17897/A Trip to the Water Cooler

A Trip to the Water Cooler
Date of Scene:	10 May 2024
Location:	Central Park
Synopsis:	Thirsty gals make plans to get quenched.
Cast of Characters:	Dominique Thiebaut, Rachel Summers

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Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Sunrise. The golden hour, where the lighting is perfect for filming... or so Dominique thinks, anyway. She's not quite sure. She's not a film major or a photographer. She actually got everything she knows about the idea from a horror movie about aliens. She really should have put in the effort to look it up. Too late now, and in more sense than one: sun-up was at 5:42, and it's now 6:08. The girl who'd agreed to come with her to film for her hasn't shown up and isn't answering texts. Dominique hopes black, evil things are happening to that girl.

At current, Dominique is standing at one of the two pullup bars in Central Park, wearing gunmetal blue yoga pants and sports bra. Her hair is up in a bouncy ponytail and her shoes are mostly white Converses. She'd look like any other college girl out for some morning exercise but for three factors a cunning observer might notice: first; her makeup is way too on-point for someone who plans to be sweating; second, she was careful to let herself dehydrate a bit yesterday so her musculature would stand out more; third, she's not actually exercising. She's under the pullup bar with her hands on her hips and an irritated expression on her face. She won't have time to do this again for another week if it doesn't get done today! Damn, damn, and damn.

She looks around for anyone who could help, determined to flag down the very next passerby.

Rachel Summers has posed:
And the very next passerby is--

Well, she's a stark contrast to the pinnacle of effort Dominique puts into her presentation, that's for sure.

Today is one of Rachel Summers' lazy days, where she can't be bothered to put in the effort to matter transmute anything that isn't just maximizing her levels of comfiness. What this entails is mostly a loose, cropped white tank worn with a red sports bra visible just beneath the big, overwide white cotton of those tank top straps. Gray sweat pants are sort of half-curled up her calves to varying degrees of success, and those black ankle boots look comfortably worn in -- she ought to know, she abused her telekinesis to get them to that point. The brown jacket she wears over all of this is nothing remarkable, really, half-hanging off one shoulder as she strolls -- but it IS nice, relaxing fleece. All that really stands out is the spiked choker worn around her neck, as if she couldn't do without -some- token amount of effort.

Let it not be said, whether putting in effort or taking a pristine lazy day, that Rachel Summers cares much about what other people think of her. Mostly? Mostly, the short-haired redhead is absorbing the local scenery as she wanders past. Central Park is a familiar spot of her childhood; she finds herself coming here, often to the cherry trees, just to anchor herself in that familiar -- in the fact that, here, it's still intact, and not a hideous potchmark of guttering life. It's the little things.

And so, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, Rachel Summers wanders into Dominique's life just as she starts to eye out passersby. She pauses. He looks Dominique's way. Her head tilts. She says nothing, but the question is obvious in her confused expression: 'what is going on here?'

Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Did she say the NEXT passerby? No, not that one, he looks like a police artist's sketch you'd see next to an Amber alert. And not that one, he's subtly flexing at her like he thinks it'll make her swoon. And not that one, he--you know what? Let's amend that promise to flagging down the next WOMAN she sees.

Oh. There's one. Oh hey.

"Excuse me," Dominique calls to Rachel, not trying to hide her natural accent (if she could be said to have a natural accent any more) behind her deliberately cultivated New York one. Sometimes sounding foreign can help. She outstretches an arm like she's hailing a taxi and asks again, "Excuse me, miss, would you do me a favor?" She holds up her phone, not quite offering it but getting close to doing so. "The person I was counting on to record something for me. Can you spare me two minutes of your morning?"

Rachel Summers has posed:
Dominique approaches, hailing her; the question in Rachel's expression doesn't really change so much as it deepens, one red brow lifting as she peers at the other woman. Slowly, slowly -- Rachel's aimless meanndering comes to a complete stop, until Dominique can catch up to her. She considers the woman; her accent; her request. A hand lifts to rummage fingers through short, red hair.

"Mm," exhales the dystopian vagabond. She looks inquisitively back towards the pull up bars, than back at Dominique. Considers. "Alright, sure. Why not?" And here, she stretches out one hand, palm up and fingers splayed in offering to take that phone from Dominique. "I've got exactly two minutes to spare."

Rachel's mastery over the art of deadpan makes it hard to tell if she's teasing or just being serious -- but at least she seems curious to wonder: "I'm guessing this isn't a workout thing. What's the deal?"

Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
"Too long a story for the exactly two minutes you have," Dominique explains. She can give back deadpan as well as she can get it: not even a twinkle in those baby blues. "I just need some footage of me doing pullups. Get me from any angles you like, please, but start with a quick shot of my hands on the bars. And thank you for doing this." She seems to have no concern at all this random New Yorker will steal her phone as she turns back to the equipment and nods at Rachel to indicate it's time to start shooting. Then she jumps lightly up and hooks a grip onto the bar with only the first two fingers of each hand. Her ankles come together and raise until her body is bent in an L-shape like a Barbie in a seated position (even the toe point is pretty similar), and her face is composed in a mask of concentration as she begins doing slow, regular, easy-looking chin-ups. The muscles in her arms and back stand out in well-defined cords, skin glowing in the dawnlight with the beginning of perspiration.

More than a couple of passersby slow down in appreciation and/or the kind of cartoonish 'awooga awooga' calling a particular class of dude thinks is appreciation. Dominique ignores them. You can ignore anything for two minutes, right?

Rachel Summers has posed:
That effortless riposte curves Rachel Summers' lips up in amusement.

"Okay," she answers as in the face of that explanation, taking it as easy come easy go as she plucks that phone from Dominique. "Maybe if we get this done fast enough you'll have enough time to speed me through a 'why,' too."

She -could- just dart off with that phone. She certainly has the look of the type of Disaffected Youth who might just storm off with someone's phone because that's just what delinquents do. And yet, as shady as that spiked collar might be and as reprehensible as she may currently be dressed, Rachel just takes the phone, and stays in place as Dominique gets ready, busying herself with familiarizing herself from the phone with a quick, unintrusive psychic skim. Sharp green eyes glance up at Dominique, then at the phone; she sets up the camera, and then lifts it, zooming in on those clenching hands.

"Big dramatic close up of hands, done," she informs Dominique, and then begins to slowly circle as the other woman pulls herself up on the bar, brows lifting at that impressive show of flexibility. Despite herself, a little grin dances on her lips as she works, like she's simply -- enjoying the experience for the sake of it.

At least -- until those passersby whoop and holler. The first, she says nothing, though that smile fades. The second, it becomes a frown. The third... You can ignore anything for two minutes, right?

Rachel doesn't test that theory. Instead, there's a brief, psychic tweak in the minds of those onlookers making noises. A mild manipulation. And then they just... all seem to move on, as if Dominique and Rachel aren't even there. It's a little strange, how it all just simply... stops.

Rachel, for her part, doesn't call attention to it, simply continuing to take that recording from a new, rising angle.

Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Two minutes. Or, well, more like a minute thirty. There needs to be time to drop off the bar onto her toes, give her shoulders a little toss to keep them loose, and turn to grin at the camera with a mixture of pride and shyness, so she gives herself that, and reaches for the phone. "Thank you so much," she says, unconsciously affecting her imitation of a New York accent again. "I have a friend who, well, I wanted to show her a person could make a living doing something less tedious than her current job." She examines the phone's screen, considers whether she wants to watch the footage, and decides against it: either there's footage an editor can use, or there isn't and she'll have to do this again next week. She slides the phone back into its little case on her upper left arm and offers Rachel a friendly smile.

"Now what am I keeping you from, white rabbit?"

Rachel Summers has posed:
Rachel is not a professional cinematographer. As far as people who kind of just pick something up for the first time and have an unfair knack for it, though, she's up there.

It helps when you can just piggyback recording techniques off of the surrounding mindscape of Central Park, though.

All the same, that easy, lopsided smile is back on her lips by the time Dominique has hopped off and returned for her phone; her brow quirks just -slightly- as the other woman speaks again, this time in a different accent. All the same, she hands that phone back to its owner with a simple, "Hey, not a problem. Don't blame me if it's terrible, though," and the cant of her head.

"It was pretty fun, though."

She gets her answer, and accepts it pretty easily. "So, inspirational fitness modeling?" she ventures, hand returning to her pocket. When Dominique returns with her -own- question, Rachel blinks -- and then snorts when the reference settles in.

"Oh, nothing," she answers with that easy, dry glibness. "I just try to keep myself busy, wandering around aimlessly, waiting for random people to ask favors from me in Central Park. It's sort of my hobby." The right corner of her lip quirks up. "The hurrier I go, the behinder I get, and all that." Says Rachel, currently clearly in no hurry to go just about anywhere.

Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
"Inspirational fitness videos, or thirst traps. Depends on the audience you accumulate." This time her eyes *do* twinkle, at the thought of giving the audience what they want. Part of her notices the way people are steering clear of herself and her new camerawoman pro tempore, but that part of her is deep down, resting nearly on the bedrock of her fight or flight impulse. She drops her hands to her hips and cocks one to the side, tossing her hair pertly. It looks supremely confident and is anything but: a bit of flippancy to mask that her nerves are singing in her skin. Fortunately for her, it's a very good mask, bound to fool anyone who isn't a mindreader.

"If you need to hurry less, then I suppose I shouldn't offer you a coffee," she muses. "What's good for slowing you down? Warm milk?"

Rachel Summers has posed:
Deadpan as Rachel can sometimes be, she also doesn't shy away from expressing herself when it feels appropriate: case in point, the rich, if brief laugh that rolls from her lips as Dominique supplies that critical addendum to her supposition. The redhead shakes her head with the rustle of those short, scarlet locks.

"Okay, fair point," she concedes, the ghost of her laughter lingering in the grin on her lips.

Dominique -looks- confident. She'd fool anyone but a mindreader. Rachel... tries not to pry into people's thoughts. But surface thoughts - surface feelings - sometimes they're just a bit too loud to ignore. The tingle of nerves practically become her own as she considers Dominique.

"Your name might help me to slow down and appreciate life a bit more," she suggests, and then waits a solid beat before continuing, "... and I wouldn't say no to seeing how lazy a glass of chamomile can get me." She lifts one hand, pressing it to her chest; loose white fabric dimples around her fingers as she introduces herself,

"Rachel. Rachel Summers."

Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Dominique notices the gesture and doesn't let it show. She just mirrors it, adding her own little flourish of her left arm out to her side, spreading her imaginary skirt in a curtsy as she greets, "Dominique Thiebaut." You can just tell from her accent it's spelled with at least two more vowels and one more consonant than you can hear. Her knees straighten her back up to her full height, and she asks, "Where do you go when looking for chamomile, Rachel Summers?"

Rachel Summers has posed:
Dominique does an excellent job of making that grin endure; that amusement even manages to reach vivid green eyes as the sporty woman introduces herself with a faux-curtsy. The curl of that accent around her name... it's pleasant. Rachel finds herself drawn to that contrast between that and the New Yorker accent the other woman so fluidly swapped to. It's a curiosity; she likes curiosities.

"That's, uh. That's a good question," she says, rather than dwelling over the swirl of her own inner thoughts. Rachel scratches the back of her head, looking behind her as if to try to surveil the cityscape beyond Central Park's lush greenery. "You could say I'm still getting used to the city life. And chamomile." It's a vague answer; but the redheaded psychic quickly follows it up with an offer:

"Maybe we can do some aimless wandering together until we find the perfect place for it?" Her brows lift, just a bit. "If you're not terribly, terribly busy too, anyway."

Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
OH MY GOD

But that's an inward thought. Outwardly, Dominique is smiling, composed, cool. She extends one leg slightly forward, bows over it, and straightens back up with her left arm out and bent at the elbow, for a lady to slip her arm through if she so desired to do. "I can make time," she answers, if further answer was needed.

The sun feels very bright and very warm today.

Rachel Summers has posed:
OH MY GOD

The sentiment is like a firecracker in her brain, as obvious as someone standing over your shoulder and shouting. It's to Rachel's -great and phenomenal- credit that she manages to exert just enough self-restraint to -not- sputter out another of those vibrant laughs for the sake of how cute it is.

No, instead, a snort that by sheer coincidence manages to land just as Dominique offers that wonderfully formal bow is all that manages to muster past her lips.

She considers. And then she offers a bow of her own; it's a much more informal thing, like someone who has -zero- experience with such things, but hey. She puts the effort in, before straightening up and maneuvering to Dominique's side, threading her arm into hers until their elbows hook together.

"Alright, Dominique Thiebaut," Rachel replies, as she starts her walk. "Let's make time for each other."

Yes, Rachel thinks; this is becoming a very good day for wandering.