindful applause at what she presumed was probably a pretty hard shot. It's easy to wobble when you don't mean to wobble, but being wobbly on cue is an artform. There is the moment of applause, that passes as quickly as it goes and she does laugh.

"I have been outclassed," she announces. When the ball comes to her she looks at the little orange thing like she might want to relent and take her letter. She shakes her head, because what was the purpose of being endowed with the ability to shape the world if you're going to let a little nervousness at a basketball game define you, "I think I should put my shoes back on at some point, maybe."

But it would seem that being wobbly and off-center is really the way that River was born to play basketball and when she shoots, Miss Sunshine closes one eye and looks like she might fall over for a second but true to form the ball swishes through the net without any real problem.

GraceWhy'd Dan have to make her go first? Now she has to think of something else weird to do.

She takes up the ball, stands on one foot, and closes her eyes. Is that the way it's supposed to go? You keep adding challenges? Or... who knows. She's never played this game.

"Eyes closed. Blind shot. Here goes..."

[Diff 8, cause wobbly and blind!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 3, 6) ( botch x 1 )

Grace[lol]

Kiara Woolfe[The dice gods take their first victim.]

Kiara Woolfe[This might turn into a comedy routine. Blind shot!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 1, 3, 3, 7, 8) ( success x 1 )

GraceThere's just something about the lobbing of the ball that destablilzes her further, and then -- with windmilling arms -- she's down. Okay, so that's an H for Grace. It's also a trip to the ground. It's a good thing she's in jeans and a toughened jacket, right? Otherwise skinned knees might have happened.

Kiara WoolfeThe Verbena is smiling when Alexander accepts her offer. He comes closer and there's a sudden whiplash to the sensations pooling in their midst. The surge of life waging war against the settling freeze of the winter and yet, for all that, she seems genuinely pleased when he makes the shot. There's a low whistle of appreciation and then soft applause for the newcomer.

"Nice."

A beat, as Grace deliberates on a new set up, Kiara's dark eyes shifting to trace over River. She turns her body a little, arms over her chest, hip cocked out. "So, River, been in Denver long?" The afternoon is wearing down, the sun diminishing slowly across the lawn; dipping behind the trees in the distance and sending dappling light dancing across the court; stretching their shadows into long, ambiguous shapes. She asks it lightly enough, the brunette, for it to seem, on the surface, perfectly straight forward.

Polite conversation between relative strangers. Polite, but for the knowledge that lay threaded beneath it. All the unspokens that may, when Grace's shot sends her toppling to the ground, be temporarily forgotten. Kiara makes a quiet noise that is somewhere between amusement and surprise - "You okay, Grace?" - as she reaches to snag the ball when it bounces along to rest near her feet, and the dismantled Disciple. According to the rules, Kiara can create (and shoot) whatever kind of shot she desires but she adopts a similar stance to the other woman and lifts the ball in her hands.

And goes still.

The pagan breathes out, her eyes closing. She lifts her opposing foot up and, after a beat - throws the ball. It's not an altogether elegant shot; the slice of it across the court is jagged but it catches at the back of the board soundly and wobbles; dropping through.

Alexander[Crap, didn’t realise it was my go – sorry!]

Alexander winces a little as Grace goes splatting onto the ground after adding another twist to the shot.  But she seems to be ok, everything appears to still be working and moving the way it should.  Except, perhaps, her pride.  But that heals.  He does make a horse-whinney sound, masking it under a cough.  “You ok?”  He moves over and reaches out, offering a hand to help her up.

The merging and meshing of the many and varied resonances could well be jarring to someone not used to them.  Something like walking into a room with the TV and radio on full blast, with the hoover and washing machine running for added ambiance.  But maybe plenty of contact with others of, well, similar persuasions could blunt the worse of the conflicting sensations.  River doesn’t seem any the worse for it.

Whether or not Grace accepts the help up, Alexander does walk over to where the ball has rolled to a stop and picks it up.  As with Kiara, there’s still some amount of tension in his movements.  But he’s content to take part.  And it is kinda fun.  So he lines up and takes his own blind shot.

Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 4, 7, 7, 7, 7) ( botch x 1 )

River VasquezGRace goes toppling and River pulls her hands to her mouth, gasps like she's surprised and starts on over to try and offer the lady a hand, or at least to figure out whether or not Grace wants a hand up.

"Oh? We just moved here, my room mate Farrah and I still don't have an apartment settled out," she smiles, laughs a little and continues on. Her voice doesn't carry very well. Soft-spoken, perhaps, is the correct word, "we came from San Diego by way of Las Vegas? Bested some one-armed bandits and played a little blackjack before we got here. It was nice."

Fond, that's the way that one could describe the way that she says Farrah's name, like she likes saying it. Like having a friend here is nice because she's aware of how incredibly alone she is at this particular juncture. She then watches as another person takes their shot in quiet schoolyard horror.

"This shot is cursed," she proclaims!

Alexander...and Alex doesn't realise that one of his shoelaces has come undone, lurking menacingly for just the right moment to pounce.  Which, rather poetically, is just as he attempts the same shot that Grace had.  Alexander steps on the lace as he takes the shot, causing him to fall forwards.  Ball forgotten in his sudden need to stop the fall, it goes bouncing off somewhere to the side.  Alex isn't quite as armoured as Grace, so he does finish landing in in a heap with skinned hands and knees.  Rolling onto his back he starts laughing, making another whinny sound.



GraceAlex whinnies at her, and Grace squints at him in mock fury. Then, she takes his hand to get back up again. "Thanks."

Then, Kiara nails it (or at least doesn't fall down) and Alex? Ohh, that elicits a laugh, and a whinny at him in payback.

"Yeah, it's cursed, and it's your turn," Grace says, raising a challenge to River. "Man, winter is going to be murder on you. Was for me. Snow, pleh."

Grace[I have to sleep, guys!]

Farrah EsmailShe could call River's phone or just use her quiet powers of observation and god knows what else to locate her. That would not embarrass River though. And since embarrassing River is synonymous with fun before anyone present sees or even really senses the newcomer's resonance they hear her voice from across the court:

"VASQUEZ, YOU BIG SLUT!"

The voice belongs to a five-foot-five young woman in a sundress and cowboy boots. She is using her hands as a megaphone.

River VasquezNo worries!

River Vasquez[Taking the shot! +1 diff because Farrah is Farrah]

Dice: 5 d10 TN9 (1, 1, 3, 5, 6) ( botch x 2 )

Kiara Woolfe[Grace saw the botch and was like, nope. Also the dice are MEAN tonight.]

Farrah Esmail[HAAAAAHAHAHAHA]

River VasquezShe was lining up to take the shot, basketball in hand and, thus far, the only person to make it was Kiara. She looked at Grace for a moment, bounced the ball a couple times, "I do not think I like snow. I've seen snow. Mmn-mmmn."

She's getting ready to take her shot, closes her eyes and begins the walk up process, starts on with what she thought she'd seen Kiara do, since Kiara was the only one who actually succeeded at not punching herself in the face while she was doing this whole basketball thing, and soon enough she makes for the shot, her pants come rolled down and the tiny Mistress of Entropy channels Murphy's law.

She trips on her pants, yes, which makes her continue forward, trip, hears the back seam rip and she falls, flat on her face and just in time and in just an inconvenient enough way that she rips a pretty substantial hole in her yogapants. They're going to be useless for awhile, that or she's going to have to figure out how to use her oversized tee shirt as a dress.

River just lays there. Lifts an arm and flips Farrah off in the distance.

Kiara Woolfe[Doing a thing. +1 Diff, just because stuff is happening.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Alexander“You guys make snow sound like it’s lethal to touch.  Seriously, it’s not like you’re wicked witches of the west.”  Alexander takes a minute to tie the malevolent shoelace before checking the other one.  Once he’s happy that they’re not plotting any further mischief, he pushes up from the ground.  He moves towards his rucksack, grabbing it and heading towards a bench at the side of the court.  Buried somewhere inside is a small first aid kit, with some sort of antiseptic cream.  Wincing and with an occasional inhale of breath, he dabs it on the newly acquired gravel rash.

[And will fade into the background, because Noel isn’t the only one needing sleep.  Thanks for the scene!]

Kiara WoolfeThe earth witch is not unfamiliar with the ways of fate and fortune. A most fickle mistress she, in the brunette's estimation. Not one to be trifled with and rarely mastered. Kiara makes a blind shot, whether precision or fate herself directs the Verbena's hand is unknown - she is, as it turns out - the only one who does this round. Alexander's shoelace is his undoing, River's pants pre-empt any throw she might have attempted and as the ball rolls away in the wake of River's pants rending down the seam - Kiara collects her ball and with a fluid motion; throws it toward the basket en route to check on the stranger's welfare.

The ball rattles the backboard and sinks neatly through the hoop, the reverberation sounding alarmingly like a dull, vibrating mockery.

"Hey," Kiara bends to check on the stranger with a hand resting lightly on the small of her back. "You alive?" Up close, the Verbena has a smattering of faint freckles across her nose, her eyelashes long and lovely and her mouth, at present, bent in a slight expression of mingled amusement and concern. She looks across at the approaching woman and then at Grace and Alexander, both making motions toward departure.

"You guys held your own, I'm impressed."

Her eyes tick back to River, she tilts her head, gauging the damage to her clothing. "I'm not sure your pants are going to make it."

Kiara Woolfe[No worries, thanks for playing!]

Farrah EsmailThis is how good a friend Farrah is: she watches her best friend in the entire world eat shit trying to throw a basketball and almost falls down herself laughing. Wraps her arms around her midsection like she has to keep her guts inside her abdominal cavity lest the force of her laughter actually open up a seam. All that before she even confirms that River isn't seriously hurt. The middle finger is the confirmation she would have needed if she were looking for it.

She comes trotting over after Kiara steps in to make sure River still has a pulse.

"Oh, no," she says. Wipes tears from her eyes with her thumbs. "This is why you're not supposed to touch strangers' balls, dude, we've talked about this."

[perc + aware: SUP STRANGE PERSON I DON'T KNOW.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

River VasquezShe laughs. She rolls over onto her back and covers her face with both of her hands and the sound is... brassy. Normally, people think of laughter like the tinkling of bells but River, our little sunbeam, is brassy. It's bright and present and she laughs like she fucking means it. Hands stay on her face but her ears are bright red.

She sits up, wriggles a little in her oversized tee shirt and finally shoves her arms into the arm holes before trying to pull herself through the head hole. There's a rip, too, but that's not surprising. The shirt was already beaten to Hell and back  on account of being a thriftstore find. It was only a matter of time before the tee shirt was being repurposed into a minidress.

"I don't- I mean-" she looks at Kiara and then to Farrah and throws her hands up. She's still blushing bright red. "Gahhhhhh!"

Kiara WoolfeThe woman on her haunches beside Farrah's best friend gives off a soothing, rejuvenating quality.

It's coupled with a gentle pulsing, as if she were some living and breathing manifestation of vitality and she certainly looked the picture of it at present in her grey track pants and sneakers, a tight fitting shirt hanging loose over one shoulder with a black sports bra beneath it. She had the complexion of a woman who saw the sun and the way she runs her eye over the prone woman's form, the awareness of the ways a injury could be sustained precisely the way River had taken a spill.

Dark eyes tick up to greet the stranger and the corner of Kiara's mouth quirks, then.

She withdraws her hand and balances back for a moment, her hands on her knees. "She doesn't seem hurt, for what it's worth. I think my friend Alexander took a worse tumble, if that's any consolation." She pushes up to her full height; stroking the fall of dark hair from her eyes. She's tied it back for the game, but even so, it falls over a shoulder in thick waves and one can imagine loose, it would be an impressive sight. It adds somewhat, to the aura of something a little wild touched she projects.

Farrah gets the benefit of a considering look from the pagan. "You must be the best friend. I'm Kiara." She moves across to the sidelines to reclaim a bottle of water from her bag, nodding at River. "She mentioned you guys just hit town." She uncaps the water, takes a sip and swallowing, adds with a suggestive hook at the edge of her mouth. "I think there was something about gambling in there, too."

Farrah EsmailAfter all that she does go down to one knee to offer River a hand to help her up. Once the other girl is on her feet she'll start to snake out of the denim jacket she's wearing. Someone needs to offer her something to restore her modesty. Or at least cover up her underwear. The three of them may be capable of performing acts nigh unto miraculous but Farrah can only do so much.

"Yeah?" Farrah says. Brief eye contact with the other newcomer. "Fuck, good thing I found you when I did, or you would've told her about the body we buried out in the desert, while you were at it."

That has to be a joke. A bone-dry joke but Farrah seems like the sort of girl who specializes in morbid sarcasm.

River VasquezShe accepts the jacket, tying it around her waist so people don't have to get a look at the bright pink floral number that she's got underneath the yoga pants. Before one gets any ideas, it's not a sexy floral. No, this is Haines 6 pack floral. This is the kind of underwear that you wear for yourself because it is the singlemost comfortable thing you've put on your ass all month.

The look she gives Farrah is one of just utter embarrassment. Her cheeks are still bright red.

"OhmygodIcan'ttakeyouanywhere," says one Euthanatos to the other. "I'm sorry- she's like that."

She smiles one of those please don't hate us, we're no and I want to have friends smiles. Clearly, someone spent a lot of time getting called a nerd in school. Which is sad when you think about it, since River was homeschooled.

Kiara WoolfeThe Verbena's smile doesn't fade at the mention of the dead body. If she's alarmed, she does a rather decent job of masking it. She's smiling around another swallow of water, catching an errant droplet that runs down the slope of her neck with her fingertips and turning to recap the bottle and tuck it back into the vestiges of her bag.

"Oh yeah?"

She pulls a sky blue hoodie out of it in exchange and shrugs it on, zipping it enough to cover her mid-drift where it had been exposed and tugging the hood out with quick, nimble fingers. "There's a body weighted down in the lake over there, for the record." She nods toward it, behind the other women and then moves across the court to stoop and collect the basketball, bouncing it idly as she captures it and turns to glance from Farrah to River, back again.

It's hard to deduce if Kiara Woolfe was joking herself, with the light way she offers her observations and the gleam to her dark eyes. Still, there's a thread of sincerity to the next thing she offers by way of conversation: "This park, it tends to attract all number of things. Torn pants being the least malevolent of them."

She bounces the ball again, rotates it between her palms when it rebounds back up toward her. "If you plan to stick around the city, it's probably not the place to linger long after sunset." Kiara's eyes tick toward the water again, the banking sunshine glinting across its surface.

Farrah EsmailNow that River has her jacket tied around her waist Farrah is left standing with her arms bare but for the cap sleeves on her dress. Horizontal wine-and-white stripes with a hem that stops just above her knees. The more brazen of the two young women has the physique of a former athlete. Someone who still has quick reflexes and the ability to run five miles without stopping but whose strength has gone dormant.

She isn't wearing makeup. Curly hair and an abundance of freckles give her plenty of physical distinction but she is otherwise bland. Farrah prefers it that way. She can't lie worth a damn. She wins poker games due to skill and luck rather than an ability to mind-fuck the other guys at the table.

"There's only one body in the lake?" Farrah asks. "Casuals..."

River VasquezThe embarrassment subsides for a moment when Kiara says that there's only one body weighted down in the lake. River looks from the lake, off in the distance, to her friend, who she leans a little against. She is most assuredly not brazen. Flexible? Yes, she looks like she would be flexible, but she doesn't look like she could run five miles without stopping.

River could, however, hold herself suspended in the air with little more than her thigh muscles and precarious balancing, but very rarely does that come up in an everyday situation. River tries to avoid being in situations where she has to dangle over something.

"Oh, I'm sure there's more than one. Denver is a big city," she says, "but it does have a lot of lakes from what the guidebook said."

A beat.

"If I can be bold, what happens after dark that is so bad?"

Farrah EsmailWhen River leans against her Farrah puts her arm around her friend's waist and pulls her in for a below-the-shoulders side hug. The hand responsible for the holding stays on River's hipbone and the fingers don't move once they're settled. Her other hand plants on her own waist. A skeptical expression comes across her face.

... what hapens after dark that is so bad?

Sotto voce:

"Shakespeare in the park."

River VasquezShe adopts an expression of mock hororr. The expression that comes when a horror movie heroine has seen her end and knows that she's about to get hacked into tiny pieces by some masked som,eone. It's clearly a B film, though, because she looks at Farrah with the over-the-topness that only coves in a B movie.

"Not community theatre! I'll do anything, just save me," she said as she slung an arm over Farrah's shoulders. The posture is comfortable, like the only thing she wanted to do was settle in comfortable with her friend.

Kiara WoolfeThere's the briefest catch of amusement there on the brunette's features at Farrah's offhand response.

Then her companion asks if what happens after dark is so bad and it's somewhere between this and the manner her friends curls an arm around her and draws her in for a hug that something flickers across the Verbena's face; the amusement fading from her eyes and they lower, brows drawn in a touch thoughtfully, the edge of her mouth giving over a smile that seemed caught up in some private sentiment.

(The faintest edge of unarticulated loss, some phantom dancing at the edges of Kiara Woolfe's memory; another place, another time; another arm around another's shoulders)

"I guess that depends on your definition of bad," she moves past the pair en route to her bag and stows her ball inside it with a little handiwork; slinging it over a shoulder after a pause. "But - people have died here, if that's what you mean." There's a beat, Kiara's dark gaze shifts between the women. Her mouth curls up, the smile is welcoming enough but doesn't quite touch her eyes.

There's a flash of teeth, though. Sharp and white.

"That tends to be enough for most." She adjusts her bag, then adds: "That, and the vampires. Those guys are never any fun."

River Vasquez[Not quite meeting her eyes? Per+empathy]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7) ( success x 3 )

Kiara Woolfe[Something about the easy connection between the two of them, the banter, the touches, it seems to have touched on a raw wound in Kiara. River can see the way she's avoiding looking overly long at them, at the way they're leaning into each other, living comfortably in one another's space. Coupled with the discussion (however light they're keeping it) of death, there's a sense that Kiara has lost somebody close to her.

The grief doesn't feel recent, but one that tugs at the sight of the friends.

She can also tell, beneath her easy candor, that her warnings about the park are sincere.]



River Vasquez"Fucking leeches," she says the word with disgust. Genuine, something that creeps through her voice and the lady who is all sunshine could very naturally be the enemy of something that is very much not into sunlight. "Please tell me they aren't a huge problem here?"

She continues along her way, steers the pair of them over so River can pick up her purse. It's a gigantic eyesore, just a little too large to be considered a totebag. The heels in the main compartment click together when she jostles the canvas. It's bright pink and, for the most part, the bag has remained undisturbed.

There is something that she catches, though, something that makes her cock her head to the side slightly before she looks forward again. Pushes it to the side and into the realm of quiet remembrance. River offers Kiara an apologetic smile, "sorry, we're a little morbid, it's kind of a Euthanatoic thing. You end up developing a weird sense of humor."

Farrah Esmail"There is like, zero mystery with you."

River Vasquez"Sorry not sorry."

Kiara Woolfe"They mostly concern themselves with in-fighting, we did briefly get caught in the cross fire, but - " The brunette slides her other arm through a strap on her pack and settles it on her back. "It seems to have resolved itself for now. Still, they're around." Kiara walks a few paces and then turns when the other woman offers an apology, it's greeted with a slight smile, an edge of surprise notching there for beat.

The study she makes of both in turn abruptly more focused.

"In my experience, having a weird sense of humor about everything keeps you alive longer." There's a curl of humor in Kiara's voice before she adds: "Maybe that's the Verbena in me speaking, though." She inclines her face, then. Gesturing beyond the courts, down where a pathway winds itself around the expanse of the lake. "I'm going to head out but if you want, I can give you a ride somewhere?"

Translation, perhaps: now that I know you don't pose a risk.

Farrah Esmail"We're good."

Translation: I'm still not convinced you don't pose a risk.

Sarcasm is supposedly the lowest form of wit but Farrah isn't sarcastic for sarcasm's sake. It's a defense mechanism sure. It's a sign of insecurity. It's this and it's that. The girl accompanying River doesn't give off very many vibes. Her magick is subtle and there's a sense of freedom about her. Other than that the difficulty reading her has less to do with purposeful deception and more to do with unfamiliarity.

Or maybe she's just socially awkward. River did just out the both of them as Euthanatoi.

Farrah says as an aside to River, "I mean, unless you wanna--" Lewd eyebrow waggle. "--take a ride somewhere."

River VasquezThere is the lewd brow wiggling and River turns bright pink again and holds onto her purse like it is a great big security blanket.

"No, no, we're okay. Thank you though," with that sunshine smile again, like this would make everything okay that they were turning down the invitation, "I hope to see you and... who were they, Grace and Alexander? Again?"

Kiara WoolfeThere's a smile at them both and Kiara takes a few steps into the dwindling light. The sun is nearly touching the horizon now, painting the lake into lovely shades of burned ember and gold. Leaves crunch under the Verbena's sneakers as she moves off the court beyond the chainlink fence.

She turns back, once, fleetingly, twisting in motion. She hopes to see her again.

"Oh, you will."

She offers it as a certainty, the dark eyed pagan, before there's a wave and she slips down into the gathering dusk.

Farrah EsmailSo the pagan takes her leave. The death mage lifts a hand in an unenthusiastic wave and then turns to her friend.

What comes out of her mouth next marks the closest Farrah is going to get to confessing to missing Mike and wanting to burn a few minutes thinking about him. Farrah and emotions get along about as well as asphalt and epithelial tissue. Or River's ass and yoga pants.

"I want pie. Let's go get some pie."

River Vasquez"Let's get motherfucking pie," she says, and while it could sound triumphant in the end it sounds a little tender, or as tender as motherfucking pie could get.

"I think there is a place down the street that does homemade blueberry," because of course Mike would have liked something that would stain if he wasn't careful, but he was always careful. The fact that she had never once seen him destroy a shirt thanks to barbecue or pie was beyond her.

She squeezed Farrah's shoulder and, with little fanfare, got on to walking to the car. She doesn't bother putting her shoes back on.