327/A walk in the park

A walk in the park
Date of Scene:	06 March 2020
Location:	Central Park
Synopsis:	Vivian goes out into the city to explore and runs into Illyana and her rather fancy pigeon friend.
Cast of Characters:	Illyana Rasputina, Vivian Vision

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Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The tourists know better than to visit New York in the raging leonine month of March, for rarely if ever does the month gambol in like a fleecy-clouded lamb, softened by tulips and daffodils. Winter lazily claws at anyone thinking about short hems and sleeves, and it tears out the hopes of weary city-dwellers by dumping a fresh coating snow after a break in the frigid temperatures. Gulf Stream or no Gulf Stream, it's still grey, wet, and infinitely slippery out there. It helps not the miserable clouds deign to send a violent outburst of rain upon the city streets, catching joggers in Central Park by surprise or sending the scurrying commuters for cover wherever they can find it.

Or they might have an umbrella, protected from the wrath of the heavens. A slender blonde who considers this high spring walks among the winding asphalt corridors, holding a katana hilt in her hand, the springing umbrella off the narrow 'blade' serving to protect her. A wide black blossom of death, being held by a snowflake of death. It all suits, in the end. Puddles form out of the leached, dirty snow piled up to the sides, threatening to form a new lake that she somehow has to circumvent.

On a branch nearby, someone's escaped very fancy pigeon coos mournfully, turning one round, black eye hopefully on the absolutely wrong target to save it. She might as well be a hungry fox.

Vivian Vision has posed:
With the end of her first Friday at school, at least in the physical world, Vivian has little reason to remain on the Happy Harbour campus. Her assignments all typed up within minutes of each class ending and queued up to print off in her dorm room. Free from obligations until the dorm block calls lights out the young Synthezoid has set off for a little exploring.

And alas while tourists may know better than to check out New York in March that doesn't stop the online brochures from extolling the virtues of the great city and it's many tourist attractions.

And it's this poor advice which has led the unusual young women to Central Park. Her clothing doesn't seem especially suited to the weather, the sleeves on her jacket are far too short and her gloves don't cover her fingers, but there's no sign the cold is bothering her. Still that's probably less unusual than the casual way in which she seemingly appears out of thin air (as her holographic camoflage deactivates) and lands neatly on the path.

A simple holographic disguise gives the appearance of a normal teenager, with caucasian skin and bruntette hair, although something about the way the rain lands on her seems slightly off. As the rain which should be running off her never quite seems to line up with the droplets that eventually fall to the ground.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Nothing like New York's powerful tourism board swinging into action, claiming that Broadway really is great in a shoulder season and don't worry about a little rain, just go inside to the Met. True, the artwork there doesn't change year by year or season by season except as the curators intend. But there is an awful lot of rain to worry about right now. Taxi cabs do a booming service along with the ride sharing companies. Several people rush for scooters in hopes it might keep them relatively dry. Fools, one and all, but it's better than hoping the subways won't be broken down yet again.

Central Park's general disposition may be leafy but no tree is brave enough to so much as bud. Protection under those spreading silver boughs is limited at best, scraped clean of protection unless one is a particularly rotund white bird raised for racing rather than particularly avian pastimes like eating rice, pecking hopefully at windows, or doing one's business over a freshly washed car. The fat pigeon is a pretty thing, definitely white, with a black-ringed eye in the most dramatic catwalk style imaginable. It coos again mournfully, totally ignored. Feathers fluff. It is pathetic as one can be, while still beautifully fancy and decorous.

<<I am not feeding you.>> Illyana stops long enough to tilt her katana-brella back and stare flatly at the bird. <<Ask someone else.>> A brief check around identifies possible targets by likelihood: dog, no. Irritated mother barking into cellular phone, no. Brunette person -- ding! <<Like her.>> The bird tilts its head, hopeful, far too serene for any normal miscreant skyrat.

The blonde rolls her icy blue eyes and diverts slightly from the path, her Russian sharp as it is coolly spoken. To a bird. Crazy person alert? Either way, she gives Vivian a direct, flat look two parts city-dweller to one part mildly off-putting to most people. "Pardon." The umbrella goes to her shoulder, room for the other young woman to go by.

Vivian Vision has posed:
In the moments after landing Viv takes a measured look around herself. Taking in the majesty of the park in the terrible weather and also checking for signs that anyone is alarmed she seemingly stepped out of thin air. Thankfully New York is the sort of city where that kind of behavior is not only relatively commonplace but interacting with strangers is perhaps a little frowned upon.

To the keen senses of an animal, like say a bird friend, her disguise is far less convincing. There are none of the smells or sounds that might be expected. Just a slightly wet plastic scent and an offputting stillness.

"You were talking to a bird," she notes matter-of-factly. "Might I ask which language you were using?" She takes a step to one side so the path is clear for Illyana to keep going if she wishes. "I recently read an article which suggested that animals have variations in accents and regional language in the same manner people do."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Rain patters on the black nylon stretched over a steel skeleton that guards Illyana's shoulder. It might do well keeping most of the rain off her, though the use of the bladed hilt-handle is suspicious, amusing, or screams Edge-Lord for someone who really doesn't need any help being such. Her countenance holds a degree of remote, discerning measurement, hardly what someone would call friendly. The bird seems to think this woman is tolerable, and Vivian is apparently nearly as hopeful. The orange beak open and the fancy pigeon coo-peeps hopefully.

Illyana's response to the inquiry is not particularly exciting. "Russian." True enough; it hasn't any of the rough syllables of raw demonic attributes. "Keeping it off my umbrella, in case it has ideas." Because a big ball of snowy white fluff is suspicious, you see. The explanation is laconic, but such is her nature, a life full of prickles and hedgehog spikes pointed out. She inclines her head to this mention. "They do. Prairie dogs 'speak' in shapes."

Vivian Vision has posed:
"Is that because your umbrella is some sort of concealed weapon?" Vivian muses, brushing her wet hair back. The motion coupled with the rain disrupts her holographic disguise just enough for a hint of her green hairs natural colour to show through. "Do not worry, I have no interest in alerting the authorities if it is."

She shrugs.

"I do not yet know Russian, would you say it is advantageous to speak in New York city? From what I understand there are around a million Russian speakers in the country. People that is." Her brow furrows into a frown. "I have been trying to ensure I have all the necessary skills to live in this part of the world now that I am attending a local school."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The altering disguise might be noticed by the sorceress, and it might not. She doesn't give away much on her part. Vivian might have a hard time detecting anything odd about her, other than the peculiar stillness that Illyana adopts when she stands still. Of course she breathes and blinks, but she lacks twitchiness, the kind of way people play with their hair or shift their weight around. Pared down to the bare minimum, it's like she holds herself in check or simply expects to be ambushed any second. "Droppings," she explains about banishing pigeons from her presence. A likely story. Black attracts white.

She listens to Vivian's request and is silent a moment longer, possibly converting language back. Perhaps not. Her command is precise, and bears a slight English proclivity to pronunciation, for all her accent is very much Russian, and definitely not Muscovite. "Nyet." A shake of her head follows. "More speak Spanish here. Where did you come from?"

Vivian Vision has posed:
Vivian does seem to possess the Human-like capacity to fidget and move around, but her own particular brand of strangeness includes considerably less frequent breathing than should be possible. "The rain would wash them off," she points out. "Which makes it strange that the bird is not seeking shelter. I did not think birds liked to be out in the wet." Her head tilts to one side and she gives the creature a more detailed examination. "Not that I am an expert on avians." A virtual instance of her mind is however looking the topic up. The benefits of a mind that is always being online.

"I came from Virginia," she answers. No real trace of a Virginia accent or any accent at all for that matter. "I currently speak Spanish and a few other commonly used languages."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Fancy pigeons are, of their own breeding, more like pets and treasured for races. They are also exceedingly expensive and exceedingly docile, for the most part. Favoured in the Middle East and among the wealthy as something of a treasure, that's easy enough to find in the general world at large. The bird coos again, and ruffles water off its pearly plumage just to make a point of being a bird. It is, in every way, standard avian variety.

That makes one of them, at least.

Illyana nods at mention of Virginia, the cool Arctic blue of her eyes unwavering. "It might be lost." She shrugs mildly, the gesture contained just as her language skills tend to be. "Having Spanish will go a long way."

Vivian Vision has posed:
Vivian Vision untilts her head and blinks a few more times at the bird. "I can't see any sign it's a pet," she states. "And if it was lost it is probably unsafe to leave in the park. I think there are hawks in the New York area and they would find it a very easy meal." She glances around the park. "I think I passed a veterinarian on my way here. I could give you directions and, if it is not far out of your way, you could leave it there in the hope they can locate the owners?"

She considers the comments about Spanish for another moment, then nods slightly "So far I've never had any need to speak in anything other than English but that doesn't mean a future situation won't arise in which it is of use. Statistically speaking anyway." There's another slight pause as she looks up data. "As over fifty million people in the US speak it."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
A phone buzzes away in the pocket of the blonde's coat. A low, thrilling hum demands her attention. She ignores it. The issue dances around and then goes silent, the glow of the screen forgettable in the shadows. "Agreed," she tells Vivian, and twirls around the umbrella once or twice. "I could take it. You have..." How do you hold a bird? The question is plain, though she gives the pigeon a look. "Da, I can." She gives a second glance at the bird, as though it might eat her, might have fangs, anyway. "Do you want to get it?"

Vivian receives that lengthy gaze, and then she briefly fishes out the phone as it lights up again. And a ping of messages dance over the screen, briefly highlighting her features in blue-white. "I will need to leave soon. Work."

Vivian Vision has posed:
Vivian Vision considers her options, then nods. "I suppose I can," she agrees. "It would be easier than drawing an accurate map in the rain." She reaches out to awkwardly try take the bird. "It was a pleasure speaking with you." There is a brief hint of inhuman red skin as she takes the bird and her holographic disguise adjusts itself to compensate. "Enjoy the rest of your day.