4080/Strawberry Fields Blah-blah-blah

Strawberry Fields Blah-blah-blah
Date of Scene:	09 November 2020
Location:	Strawberry Fields
Synopsis:	Alexander tells some of his story to Johanna.
Cast of Characters:	Johanna Mitchell, Alexander Aaron

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Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    Why Strawberry Fields?
    Probably because Johanna likes the name of it. It's not the most special park there is within the city, but it's the one that she insisted upon early that morning. Since Alex, for some god forsaken (get it?) reason has classes on Sunday, Johanna waited until after he was at work to text him the address of the park and a cryptic: <<BE THERE OR ELSE>>. And because she forgot the time, it was perhaps 20 minutes later before she sent a rather less intimidating <<After school.>>
    And so when Alex does manage to stroll up to the park after whatever time it is that his classes give out on Sunday, and with some further texted directions, he comes upon Johanna sitting out on a blanket. Some sort of freebie plush blanket that has ESU logo'd to hell and back all across the textile. With her own clothes this time. Gone is the over-sized T-shirt and whatever jeans Alex has that will fit her legs. In is a simple fitted blazer and some slacks, because it's chilly as heck. Somehow, she'd managed to find a basket--probably bought it, since a college student probably doesn't just keep random picnic baskets stored away in their sleek suite.
    When she spies him, her hand shoots up in the air as a beacon, offering him a jovial wave.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    It's /technically/ not a class that he has. It's more that he has to get some lab work done and that can be done whenever really, you just need to show up and check out the gear and get it all done. And well, this was when he had some free time. So when he received the text he eyeballed it some from within the laboratory work shop, a white apron over his chest and an eye protection visor closed over his head while he perused his phone. At the all caps message his eyebrows sort of rose up.
    Then twenty minutes later he smirked a little and stopped his playing with various acidic compounds to tap out a return message.

    << 3pm after class! By the swing set! >>

    There, warning issued he turned back to what he was doing and wrapped it up in roughly an hour. Which led to him wending his way out from the university and taking the time to cross the city to the Strawberry Fields where he wanders and peruses and checks his cellphone. From afar she might even spot him as he's walking around in his black jeans with his white TEAM ALEX t-shirt on under his black leather jacket. She might have found a few in of those t-shirts in a pile in his closet. Spare ones he had made up for some occasion or another and wears now and again when it's near laundry day.
    Eventually he catches sight of her, lifting a hand and waving back he crosses the grassy field under the bare trees, lightly kicking some leaves out of his way as he strolls along until he gets close enough to say.
    "Oh hi."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    "'Oh hi'," she parrots back at him, with the same inflection and expression before she seems to bubble into a wide-spread grin that takes her face whole, reaching her eyes and giving them that sort of twinkle that happy people can carry about with them. She sits up, walking on her knees to the edge of the blanket until she can grab him by the legs and hold onto him there as though his legs were some type of column to be leaned off of. No concept of personal space. At least not with him.
    She's probably seen the t-shirts already within his closet. She has, notably, not chosen to steal one of them. Yet. But this is the first time she chooses to make comment on them as she questions from underneath, giving his calves a tug to get him to collapse on the ground with her, "So if there's team Alex, what are the other teams? Is there a vampire involved?" Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively at that word--vampire--and then she murmurs, "Had a thing for them when I was in high school." So did every other teenage girl coming out of the Anne Rice era.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    A twitch of a smile is seen as Alex lowers a hand to ruffle her hair a lil affectionately before he drops his backpack to the ground with a fabriccy rustle, then soon he follows suit taking a seat and folding his legs underneath him. He takes that moment to lean in for a smooch, more a greeting though there's a subtle hint of passion in the small nip at her lower lip before he leans to the side.
    "There was this thing. With the city." He takes a moment to consider the sprawled blanket and then leans over to try and peek into the basket as he explains. "A bunch of magical people were involved, and we saved New York from an evil sort of manifestation of itself and made it into a good manifestation of itself." His lip twists a little as he looks back at her. "And naturally I saved the day."
    No he didn't.
    "So I told everyone that I wanted to thank them for working with me and for joining Team Alex. And I tole them I'd make t-shirts for everyone. But only a few people took me up on it." His nose crinkles a little, as if so dismayed. But it's clear that the amusement for him was sort of playing into the expectations people might have had about him if he was serious.
    "But yeah. It was this fun thing. Is there an occasion for this?" He motions to the basket.

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    Johanna scrunches her eyes up as his palm comes down on the top of her head, and like that, lickety split, the meticulous care that went into styling her hair that morning has been maliciously shaken out of place, never to sit /just right/ again. She drops to the side of her calves on her buttocks, both hands pulling off his legs to go to her hair, all ten fingers being used to rake backward to at least keep her bangs of her eyes. She stops momentarily to be the receipient of his affectionate greeting, eyes marginally half-lidding as she feels the pressure of his teeth closing in on her bottom lip. There's a soft, breathy 'mmh,' that goes into that as she leans into it--but it's that type of kiss that's better categorized as a cigarette type pleasure. Just enough substance to keep someone hooked in, and deprived of any real lasting satisfaction as to make the person jones for more after.
    As he peeks into the basket and talks, she scooches over, showing the contents off. Cheeses. Fruits. Crackers. Normal finger food type stuff. Nothing crazy exciting, save for a few packages of M&Ms that had survived the week after Halloween tossed in. Because why not! Yay, junk food!
    "How often do you do that type of thing," she asks, once again raking her hair back as she leans against one arm and stretches her legs out in front of herself. "You know. Just casually save New York from itself."
    As for the picnic? "It's a, 'sorry I kicked your ass,' type meal."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    She'll see the youth lift his eyes up as his brows rise as well, expression distancing a little as he murmurs, "Not that often really. Though usually something... weird happens at least like once a month. But how much of that is like me me, or more like just me being in New York me, it's hard to tell." Since there is weirdness that affects him simply from his being an Olympian.
    Then he looks up as poor Johanna fixes her hair and he bites his lower lip a little, "Sorry." For messing up her hair. He starts to lift a hand as if to help, but wisely rethinks that course of action.
    "This looks like good stuff though." And /of course/ he immediately manages to push a hand inside the basket, procure a package of M&Ms and tears it open with a small twist of two fingers. Dumping some out into the palm of his hand he offers some to her first. "What did you do today while I slaved over a hot test tube?"

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    An M&M is plucked from his palm and popped into the brunette's mouth. The hard candy shell crunches between her teeth, and her jaw moves visibly from her profile as she, too, stares off to the distance. The park isn't quite as beautiful as it could be. Tattered brown leaves cling to skeletal branches, which shamble against each other in the random cold whip of wind that whistles by. Occasionally, the bobbed head of a fluffy pom-pom hat of a random traveler can be seen as they walk up the winding hill upon which they sit.
    "Slaved, huh." She side-eyes him a moment, ruefully questioning his choice of wording, before reaching to grab another M&M from his palm. "Did the laundry. A little bit of cleaning." Something about the way she says it suggests she's not quite pleased with her day's accomplishments, but she offers precious little else. "I kinda' wanted to ask you about... Things. Things that might be a bit heavy to talk about." Dark eyes turn back to him with a soft smile. "I thought this would be kind of a nice place to do it. Open air. Few meaningful distractions."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Perhaps might not be as picturesque as the park in Spring, but the Autumn weather has its own appeal. The last chance to huddle close, to gather warmth and share it just before the onset of Winter. Always a lovely thing inspired by that slight chill in the air, since it speaks to a time of change and offers that contrast needed to appreciate the Spring and Summer.
    Yet those thoughts only briefly wander through his head as he tilts his gaze back to her, "Superslaved." He offers as if to lend emphasis to how horrible his time in the lab was. Which, to be fair, wasn't that bad really.
    "You know you don't gotta do that. There's a..." His eyes narrow a little as he tries to recall something before he elaborates, "A cleaning service that comes by every... two or three weeks? I think? But yah they don't do laundry."
    Perhaps those words are brought to the fore, however, more to distract him from her question. Or rather the preface to her asking questions. "Well."
    He looks down at the M&Ms and digs around for a brown one and pops it into his mouth, then looks back at her curiously as he murmurs. "What did you want to know?"

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
"Two to three weeks?" Her nose wrinkles as that. "There has to be some type of upkeep in the between," she grins. "Besides, I kinda' like doing it. It's like..." Her lips shift as she tries to find the right words for it. "Tending to a garden. It has its own little meditative feel to it, I guess? Where the reason you're doing it because you're trying to take care of something."

    Dark eyes meet with his hazel eyes. A lingering look is shared for several quiet seconds where the only mild interruptions stirring in the background, such as the bark of a leashed dog on the path, or a particularly boisterous laugh coming from a nearby passing family. After a moment, Johanna tucks a lock of hair behind her that just. won't. stop. falling over the line of her brow (thanks, Alex!), and her eyes fall down to the line of his lips. "Well. You said you were kidnapped." She stops there, anticipating a response whether it be verbal or non-verbal. She waits for it to happen before she pulls up a knee to her chest, hugging it against her torso with a hooked arm. Her voice is soft when she pushes forward, gentle enough that the breeze threatens to rip it from her mouth and run wildly down the hill with it, "I mean. Is that something you've actually had a chance to ever... talk about with anyone?"
    

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Yeah," Alexander says to her first few thoughts, following along with her words and nodding at a point here or there. His lip curves up as he says, "Well, to be fair, I usually would only be home to crash sometimes. And when I was around I sorta picked up after myself, so the cleaning person mainly just... I dunno, tidied up, vacuumed?" He says those words as if he had no real idea what entailed actually doing those tasks, a bit out of touch and with that seeming arrogance only the truly young can have as if they'd never need to know that particular skillset.
    But then his lips twist up a little, "But hey, knock yourself out." His eyes widen with the grin on his lips reaching them, just a slight mischievous smile.
    Then their eyes meet and she seems to have her own train of thought, her own inner monologue that he seems content to let it wander its own way in that silence between them. Though the ambient sounds of the park do intrude at times, yet peacefully so.
    "Yeah," Alex says about what happened to him when he was ten. "Kidnapped."
    Then she asks her other question and he scrunches up one eyeball, giving that look one has at times when they're perhaps trying to express a quantity of something... but doesn't know the terminology to state it.
    "I mean." He echoes her words, though thoughtlessly. "I've talked about it sure. But, not at length. My father was there, he knows. We've sort of..." His head tilts, "Talked about it a lil. But with him it's sort of a grunt here, a grunt there, then he'll say something meaningful and that's the end of it."
    So not at length really.

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    "Yeah, I figured that was about the level of housekeeping that was going on," she grins, the whites of her teeth showing briefly. She scooches closer in against him. Small little movements that bring their shoulders connected. A slight touch. She keeps her arm wrapped around her knee, and her fingers drum a line down the line of her shin idly. But as he blesses her with his permission, she rolls her eyes toward the sky, shaking her head with a bemused set grin, and a tough-talk spoken, as though she were stating a threat, "Yeah? Maybe I will."
    But then it's back to the serious talk. And with it a certain sort of heaviness that simply comes by naturally when talking about more than simple things like laundry and house chores. She reaches into the basket and pulls loose a sprig of grapes reaching over to give him some directly into his palm whether he asks for it or not. "Well, the point about talking about things, it's not really to hear something meaningful at the end, is it? It's more to actually process it yourself." She waits a few ticks. Even plops a grape or two into her own mouth. Savors the sweet tart taste briefly. And then she swallows. "Why you? How did it happen to begin with?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Alexander makes a good thing to lean against. He is dense, strong like tree, tall like tree, smart like tree. Or at the least sometimes as effusive. Such as now as he does smile a little but she can pick up on those subtle tells of his manner where he shuts down small tidbits of communication. Not quite as vocal, not quite as demonstrative. Though he does try to keep a good smile to the fore, and seems to enjoy their shoulders resting against each other.
    Yet she does press, and on some level he recognizes there should be no harm in speaking on it. "Well."
    "It was a few years ago. Eight years ago when I was taken. Umm, three years ago when I got back. Give or take 8 or 9 months?" He draws his knees up and rests his arms on them. "I was ten, in any case. And my dad had told the rest of my family to go screw, he was going to live as a mortal. But they were upset since Olympus was under attack by Amatsu-Mikaboshi who is the Japanese god of evil." He speaks with some hint of formality as his tone shifts a little, steady as he relates.
    "Hermes came and stood before my father, pleading for aid. My father turned him away, claimed he sought only peace yet it was not to be."
    A tilt of his head is given as his thoughts distance. "It had been foretold by Cassandra the Oracle that Olympus would never fall unless it was by the hand of one of the blood, leading an army against the great mountain home of the gods. Prophecies, signs, symbolism carry much weight with my people. And so Amatsu-Mikaboshi needed one to be at the head of his army."
    A deep breath is taken then he continues trying to shift his tone back to a more informal one. But fails. "There are some who say that it was because my family sought the aid of my father, that is how Mikaboshi found us. Others have whispered to me that it was my grandfather who sought to draw my father back into the fold by arranging to have me so kidnapped, feeling that my loss would drive him back into the family's arms. Whatever it was, it occurred."
    A small face is made, a twisted one like a child who tastes something sour as he remembers the time. "I was brought before Mikaboshi and he wielded great magics, played with my thoughts and my views of my world and my life. Showed to me what had been, what could have been. Turned me against my father and then gave me the sword Grasscutter, Slayer of Gods. I was to wield that and take my father's life. Then march into Olympus myself."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    The myriad of communication subtleties is long and vast, but intuition can of par down certain aspects, to make people more readable. Johanna already knew the subject would be a difficult one diving into, and so when Alex makes the shift into being slightly closed off, she embraces it. Support? It's there in her expression. Her physical presence. The nearness of her body next to his, and the attentiveness of which she listens. Processes. Learns.
    Throughout it all, she is silent until he is finished talking. Even the wind itself seems to politely withold its breath, leaving still the trees, the clinging leaves, and the chill. A silent vacuum wraps them, with only the sky and he passing clouds above as nonchalant witness to what is being said.
    Her hand shifts. No longer does she lean into spare hand; she instead reaches to thread her fingers through his, bringing the warm contact of her palm and fingers against his own. A brief squeeze is given. "So.. for five years he held you. Does any of it still stick with you? What he did?"
    

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Mmm," Alexander says as he is wont to do, she likely knows what that is from him now. A chance to gather his thoughts and organize them before speaking as his eyes lift. Then he turns his head to rest his other hand upon hers and give a small squeeze.
    "I remember parts of it. I remember feeling as if I belonged. I met other deities there, and got along with them. Still friends with some. It was a strange time. But I also felt like..."
    His lip twists a little, "Like when we were watching the Walking Dead. It was like a time of my life where I was just observing, and none of it was /really/ me." His smile curves a little wry, "Since that fits with the Walking Dead since that show fails to make you empathize with any of the characters considering all their bullshit nonsensical actions. Derp derp I'ma gonna sleep with this guy we just met even though he has a closet full of zombie heads."
    He leans back and to the side slightly as if expecting reprisal for that comment but he says. "But yeah, anyways. I remember a lot of it. And it wasn't all entirely horrible, but a lot of it was. Though felt like it was happening to someone else."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
     She'd been watching the scenery. The fall colors. The grass. The barren trees. Then he says the word Walking Dead and zip! Her eyes are right back on him, fastened tighter than a lid on a pickle jar. "Like the Walking Dead," she repeats underneath him as he goes on. The more he continues grinning his smug little grin while speaking the blasphemy that he speaks, the more in danger he's in, and it culminates in a rightful and well deserved shove that that is mitigated to some extent by his side-ways lean.
    "Like you wouldn't sleep with the Governer," she murmurs. "The guy owned a whole town to himself. What's a few zombie heads in the closet? I know who I'm sleeping with the zombie apocalypse breaks out, and it ain't going to be the schmuck that hasn't thought about how to rig an entire anti-zombie house to himself. Probably smelled so much like death that there wouldn't be a single shambler coming up to knock on his door." Whoa. Okay. Too much information there.
    Calming herself, as she is capable of, Johanna reaches for one of the water bottles that have been stuffed away in the basket. Untwists it. Squeezes a squirt into her mouth before offering it to Alex. "Do you still feel like that sometimes? That sort of dissociative feeling?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Alexander endures and weathers the wrath of a Johanna, laughing a little to himself as he's shoved just a bit to the side, his eyes practically /rolling/ out of his head at her lurv for the governor. He holds up a hand in her direction and makes the international symbol for 'blah blah blah' with thumb and fingers, but crinkles his nose at her eventually.
    "I would not sleep with the Governor. I would have slept with the gal that he slept with though, forgot her name." Shows how much he's into the show, the lil jerk.
    But then it's back to the more serious questions and he makes a face. "Sometimes?" He answers her, voice lilting up there at the latter syllable of that single word.
    "It depends on what I need to do. But usually I feel in control of most any situation I'm in. And I know all of the theories of dissociative disorder. I don't know. I think I'm reasonably sane. But then again I would wouldn't I?"
    The youth then gives a small shrug of his shoulders, "Anyways. After that we marched on Olympus. There was..." He tilts his head to the side as he turns his gaze away. "A lot of fighting, eventually I faced my father. We battled but he wouldn't hurt me, I stabbed him and thought I had won. But he broke my conditioning by confessing how he felt about me. So I killed Mikaboshi. We got up, told our family to go fuck themselves..."
    Then there's silence. A quiet bit of silence lost with the wind, though distantly that dog playing with its master barked again, just a sound in the background. Eventually he gives a small shrug. "Returned home, it had felt longer than five years. But apparently that's all it was. I was changed. I had ascended apparently. The other gods demanded to face me, test me. We returned to Olympus for that. It turned into a giant part. And the next morning, I was Phobos."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    As Alexander resumes talking about the march on Olympus, Johanna threads her arms against his, holding him close against her body as she cants the side of her head onto his shoulder, as though seeking to make up for the push, to pull him back possesively into herself. She listens to his voice through the thrum of his body as much as she does hear him speak it with his lips, occasionally stroking her nails down the line of his forearm in a light raking touch. "The power of unconditional love?" she asks, about breaking the conditioning. It's difficult to tell if she's trying to offer a sense of levity or if she's trying to stab an actual guess as to what did the breaking.
    She allows him the silence. Uses it to process the information until he shrugs, and then her eyes shift up from the line of his neck to his profile. It takes her a minute afterward to digest the end of the story before she asks the inevitable question, "Do you want to be Phobos?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Well," Alexander leans over and touches a small kiss to her brow before he straightens up a little. "I like being me. And what burdens I have to deal with are really little things in the greater scheme of things. I've lost friends because of who I am. But then again hasn't everyone?"
    That said he then ever so meanly and with entirely a full amount of forethought lifts two fingers to pull one lock of her hair out of its carefully cultivated position on her head and pulls it down into her eyes with such /malice/ that it's all there in his feigned innocent smile.
    He looks away, "Though I am not sure if I am the same person I was then?" Alexander takes a deep breath, "I have those memories, and the personality somewhat I think." He grins again and adds likely as she glowers at him for his perfidy. "Such as it is. Just back there, when I wasn't Phobos, there's a line of demarcation in my mind. A distinct before and after."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    "You mean you like being a rotten shit," Johanna growls, snatching herself away from Alex in annoyance to reach up run her hands backward through her hair. Several rakes later, and several failed attempts at that, that lock of hair is secured away the rest of her mop, but she's not a hint mollified. Not a wink.
    Two hands flatten on the ground and she pushes herself to her feet. Long legs covered in slacks stretch, and then so do her arms over her head, raising the line of the tan blazer she wears up across her midriff, exposing a hint of a cream colored shirt underneath before she readjusts and aligns her clothing to sit just right. A few strokes of her hands to bring things all in angle.
    "C'mon," she gestures with her hand, walking a few paces off of the blanket.
    She meanders toward the swing set that she'd parked the blanket nearby. It's a rusty thing but made sturdy and so she has little shyness about plopping her backside within the black shiny strap seat. Her hands hold onto the chain, and she just gives him a /look/. A certain sorta', 'Ya know you wanna,' look that looks two parts adorable one and one part demanding.
    When he starts to move toward her, she grins delightedly. A reward of sorts. And she leans back indulgently, letting her feet up off the earth so that the pendulum effect can take root as she sways back, then forward in a soft swing.
    "So what type of things do Gods dream about, then?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    The youth takes such pleasure in the small things, like the twist of her lips toward the ornery as she adjusts her hair and he climbs up to his feet a few moments after she does, enjoying a moment as he watches her walk away toward that swing set. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he strolls after, though more a meandering gait than purposeful. Those pale hazel eyes watch her and he says, "Well. I don't need to sleep. Though it is nice sometimes."
    He walks over and drops into the other black-seated swing, the chains jangling as his weight hits it and he starts to casually drift back and forth, the toes of his sneakers scraping in the dirt underneath the swing but not really executing an actual swing.
    "When I do dream?" He lifts his eyes upwards, then pulls his hands out of his pockets to take hold of the chains. "Hm, last dream I had was me on a river in an underground cavern. I was alone and it was calm, and I was flowing along. Sometimes I'd see things, like snippets of life going on at these... subways stops, like places of civilization underground. Faceless people doing normal things as I flowed on by."
    A small shrug is given, his lip twisting up. "Though there was this one dream I had about some crazy shrill harpy of a woman messing up all my stuff in my room. That was a messy one."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    She's a bit more of an enthusiastic swinger. And yeah, that sentence should have a giggity at the end of it. It's an enjoyable feeling and with the blazer on it's not quite untenable as it might be if, say, one were a reckless irresponsible youth just tough'n it out in a t-shirt.
    Which means that as Alex sort of sways back and forth with the fall of his weight more determining the way his seat moves rather than any force given by his legs, Johanna swings to and fro past him. Enough to give the swing-set a bit of a hefted feeling on either the back or forward swing, but always at the center as she comes back toward him, her eyes are on him, enchanted and delighted with his presence. In spite of him being a rotten brat.
    "Not to get all dream diary or anything on you, but I'm fairly certain that you just described that to me in a less metaphoric manner just earlier." Then she smirks as he mentions his last dream, and she has the audacity to place on the breaks, by stabbing her feet into the ground as she swings back down, causing her body to be thrown forward patially past the line of chains holding the seat--all so that she can stick her tongue out at him! "Yeah, that was me picking up our clothes off the floor."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Oh it's our clothes now? I figured they were just my clothes that you constantly borrow." Alexander's grin is wry as she sticks her tongue out at him and he /leeeans/ over and casually puts thumb and forefinger on either side of that tongue. "See, now it's mine. You can't have it back." Leaving her with no option but to protest oh so weakly with a mush mouth reply.
    Yet that doesn't stop him from talking, "And yeah I know. I've been giving a lot of thought about morality, and my role in life, if I should even sort of pretend toward normalcy though I think that's what my father wants. Wants me to be more grounded and human." All while he holds onto her tongue.
    "But," His shoes scrape a little on the ground as he starts to swing back and forth sloooowly. "I don't know. Like going to college feels like I should. But ultimately it might seem like time wasted? I dunno. Then again I supposedly have a lot of time ahead of me."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
     Dirty! He was just holding chains with that hand!
    The thing with holding tongues is that they're slippery things. You pretty much have to be dedicated to pinching the shit out of someone to be dedicated to holding their tongue. And so there's a "Hae!" at first, but the moment he starts trying to drift with her in tow, it's written in the stars that his fingers won't be able to maintain grip on that pink, wet muscle.
    Her hand snaps off of the chains that hold her seat, and she rubs the front of her mouth, perhaps trying to dry the moisture away, or just thinking to herself whether or not it would be lady-like or appropriate at a time like this to spit. She keeps him her hand there, covering the lower half of her face with it as he starts to up his swing game. She stares at him the same way a cat stares at someone after they've been touched in a way beyond what they've asked for. A 'Why would you do that' type look.
    It ultimately gives way as he starts to speak about, in some part, his current situation and his future. "Well. Perhaps. It's kinda going back to the neoplatonic idea that a song can be played on a shovel, but that it plays better when it's being played with an instrument." Her nose wrinkles and her eyes drift upward, trying to remember the exact phrasing. "Or is it that a violin is happiest when it is being used for music than as a shovel? Something like that. I mean, Phobos is probably a great college student," she offers him a charming smile, "but it's probably a transitory phase in the long run. What do you /want/ to do? What do you feel is meaningful?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Smiling, the youth doesn't really try to keep a strong grip or even cause pain or anything, more just playful and when she grabs his arm he goes along with it, increasing his swinging a little as he leans toward her. "Neoplatonic? I thought I was neolithic? So confusing." He shakes his head and smiles a little.
    "But you're right, transitory. Just not sure where I'm going. Or rather... I sort of do, but I hope I'm not an asshole when I get there." A small shrug of his shoulders are given as he lounges to the other side, slouching.
    "Though... I don't know. Maybe I'll do more stuff with SHIELD. We'll see." A shrug is given as he scuffs his shoes then pushes himself up and out of the seat. "C'mon. Let's gather up the stuffs, I think I have an idea."

Johanna Mitchell has posed:
    Johanna clucks her tongue into the roof her mouth as he leaaans toward her, and she leans back, nearly touching the tip of her nose to his in a lightly affectionate gesture. "Just nod and smile, babe, and look pretty. That's what you're good for."
    She leans back and listens with her hands holding onto the swing-set near her ears with lifted arms, leaning forward ever so slightly over straight, pinned legs--really, in a stance where she could easily just shift her weight onto her feet and be fully standing. "It's a normal part of the whole being human thing, anyways. Not really knowing where you're going. Feeling like you're just drifting. Watching the Walking Dead." Her lips curl briefly, and then with a shift of her hips, and a step forward, she brings herself in front of him.
    Standing between his knees, she slips her arms around his shoulders and bumps her forehead down into his. Bonk! "Or, you know. I can let you hang out with me a little." She grins then, stepping back as he starts to stand but not quite letting go of him. At least not until he's standing over top of her, and she has to reach up on her tip-toes to keep her forehead pinned against his.
    "What type of idea is that," she queries up at him with curious eyes, obstinately not moving, like some school yard bully intent on blocking his path.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Encircling her waist with his arms he laughs a little, letting his brow rest against hers as he murmurs a gentle, "A good one." Then he lifts his lips to that brow and touches a small kiss as he then /hoists/ her up into the air and over his shoulder with an almost too easy shift of weigh. Thumping her into place and then giving her a light whap upon the bottom.
    "C'mon ya delinquent, I need to make some phone calls, then we'll head back home and get ready. Totally a date idea."
    Which hopefully might be a nice one. For once!