Ellen's seen one of those! She knows what they're for! Okay, she saw it being used in the creepiest simulation of pre-war life ever and usually she uses the lawnmowers she comes across as parts to build flaming swords of fire, but still!
... she'll remember to wave hello in a moment. Probably when he gets to the end of the nearest row. She's supposed to be exercising Dogmeat, but the beast's run off after a squirrel anyway.
Ellen waves back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," she says. "Dogmeat, come over- Dogmeat, leave that squirrel alone, we've got plenty of food."
It is a lovely evening, especially for the tail end of a Scottish April. Milliways does seem to get a lot of them, around springtime - the same way the autumns here are always wonderfully crisp and magnificently colourful, the winters invariably Christmas-card perfect, the summers inevitably glorious. But then, this is a made place, after all; a little less Scotland as it truly is and a little more Scotland as a wistful end-of-the-universe ex-pat might remember it, during the halcyon days of his youth.
But the narration digresses.
A lovely evening, indeed. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, a considerate breeze is blowing, and from behind the bleachers, there is the sound of furtive laughter.
The sound fades into the barely-there rise and fall of voices, too faint to decipher, then the laughter can be heard again. Someone - or someones - are trying and failing to remain unnoticed. The breeze picks up, and when it drops again an exclamation of a sort, the word 'really,' can be clearly understood.
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... she'll remember to wave hello in a moment. Probably when he gets to the end of the nearest row. She's supposed to be exercising Dogmeat, but the beast's run off after a squirrel anyway.
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A dog that he recognizes. And he looks around for Ellen.
He spots her, and raises a hand in greeting.
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He looks after Dogmeat again.
"I believe he finds pleasure in the chase."
There are just certain things that dogs seem to delight in.
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When (if) Castiel catches a glimpse of her, she raises her hand in a half-wave.
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When he notices her and sees her wave, he returns the greeting in kind.
It has a certain stiffness to it. He is not used to waving.
"Hello," he says, voice raised a bit to cover the distance.
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"It smells...." He thinks for a moment. "New."
"I suppose that is appropriate. For spring."
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He is dressed like Castiel.
And he has not been taking drugs, but --
But last time she got kissed.
It was very strange.
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"X. Hello."
There is not likely to be any strangeness this time.
Barring moving grass in a suit.
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X slips closer.
Carefully.
"You are okay?"
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For whoever might want to play on it.
"How are you?"
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But the narration digresses.
A lovely evening, indeed. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, a considerate breeze is blowing, and from behind the bleachers, there is the sound of furtive laughter.
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Looking inquiringly toward the bleachers.
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Still, while he is here, Castiel feels a certain responsibility to make sure all is as it should be.
"Hello?"
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