(no subject)
OOC: This was from a bit ago, but it was in pieces and I was too lazy to post. Er.
Ellen emerges from the natural history museum at a brisk walk. If she has made any attempt at a disguise, it is only in the smoked glass of the sunglasses she wears. The business-like mien of her clothes, her pale grey suit and pale blue collared shirt, is true to form, as is the severity of the ponytail in which her blonde hair is caught. The bright sunlight and clear, warm day is actually a matter of mild worry, and she frowns slightly with an upward glance as she rejoins the flow of pedestrian traffic upon the sidewalk.
Ah, disguising oneself without the dampener. Today, Jason is perhaps pushing it. He has a tall felt hat that's pulled down over the upper edges of his ears, his jacket is felty as well, his sunglasses are pushed high on his nose, and he's striding down the street like the sweet child of Abraham Lincoln, gangly and awkward. And hurried.
Upon being confronted by the apparition felty Lincoln hurrying along the street, Ellen may not be the only one to pause. But pause she does, a staring halt that jars the man walking behind her into a physical evasion that is rather full of profanity. This jerks her alert again and she lowers her eyes and starts walking more quickly: having been thus conspicuous, she feels the need to flee.
This is called "hiding in broad daylight." Correct. Jason could be any loony with ten bucks and odd taste, any! So he is reassuring himself as he continues to double-step through. It is simply misfortune that he's walking in Ellen's direction. He's not even paying that much attention to where he's going. Save . . . perhaps that ponytail beyond him is not unfamiliar.
It bobs with the hastening of Ellen's step, pale hair a bright flash in the springy sunlight. Her jaw is set, her expression grim and her gaze tipped not entirely to the ground, but largely at a level where people's knees tend to be.
It will not do to openly pursue someone-- and a flicker of curiosity is not a good motive for pursuit. Jason, recognizing that his trajectory is similar to that of she, blond-pony-tailed, adjusts his brisk walk to move past, rather than at her. He speeds up. Almost there.
It so happens that Ellen slows, canting a wary glance over her shoulder -- perhaps at some sound or other, perhaps just because. With the diversion of her attention, her own trajectory becomes a little more wobbly as well.
Oh. Recognition spreads briefly over Jason's face and just as quickly becomes uncertainty. He sidesteps twice and nearly collides with another pedestrian.
When Ellen faces front again, Jason's peculiar disguise once more draws her attention, this time because of his near mishap. Her step drags even slower.
Jason stumbles one step closer to Ellen. Then he takes hold of his brim, forces it as low on his forehead as he can, and forges forward. Not here.
Ellen slows still more, and then drags entirely to a halt.
Jason keeps walking, breathing out at a series of light, whistled gasps.
As he moves along by, Ellen strikes for a bare hand with one of her own in a flash of decision, turning on her heel to swap directions completely.
Jason stops short, shocked, and immediately tries to pry his hand away. He only half-turns toward her, though, muttering his displeasure almost as an aside. "Crazy-- who do you think you are?" he says, accenting himself just a little different.
"I am no one," Ellen says, racing through his personal biology with pale eyes gone wild as well as cold.
Jason heavy-lids his eyes, paley-blue personal characteristics that they are, but he sighs with resignation. This is the only answer to her answer that he gives. Personal biology healthy enough, but distinctly mutated. And oh so well-known to Ellen. Alas!
Ellen stares at him intently for a moment, slowing over this organ or that as her mind recedes. Her grip, so tight and inescapable a moment ago, loosens and slips away. She takes a step back and clasps her hands before her. "Jason."
"Ellen. Lovely." Jason rubs the back of his hand with his opposite one. He smiles blandly. Nervous-bland, maybe. "If you'll . . . excuse me . . . "
"Oh." Ellen's face falls. She ducks her head and lets her gaze fall away from him. "All right."
Jason moves from simply wary, to warily staring. "What? Like you'd want to talk to me."
Ellen looks at him reproachfully.
Jason folds his arms and tightens his throat. "We weren't so friendly last time, remember?"
"You were unfriendly," Ellen points out.
"Extremely. Therefore, you must have all kinds of unpleasant memories and I'd hate to aggravate them." Jason tips his thumb up under his hat.
Coolly, Ellen replies, "I betrayed no one, Jason." She lifts her chin. "I gave you my word that you would come to no harm at my hand." Crowded street, what?
"Then that's terribly kind of you." Jason tugs his thumb up further and then lets it drop. His hat slides back near his eyes. "My memory somehow fogged that one, but terribly kind of you."
"Does the battle fare well?" is what Ellen wants to know.
"The battle is a thing of such subtlety that I could hardly describe it to you." Jason's eyes shift sly. Or perhaps there's just a movement to the right of his shoulder.
To that Ellen says nothing at first. Slightly she bows her head, and then lifts it again; not so much a nod as an aborted decision. "Very well."
"You're also, you know, not of the Brotherhood any more, so I have to keep things close to my vest." Jason slaps his chest. "Anyway. Really, lovely meeting you."
"I was not asking you for secrets," Ellen says quietly. With eyes lowered she turns away.
"Even my idle thoughts have to be secret, darling." Jason salutes via half touching that dampener and turns away himself.
Ellen walks away on slow, even steps and says nothing further at all.
Jason is less slow and even, but equally quiet.
It's always so nice running into an old friend.
Ellen emerges from the natural history museum at a brisk walk. If she has made any attempt at a disguise, it is only in the smoked glass of the sunglasses she wears. The business-like mien of her clothes, her pale grey suit and pale blue collared shirt, is true to form, as is the severity of the ponytail in which her blonde hair is caught. The bright sunlight and clear, warm day is actually a matter of mild worry, and she frowns slightly with an upward glance as she rejoins the flow of pedestrian traffic upon the sidewalk.
Ah, disguising oneself without the dampener. Today, Jason is perhaps pushing it. He has a tall felt hat that's pulled down over the upper edges of his ears, his jacket is felty as well, his sunglasses are pushed high on his nose, and he's striding down the street like the sweet child of Abraham Lincoln, gangly and awkward. And hurried.
Upon being confronted by the apparition felty Lincoln hurrying along the street, Ellen may not be the only one to pause. But pause she does, a staring halt that jars the man walking behind her into a physical evasion that is rather full of profanity. This jerks her alert again and she lowers her eyes and starts walking more quickly: having been thus conspicuous, she feels the need to flee.
This is called "hiding in broad daylight." Correct. Jason could be any loony with ten bucks and odd taste, any! So he is reassuring himself as he continues to double-step through. It is simply misfortune that he's walking in Ellen's direction. He's not even paying that much attention to where he's going. Save . . . perhaps that ponytail beyond him is not unfamiliar.
It bobs with the hastening of Ellen's step, pale hair a bright flash in the springy sunlight. Her jaw is set, her expression grim and her gaze tipped not entirely to the ground, but largely at a level where people's knees tend to be.
It will not do to openly pursue someone-- and a flicker of curiosity is not a good motive for pursuit. Jason, recognizing that his trajectory is similar to that of she, blond-pony-tailed, adjusts his brisk walk to move past, rather than at her. He speeds up. Almost there.
It so happens that Ellen slows, canting a wary glance over her shoulder -- perhaps at some sound or other, perhaps just because. With the diversion of her attention, her own trajectory becomes a little more wobbly as well.
Oh. Recognition spreads briefly over Jason's face and just as quickly becomes uncertainty. He sidesteps twice and nearly collides with another pedestrian.
When Ellen faces front again, Jason's peculiar disguise once more draws her attention, this time because of his near mishap. Her step drags even slower.
Jason stumbles one step closer to Ellen. Then he takes hold of his brim, forces it as low on his forehead as he can, and forges forward. Not here.
Ellen slows still more, and then drags entirely to a halt.
Jason keeps walking, breathing out at a series of light, whistled gasps.
As he moves along by, Ellen strikes for a bare hand with one of her own in a flash of decision, turning on her heel to swap directions completely.
Jason stops short, shocked, and immediately tries to pry his hand away. He only half-turns toward her, though, muttering his displeasure almost as an aside. "Crazy-- who do you think you are?" he says, accenting himself just a little different.
"I am no one," Ellen says, racing through his personal biology with pale eyes gone wild as well as cold.
Jason heavy-lids his eyes, paley-blue personal characteristics that they are, but he sighs with resignation. This is the only answer to her answer that he gives. Personal biology healthy enough, but distinctly mutated. And oh so well-known to Ellen. Alas!
Ellen stares at him intently for a moment, slowing over this organ or that as her mind recedes. Her grip, so tight and inescapable a moment ago, loosens and slips away. She takes a step back and clasps her hands before her. "Jason."
"Ellen. Lovely." Jason rubs the back of his hand with his opposite one. He smiles blandly. Nervous-bland, maybe. "If you'll . . . excuse me . . . "
"Oh." Ellen's face falls. She ducks her head and lets her gaze fall away from him. "All right."
Jason moves from simply wary, to warily staring. "What? Like you'd want to talk to me."
Ellen looks at him reproachfully.
Jason folds his arms and tightens his throat. "We weren't so friendly last time, remember?"
"You were unfriendly," Ellen points out.
"Extremely. Therefore, you must have all kinds of unpleasant memories and I'd hate to aggravate them." Jason tips his thumb up under his hat.
Coolly, Ellen replies, "I betrayed no one, Jason." She lifts her chin. "I gave you my word that you would come to no harm at my hand." Crowded street, what?
"Then that's terribly kind of you." Jason tugs his thumb up further and then lets it drop. His hat slides back near his eyes. "My memory somehow fogged that one, but terribly kind of you."
"Does the battle fare well?" is what Ellen wants to know.
"The battle is a thing of such subtlety that I could hardly describe it to you." Jason's eyes shift sly. Or perhaps there's just a movement to the right of his shoulder.
To that Ellen says nothing at first. Slightly she bows her head, and then lifts it again; not so much a nod as an aborted decision. "Very well."
"You're also, you know, not of the Brotherhood any more, so I have to keep things close to my vest." Jason slaps his chest. "Anyway. Really, lovely meeting you."
"I was not asking you for secrets," Ellen says quietly. With eyes lowered she turns away.
"Even my idle thoughts have to be secret, darling." Jason salutes via half touching that dampener and turns away himself.
Ellen walks away on slow, even steps and says nothing further at all.
Jason is less slow and even, but equally quiet.
It's always so nice running into an old friend.