7666/Merry Meetings

Merry Meetings
Date of Scene:	02 September 2021
Location:	Robinson Park - Miagani Island
Synopsis:	Nettie Crow and Killian Quinn meet each other again. Their merry meeting includes a little song, a little dance, and a little stoat. Killian gets to thank the lady who saved his life, and Nettie gets to know the boy she dropped at a tree, and hoped for the best.
Cast of Characters:	Nettie Crowe, Killian Quinn

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Nettie Crowe has posed:
    For some reason, Annette Crowe was pulled to Gotham. She didn't know why, or really how -- she rarely left New York. Except to knock on a certain door, but that's a different story.

    So she was crouching, looking bothered and exasperated near a tree. She had a crystal hanging from a fine chain, spinning in tiny, exact circles. Her hair was tucked up under a black bandana, and she was wearing a red tank top with a goat and the word "Naah" on it, and faded denim jeans along with a pair of beat up sneakers. A dull leather backpack is at her side.

    "Now, why was I brought /here/ of all places?"

Killian Quinn has posed:
Over there, by that lone willow? It's near Finger castle, right on the water's edge. Is that music? It's faint, hard to make out, but if Nettie listens hard enough, she might pick up the tune. 'Paint the Town Red' by the Mahones.

If she *looks* hard enough, she might just see the source. An old boombox, from right about when they were first able to connect to a phone, sits at the base of the tree. In its branches a little stoat hops from one to the other. Further up, a figure that may or may not be familiar from the distance, both physical and the distance of time between their last meeting.

Killian is standing near the top of the tree on a branch that should not possibly be able to bear his weight. The little critter is scrambling to get closer. "I'm comin' for ye, Killi! Got nowhere else to go now, do ye?!"

It's talking? How? Well, because what Nettie is seeing, no one else can. She may notice it, the light mist surrounding the tree; a tree that exists in both this and the Otherworld and all the steps in between. Keep it always to your left and to Tir na Nog it'll lead. Killian hasn't gone that far in, just far enough to make his antics with the little stoat invisible to the mundane eye. Just the other side of the mist, but not yet into the fog.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Well. That's... not precisly something you plan on seeing in Gotham, is it?

    So Nellie picks up her pendelum, tucking the clear bit of quartz away in a pocket, and she picks up her bag, and makes towards the sound of the music. She hears it getting a bit louder as the cheery music entices her, and she stays at the edge of the the field of the vision, feeling it bounce back and forth between reality that she can touch, and the one that she can't quite touch.

    She gives a whistle along with the music, a not entirely subtle way of letting the occupants inside that she can hear and see them.

Killian Quinn has posed:
Another reason Killian retreated into the mist, is the fact that the magic that allows the little stoat to actually speak begins there... or so he believes. It's no more than that, right?

As the little thing leaps from branch to branch, scrambling and scurrying - stoats aren't really made for climbing but he's giving it a good go - "... you promised liver treats, Killi!"

Killian waits until the little critter is on his branch before he leaps off of it. The sudden lack of his weight causes the branch to spring back and send the little stoat flying toward the water. "Killliiiiiiaaaaaaan!"

A limb snaps out and snags the stoat before it gets wet, last thing Killian wants is the stench of wet stoat on his pillow later. Slink gets set down gently right at the edge of the mist, right in front of Nettie.

From branch to branch, fork in trunk to fork, Killian half leaps, half dances his way back to the ground. By the time he's on the ground, the track's switched to Flatfoot 56's rendition of 'I'll Fly Away'. The little half-fae can't help it, he can't stop it. He just has to dance with it, at least for a moment. Somewhere between old traditional Irish jig and something more modern, more Killian, it's even a little erotic truth be told, definitely exotic. He pulls himself together before the song ends and he steps out of the mist.

It's not so much a forward motion as it is a lateral one. The tree's still there, it always was, but now so is Killian and Slink and that boombox, visible to all.

"'ello," he greets along with a lopsided grin that brings a dimple to just his left cheek. "I know ye..." Simply stated, not a question. But it's clear he's trying to remember from where.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Poor wee stoat! Nettie looks on as the little mustilid makes his way up the tree, and then almost gets launched into low orbit via willow whip, and she almost steps forward, her eyes going wide a moment -- but she knows better than to step into something she's not sure about.

    Although when the little thing is set in front of her, she gives a gentle smile to the little creature, and she draws her aquamarine eyes up Killian himself, watching him dance, her eyebrows rising up as she takes a step back to give him room to come out of it neatly as you please.

    She tilts her head to the side, her lips pursed as she looks over Killian. She raises her eyebrows, and looks him up and down, and slooowly begins to circle.

    "Now, I imagine I'd know such a lad. You'd be a striking one to forget, yes." she states with consideration.

    "Your little man is quite striking as well. Not often I see a little Stoat on this side of the pond. Used to have a cottage with a den beneath the back walls." she states, and she looks up to him with consideration, and she puts a hand to her chin.

Killian Quinn has posed:
Killian cocks his head to one side, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. It's when he moves to lean against the tree, under the protection of her branches, that it hits him. That half grin turns to a full blown smile. "Maybe not with a gut shot and a desperate need to get to a tree," he says. Just a beat and he adds, "Ye ran so quick after I woke, never go a right chance for a proper thank ye, now did I?"

'Teir Abhaile Ru' by Celtic Woman has his foot tapping, head bobbing a little like it's killing him to not move more.

Little Slink has no such issue. He's bouncing all around Netting's feet in a way only a stoat can possibly. All sideways hops and little skittering jumps and leaps. Damned if he doesn't look as if he's doing it all to the music?

"Found him as an orphaned pup few years back when I went home for a bit," Killian explains in regards to the stoat this side of the pond. "Two years ago, that, guess ye could say he's here to stay."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie's feet tap lightly.

    "Aaah, yes, the halfling child, shot through the gut during Troubles. I knew the minute I opened my mouth your friends would be on me, best to keep a distance. That and... don't tend to keep many friends I have to carry back." she gives a smile, and she pulls on a pair of thin leather gloves, and holds out a finger for the little stoat as she searches her backpack for something.

    "Seems like you're a lad who's done well for yourself." she comments brightly, pleased. Of course, she doesn't look a single day older than when she had carried him to the tree. "What's brought you to Gotham, of all places?"

Killian Quinn has posed:
He hasn't either really, not much anyway. Few years on him if that. Killian walks around the tree's trunk, one hand touching it the entire time, right up until he reaches the other side again. "Could ask ye the same, aye?" He rolls his shoulder in a little bit of a shrug. "Felt the need to be away after it all settled, lots of bad there, figured I'd wander, landed here."

He makes another pass around the tree, this time his steps more dancing than just steps. Back around again he adds, "Never forget ye though, made sure I wouldn't." He lifts his shirt just far enough to show the spot he'd been shot. Right there where there should be a scar is a single rose - silver white, the color of her hair.

"Name's Killian, most call me Killi," he adds as he lowers his shirt again.

Slink... sees only an open bag and it'll be a challenge to keep him out of it, a serious challenge. He's on that opportunity like a bee on honey, snoot and paws digging and rummaging.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Oh, well, wandering is sort of my thing. Rarely in the same place more than a few years, people start becoming a bit suspicious once they realize the only crow's feet you get are in the garden." she comments, and she smiles, feeling the urge to dance rising, but unsure if it's enchantment or just his infectous enthusiasm -- but as he passes around the tree, she removes a Stoat from her pack, and followed with a little bit of dehydrated fruit. "Oi, little one! Careful not to wander too far, you might not find a way out!" she warns, giving his courage a reward with chewy strawberry leather.

    And as she looks up, she sees the tattoo, and she straightens a moment, taking her bag with her and looping it over shoulder. She takes a breath, and she lets her face soften.

    "Now, that is a pretty sight, isn't it?" she asks, and she actually blushes. Brightly and warm about her cheeks, the palest freckles against her pale cheeks.

Killian Quinn has posed:
Slink sniffs at the leather and a little nose wrinkles.

"He prefers these," Killian offers as he pulls a little pack of dehydrated liver bits from his pocket and tosses them in Nettie's direction. "Might be another reason I stuck," here in Gotham that is. "People don't much question things here. Been right on twenty years here now."

That lopsided grin appears again. "Pretty enough, aye? I always did like the white roses best, pure and all that." Another pass around the tree and the track's changed to ... Rose Tattoo. Coincidence or not?

Killian extends one hand and blows deeply at the waist. "Seems a pity to let such a good one go undanced?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "They learn not to question -- there's a man as a bat who runs around!" she lilts as she catches the liver treat, and stoops over to offer a trade, bit of dehydrated fruit for a bit of dehydrated meat. She didn't often have meaty treats around, and dogs seemed to like the strawberry leather as much as a milkbone.

    "Pretty enough, indeed. I'm glad my heroism gets remembered--" she waits a moment, still crouched down to give the stoat the liver, and she listens to Rose Tattoo... and she figures well...

    "I should know better than to dance with someone like you. Might never stop." she states, but she laughs and accepts his hand in her gloved hand, the thin protection offering some barrier against the creeping thoughts of death.

    "I traveled far and wide and laid this head in many ports, I was guided by a compass I saw beauty to the north. I drew the tales of many lives and wore the faces of my own; I had these memories all around me so I wouldn't be alone~." she sings along.

Killian Quinn has posed:
What does *she* feel when through that thin protection? Life, so much of it. Killian bubbles over with so much of it that the stuff pours from him like a bursting dam. Before the dance begins, he gently and carefully strips those gloves away, allowing for no protest as he does. He tucks them into his pockets and holds his hands up, palms out for Nettie to press her own against his.

It's not that he doesn't feel what she's putting down, the darkness of it? It's just that he has enough life, enough light... enough joy of spirit for the both of them. Man was born in Tir na Nog and not the bar version. His isn't a soul that will ever die and go to Hell or even Heaven; his is a spirit that will return from whence it was born and that spirit bleeds *life*.

~Sometimes I was so messed up that I didn't have a clue.~

When he channels all that life, that magic born from nature into his voice, into his dance... it could be true, she might never stop.

Sly, enchanting little Faerie and make no mistake, he can't claim to know not what he does. It's only the intention that is sometimes different. Most times, he uses it all to his advantage. Sometimes however, it might just simply be a way to say 'thank you'. Because what better thanks can there be than the joy of a wildling's dance?

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    And he feels Death, its myrrh perfume, heavily drenched over the sickly-sweetness, tickling at the senses as he peels off her gloves and ehr heart goes into her throat. The power of those sigils at her back sinking her like iron in water, miring her to this world. She may move lightly, but there's a heaviness to her spirit, and for the first time in a long time, Nettie feels both afraid and emboldened and joyous in a way that she can't describe. Her fingers cautiously fold between his, as if she might break him, but she matches him step for step, just two crazy wanderers in a moment of movement and revelry.

Killian Quinn has posed:
Around and around and around that tree. Even when the songs switch from one to another, some slower than others but never slow enough to stop the quick step joy of it all. The branches of the willow above them sway in the breeze, yet there isn't one? Are they moving to the music? With Killian?

Following along at a distance as to not be stepped on, little Slink bounces and leaps and skitters, just another joyous little spirit added to the next. At points when the beats hit their heights and require a frantic pace and a dizzying spin this way or that, sparks, literal ones... magical sparks fly between them. How long does he keep it up? As long as she'll allow... or at least until the sun begins to set above them.

It's only then that he stops, making sure both of her hands are in his when they do.

"Well Rose, it seems I'm about to be late for work," he offers along with a wink. He doesn't, after all, know her name and the one he's chosen seems as good as any, better even. "It's just over there," he adds as he nods to the bar backed right up against the park. Tir na Nog... so very fitting, isn't it?

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    She shouldn't be dancing with someone with fae blood. She was sure of it, the way he acted, all the life inside of him, destined to return and return again, but for once, Annette Crow allowed herself a moment to be happy. To lift the feeling of death and darkness that followed her like a stench as they danced, looking at the way the willow boughs sway and the little stoat follows them about.

    After a song or two, with the light fading and Nettie determining that she should not keep dancing, even if it hurt, she draws away, and holds out her hands for her gloves.

    "Alas, Rose by any other name -- I'm Nettie." she states, careful to only give the dimunitive of her name. And only her first. She's already danced with the wildling. No telling what might happen if he caught her name.

Killian Quinn has posed:
"Nettie," Killian repeats as if committing it to memory. He pulls the gloves from his pockets and hands them over. "I guess I have a name now? To write in me rose tattoo?" He winks, but before he releases both of her hands he brings her right up to kiss back as a proper gentleman should. "Thank ye, Nettie. For the dance and for savin' me life so long ago."

He pulls back and little Slink hops up and down around Nettie's feet, chuffing and chirping happily. He tries to scamper up her leg once and slides back down.

"I do think he wants a proper 'ello," Killian explains along with a laugh that's as full of life as the man it comes from. "Ye might as well give in, he doesn't give up easily."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie accepts her gloves back, and she looks on as Killian draws her hand up to kiss it, and she looks down and to the side. "Only did what anyone should've. I've seen enough death for many lifetimes, and always hate it when it's a small one who gets caught up in the squabbles of adults." Nettie replies, though she's still blushing when she looks down to the scampering stoat at her feet.

    "All right, all right--" she puts the gloves back on, and offers her cupped hands for the stoat to jump into. "Up you get, yeah?"

Killian Quinn has posed:
Slink hops into her hands. Little guy weighs next to nothing. Tiny but mighty is the stoat. Once he's about eye level, he fixes those little black eyes on Nettie and, for just a beat, it looks as if he's trying to figure her out from the inside out. For just a beat, there's something more intelligent in those black eyes than there rightly should be. It's gone like that and he's leaning in to make a little happy chuffing sound right into her ear.

"Movin' in on the lass, are ye, Slink?" Killian asks, a chuckle coloring his words with warmth. As warm as he is though, as full of life as he is, as bright and joyous in the moment; there's stuff beneath it, a sense of dangerously wild abandon, of thunderstorms in the summer. There's more to him than meets the eye.

But even that has an allure that can't be denied. Sunshine and trouble mixed into a bundle of potential adventure.

"I live right over there," Killian offers. "Ye can find me here, there..." he gestures to the big old ... greenhouse visible from where they stand. "Or at the Tir. I hope ye will again." Find him that is.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    And what would a little Slink see? The eyes too old and so careworn for her body? Someone who used to be mighty, a threat to armies who has given up on humanity as a whole to help a chosen few, whose powers have long since waned from their greatness?

    She smiles as Slink makes his move, and she gives a laugh and scritches below his chin.

    "What a charmer." she states, "You take care of Killian, little lad. And make sure you keep him out of too much trouble." she charges him, and as Killi explains the lay of the land, she offers the stoat back to him.

    "Should you ever find yourself in need of a cup of tea, I'm on the east side of Manhattan. The Candle, Booke and Belle." she states with a small smile.

    "It does my heart good to know you made it through, Killian. Thank you -- for the dance, that is."

Killian Quinn has posed:
Slink hops off her hands and to the top of Killian's head to perch there. Did it just wink at Nettie? Couldn't be.

"Tea?" Killian's nose wrinkles slightly but he adds, "I suppose I could stomach such if the company was good enough."

He steps back and bows again, left arm sweeping and crossing over his stomach after. "'til we meet again, Nettie Rose." When he straightens again, he starts at a trot across the park. "I'm late, Slink, looks like you're going in with me," he can be heard telling the little stoat. "You stay *behind* the bar."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    And she smiles. "You're welcome to abstain and remain in Tir Na Nog." she comments cheekily, "If the tea's too boring." she smiles, and she looks up to Slink, and gives him a nod, and gives a curtsy with an invisible swish of a skirt.

    And she turns on her own, heading towards the skyline to make her way back to New York.

    "Well. He's doing well. And that's what is important." she states, looking over her shoulder once at Killian's retreating form.

    "... it'd never work." she comments to herself, and then acends to the train station.