Owner Pose
Alexander Aaron     Greenwich is always a focal point for weirdness. So much weirdness that it often overflows, roiling out onto the greater streets of Manhattan unapologetically and unrepentantly. Usually this takes the form of perhaps a folk festival, with the street vendors setting up shop up and down the way. Or sometimes it takes the form of a street fair of some kind, selling lovely wares for a new generation.
    But other times it is the more esoteric bits of strangeness that wander out. Sometimes it's of the magical variety. Other times it's more just curious events. Like now in the late evening, usually when things are fairly quiet save for the ubiquitous white noise of traffic up and down the street. An errant call is heard, a sound like several hundred birds all offering a caw of greeting and attention seeking.
    When that is coupled with the flutter and flap of many wings, the sounds carry far and get people along the sidewalks looking in the direction of Greenwich. Where currently a blond youth with hunched shoulders walks, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and apparently being trailed...
    By a murder of crows. Almost thirty, perhaps more, all leaping from tree to tree yelling and shrieking now and again, barking those caws as if trying to gain that young man's attention.
    But what's even stranger? Is he seems to be talking to them.
    "Stop it." Over his shoulder, "Go back to your master, you're not helping anything." A grimace, "Just leave, jeez."
    Just another typical day in New York.
Rose Wilson New York in spring. Birds singing, and squirrels looking for a nut. Then there are people like Rose who no matter how much she's trying to blend in to a crowd, she just stands out.

Maybe it's the hair. Maybe it's that whole eye patch kind of thing. Maybe it is the fact that she steps right out of a shadow between two buildings right into Alexander's path just in time to hear him speak to...the birds?

There is a slightly upwards flick of a brow, and she shifts out of the way, "Helping what?"
Alexander Aaron     Abrupt stop.
    And suddenly those birds are still perched on the tree, thirty of them? Thirty three if she counts quickly and accurately. And that youth stops there too. Standing opposite her with one eyebrow quirked curiously.
    At a glance there's not much to say about him. Sneakers, blue jeans that are perhaps a size or two too big. Same for the black t-shirt though this particular one shows a kitten hanging off a cliff with the caption beneath it proclaiming, 'HANG IN THERE, BABY!' and a backpack slung over his shoulder. He could be just about /any/ teenager in the city. Though, to be fair, his features are a bit handsome, if he'd ever actually comb his hair someone might be able to see them better though.
    But he stops before her, crows cawing and his head tilting back. A hand lifts to motion toward the birds. Then back down, then he tilts his head the other way. "They're uh. Not. With me?" A poor attempt at a lie.
    And then he seems to give up the subterfuge as he considers the silver-haired girl with the eyepatch. "Mmm, it's a long story."
Rose Wilson Thirty-three. Or three and thirty. Which if anyone is familiar with the rhyme they might understand her when she counts the birds, and she does manage to count the birds somehow, that she begins to recite, "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye....three and thirty blackbirds baked in a pie."

She could not possibly be wanting to actually bake a bird in a pie. Right? Then her eye settles on his face, taking in his messed up hair, the clothes, then her eye settles on his face, "I've got time. Why do you have a flock of birds following you, and why are you talking to them?"
Alexander Aaron     At first she'll see his eyes widen as his lips purse, not exactly the nice way one has when witnessing grandeur, but in that way when someone's patience is tested. But then he nods slowly a few times, "Well." The young Olympian pushes a hand through his tow-colored locks and looks over his shoulder.
    "You want a story. What do you have to trade for it?" He asks of her, and that's a curious thing. Apparently one of the crows agree as they cry out a sharp, /CAW!/
    To which Alex answers, "Shut it, I didn't ask you." Only for his attention to return to the one-eyed girl assassin. He starts to walk forward and the birds take flight, but his pace is slow enough that he perhaps is waiting to make sure she is walking with him before committing to a steady stride.
    "Is your story interesting? Are you an interesting person?"
    Very judgmental.
Rose Wilson The flock is scanned, looking for that one loud mouth bird. But then she falls into step with him when he starts to move down the sidewalk, one hand tucking into the pocket of her jeans.

Rose looks at him, then back towards the birds, weighing how much she wants to know the story, and how much she is willing to share to get the information. These are important ideas to take in and make decisions about, because, well. Just because.

It takes her a while, maybe he thinks she won't answer. Maybe she won't actually answer. But then she shrugs her shoulders at him and the question, "No more and no less interesting then you are."
Alexander Aaron     That particularly sassy bird seems a little larger than the others, and the others seem to key off of it, curiously enough. But it doesn't shy from her appraisal, it clacks its beak a few times and flies ahead, only to land upon the next tree along the sidewalk.
    "Share and share alike." The blond teen says as he looks sidelong at Rose and for a moment he actually seems to /look/ at her. Not quite like a boy looking at a girl, more like one individual vaguely suspicious of another. Noting the small aspects of her. She's fairly short, but he's met fairly lethal fairly short people. She does have a way about her with how she stands, perhaps small signs of an active lifestyle.
    But whatever he grants more weight in his regard he seems to at least offer this, "My name is Alex. Alexander. Aaron. Alexander Aaron." He touches a hand to his chest, "These..." He scrunches up one eye as he bites his lower lip, "Are messengers. From my uncle. And they are also jerks."
    /CAW!/
    Then he stops and tilts his head at her and asks, "Are you sure you want to hear this story? It'll cost you..." He looks across the way toward a nearby pizza place and he nods, "One slice of italian sausage pizza. Deal?"
Rose Wilson Shouldn't she be a little more wary of someone declaring that a flock of birds are following him because they are messengers. From his uncle?

Normal people would be. But she doesn't seem like anyone that is particularly normal. And for someone who might recognize the signs she doesn't hold herself like a dancer, or a usual athlete. She holds herself like someone who is capable of explosive and violent action, but comfortable in their skin and not paranoid that every moment might be the moment they need to act. Just fully prepared. She doesn't walk into dark alleys with people because she is a ding-bat, she walks into them to teach them a lesson.

But /pizza/?! That is greeted with a look of pure suspicion. "Are you wanting me to buy you a slice of pizza, or eat pizza with you in exchange for a story?"
Alexander Aaron     "Buy me a piece." Alexander says with the incredulity of someone not used to dealing with a crazy person but apparently having to do so in this particular moment. But if she is a good read of individuals, she might get more of a vibe that he's just not too pleased to be hassled by the flock of birds.
    "I mean if you want to eat a piece as well, great. Or you can just sit there and stare while I talk." Then he adds, perhaps needlessly, "I'm hungry."
    And with that he'll start across the street, dropping off the curb with an easy step and crossing, avoiding a taxi that rolls on by, then stepping around behind it after it passes. The crows follow after and likely in anticipation land upon the tree branches in front of the pizzeria, apparently not inclined to go inside once he reaches the door.
    And if she comes with him on that small sojourn he'll hold the door open for her to precede him. Clearly a gentleman.
Rose Wilson Or smart enough to not want to turn his back on someone that is probably well armed. Paranoia, right? Either way she follows, just curious enough that she's willing to waste a couple of bucks on buying him a slice of sausage pizza.

Once inside she makes sure to get it, and even splurges on a drink because she's nice like that. But she doesn't seem to be inclined to eat or anything herself, because she then finds a seat, and settles in it, arms and legs crossing, "Alright. Eat your pizza and tell me your story."
Alexander Aaron     There might be a curious similarity there. Once they're seated at the table, him with the pizza and soda in front of him. The way his hazel eyes meet her monocular gaze, watching steadily. Something similar that she might see in the mirror. For she might well get the same vibe from him in some ways. That lack of concern about sharing his story, or to be approached by someone like her.
    Most people it might be ascribed to them not being able to sense that edge to her. Since she doesn't look dangerous to the casual glance. But he can tell at least some small aspects to understand. And yet there is that... /hubris/ to him perhaps, as if expecting no matter what happens he can handle it.
    He takes a bite.
    Pale blue eyes with their greenish depths that transition to gold make his gaze a touch eerie, disconcerting to some. Yet his manner is easy-going as he murmurs quietly an answer to the first order of business.
    "Thank you," He chews a bit.
    A glance is given toward the crows that are outside even as they sit there in the dingy pizzeria with its red and white decor. A sip of soda then he murmurs, "May I have your name?" He asks as the second order of business.
Rose Wilson Should she say welcome? Probably. But she doesn't, instead she just lifts her shoulders in a small, casual shrug of her shoulders. With her shoulders. Then she glances in the direction of the window, and the crows beyond.

"Rose."

Bets on if she looks like a Rose? No brainer, there. "So what is your story, Alex. Alexander. Aaron...Alexander Aaron." There is a very small amused twist of her lips at that, "You can talk and eat, I won't get embarassed by the mouthful of food."
Alexander Aaron     That smile earns one in reply, though he turns his head away as it twists the corner of his mouth, hiding it a little. But then he looks back, "Alright, Rose." Another bite and he chews for a time, taking a deep breath after he swallows as he considers how best to phrase it.
    "My family is old, like super old. And there's a sort of... magical aspect to them." He gestures with a nod toward the window, then takes another bite of his pizza. "Also, as old as it is, it's also super dysfunctional."
    He reaches over for the soda and takes a sip, one eye scrunching up as he looks back at her as he searches for the right words then settles on a few. "So much so that there are rules where some of them are interacting with each other. Only, me..." He touches a hand to the center of his chest, "I'm young and new and because of that some of those rules don't apply to me. So I end up sort of being a middle man for these things."
    Another bite, then he leans over for the shaker parmesan cheese and adds some to his remaining pizza. "Which is why, those birds are following me."
    A beat.
    "Or maybe I'm just crazy."
Rose Wilson At the mention of his family being super dysfunctional the look she gives him is a sort of flat look, like 'no duh' families are dysfunctional. But she doesn't actually say anything about it. Doesn't add any of her opinions. No one needs to hear what her opinions might be about anything with families.

"The birds are following you, and they are messengers, from your uncle. And normal rules don't apply to you." She glances at the window, looking towards the birds before she wonders, "Let me guess. You're to be passing the message from your uncle to someone else?"
Alexander Aaron     Tearing off the edge of the crust he holds it up and points at her with it as he says, "Exactly." Then he bites that crust and chews for a time, looking pensive and a little thoughtful as he looks across toward the crows. And for a time, while not looking at her, he takes a deep breath.
    Then he murmurs, "One uncle is sort of trying to be an asshole to another uncle, and I'm going to have to do something about it. And my dad meanwhile is all sorts of, 'Stay out of it.' But he's not around to actually... do anything."
    For a time he actually speaks fairly openly there, then he seems to remember the actual situation as he looks back at her and murmurs.
    "Sorry, the whole... anonymity thing. When you meet someone new why the hell not tell them what all is going on? Chances are you'll never see them again."
    He tilts his head, eyes lighting upon her closed off body language, crossed arms, crossed legs, reserved expression. Then he gives a nod, "Alright your turn." Because she obviously has a story.
Rose Wilson "He's not around but he's around enough to tell you to stay out of it?" Rose might give away her opinion on //that// little bit. But then she leans back in her seat, her eye fixed on his...well, probably the spot between his eyes. Since she can't look at them both at the same time, can she?

"The first person I ever killed was my uncle." Which...might be a lie? Right? Who would confess to something like that if it was true.
Alexander Aaron     With his eyes narrowing slightly, she can sense that suspicion. The way he watches and gauges, eyebrows lifting. There is definitely something about her manner. Either that or she lies very well. It could be either. But silence reins between them as he then takes another bite of that crust. And chews. Slowly.
    A sip of soda, then he lifts his chin a little. "Mine was during training." He offers. "Knives. Not an uncle though."
    And he carries that off as well. Truth. Or a damn good liar.
Rose Wilson "I guess you could consider it training." Rose's head tilts very faintly to the side, thinking about it, "Yes. Training." She uncrossese her arms before she leans forward, resting her forearms on the edge of the table.

"My father trained me to be a killer, and my first task...or maybe it was my graduation test, was to kill my uncle." There is a slight tilt of her head towards the window, "Why not just pass the message?"
Alexander Aaron     The tow-headed youth watches her, gauging her manner as he leans forward as well, mirroring her posture unconsciously. His eyes curiously follow the movement of her lips sometimes when she talks, though he doesn't seem to be deaf. Yet there is something there in his manner that might suggest some hint of imbalance.
    "My father trained me to be a warrior." Perhaps a slight difference, and at a glance... does he look like a warrior? Difficult to say.
    "And if I pass the message it makes me partially culpable for the content. As well as making it seem like I'm open to do their bidding. Which I do not care to be."
Rose Wilson "You could send a message to your uncle that you're not his messenger." Rose shrugs her shoulders, like she might just be offering advice that she might not fully be in support of. Or, she's actually very supportive of this idea.

"If it were me, and I wanted the birds to leave me alone, and wanted to make it clear that I wasn't going to be anyone's bitch....I'd start killing a bird every hour until he takes them back."
Alexander Aaron     "They're not birds, per se." Which might be news to her since they do a remarkable job looking like birds, squawking like birds. He tears another part of the crust apart and then pops it into his mouth. Chewing for a time he looks off after those not birds perched out on the tree nearby, before he looks back at her and murmurs, "They're spirits. So pop one and they just come back later and make more noise."
    That said he makes a face, then he chews on the inside of his cheek before he looks back at her. "Hey, sorry about being an ass earlier. I think my mood is just for shit right now." His lip twists a little sourly.
    "Normally I'm not quite as much of a jerk. I mean close, but not quite."
Rose Wilson "Keep popping them. You might enjoy it, or they might get tired of coming back." Rose does look towards the window and the not-birds beyond the glass, like she might be debating on how easily it would be to actually start picking them off.

"No reason to apologize. I don't expect everyone to be a warm bundle of sunshine out there waiting to shine on. In fact." She glances at him, her expression serious for a moment, "I appreciate the honesty of being a jerk. I'm not exactly the friendliest person on the best of days."
Alexander Aaron     "Yeah," Alexander says as he looks out the window, but then realizes that what he just said might be considered an admonishment. But does he rush to apologize? More he sort of grins and looks at her then says, "I mean, I can kinda see it." Her not being that friendly.
    But then he nods, "I at least usually try to act nice."
    That said his attention returns to her and he murmurs, "I could kind of tell." His eyes meet her gaze as he lets those words hang there for a moment. "That you've killed before."
Rose Wilson "I am acting nice." Rose points out, which in her world, she is acting nice. She probably paid out a whole five bucks for him to eat a slice of pizza and have a soda, maybe even a whole seven dollars. That's nice!

And she hasn't tried to kill him, stab him, hit him, or in any other way be anything other then mostly nice.

"Could you?" She seems to be honestly amused by that, one corner of her mouth kicking upwards.
Alexander Aaron     "Kinda, yeah." The youth scritches his chin thoughtfully, "I mean, mebbe it's hindsight though?" He says with curious awareness even as he pushes his empty plate away now, leaning forward to claim his drink with both hands and rest his hands at the base of it.
    "But you definitely seemed out of the ordinary. And there was..." He cants his head to the side almost like a quizzical canine, "Well, I sort of have this sense when people are... afraid of something. And as I walked along, everyone was a little worried, a little weirded out. Some it was the birds, others it was me talking to them."
    He then points at her, "You... didn't care. You weren't afraid at all. So... I kind of got that sense from you."
Rose Wilson That actually causes Rose to actually laugh at that, a full, almost delighted sound before she shakes her head, "No. A weird guy talking to freaky flocks of birds doesn't really blip for me on the thing to fear-o-meter."

Her feet shift backwards, one crossing over the other, "I subscribe to the concept that life is shit, and life is dangerous. Why live in fear."
Alexander Aaron     "Ehn, you'd be surprised how many people do." Alexander answers easily at that, but then he looks back across the way at her and smirks as he adds, "Then again maybe you wouldn't."
    That said he continues to lean there upon the table, fingertip lightly playing with the straw of his drink now and again. "You sure you aren't hungry?" He glances over towards the counter, then back. "I'll buy you a plain cheese slice in exchange for your story. Deal? Ok deal."
Rose Wilson "You don't have to buy me a slice of cheese pizza for my story." Rose replies with a smirk, shaking her head, "True story."

She leans forward, her voice dropping before she lifts up her hand, the tip of one finger sliding across the eyepatch, "I sliced out my own eye so that I could prove myself to my father because he had convinced me that I had to prove my loyalty and devotion, to a man that taught me to kill. I'm a soldier. Not a warrior." Maybe warriors are more noble in her opinion?
Alexander Aaron     Alexander chews upon his lower lip for a few moments thoughtfully as he looks at Rose, and has no shame looking at her eyepatch, considering what must have passed for her to reach that point. He looks away towards the birds that are still flocked out the window, still preening and cleaning themselves there while the pair have their discussion inside.
    There are only a few other customers, but none close enough to listen in too easily, but in today's world who is to know for sure?
    A few moments pass and he says, "Do you believe in Fate? As a concept?"
Rose Wilson "As in do I believe that in this world everything happens for a reason, or is going to happen regardless of what choices you make in life...that it has been written in the stars?" Rose tilts her head, looking curious about the question for a moment before she shrugs, "I believe that sometimes things are meant to happen, but I also believe in free will."

There is a small pause before she smirks faintly, "Or I've been tricked into thinking I have free will. Why?"
Alexander Aaron     Alexander's answering smirk mirrors her own as he uncurls a hand from his soda, gesturing as he explains. "It's a sort of... concept that goes to the core of my family. We have all of these stories, about people whom we meet, and what happens to them. All due to the whims of the Fates." The way he says Fates, it's almost as if he knows them personally.
    "There's that old imagery of the three old women weaving the great tapestry of reality and each thread is the Fate of a person. I sort of... take that to heart."
    He looks up and meets her gaze, "I meet a lot of interesting people as I travel. And if we become friends, I usually have to have a sit down with them. Sort of like this one. Where we talk about things. And I tell them what they're getting into."
    He holds out a hand, "Not that we're getting to be friends, or are going to be. I just... eventually you can sorta recognize the warning signs right? You have this history that resonates with my own. And I get this vibe of... just a connection. Not like, a line or anything, or ohmigod it's love at first sight. I mean more just... our threads will entwine somehow. We could be enemies, friends, or whatever."
    He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, "But I figure I know enough now to give you the warning and that talk sort of. And believe me when I tell you, the Fates. They're assholes. They like to see when something horrible happens, and when they like to entwine one thread with the thread of someone from my family, usually the other thread... snaps."
    "So yeah. You seem like you've dealt with enough crap in your life. Might be a good idea for me to get up, thank you for the pizza. And we never talk again."
Rose Wilson "Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos."

Look, she might have been a trained killer, a brain washed one at that. But her actual real education wasn't terrible, either. Mostly that wasn't either one of her parents, but who has to tell them that?

"Usually." She didn't miss that word, and she's just enough of an asshole to buck the system. It's probably why she's still walking around, right? She leans forward, and the smile that she offers is hardly warm and friendly, but there is a sense of bloodthirsty eagerness to it. Pure. Unadulturated. Crazy. "I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm sure you are....but you haven't ever met anyone like me. I don't break."
Alexander Aaron     The blond youth's smile twists up, amused, a little wry. But he doesn't draw back, and the hint of the wild in her eye, that doesn't seem to give him pause at all. But he offer a few words in casual rejoinder as he murmurs, "You say that now." There's an edge to his words, not quite threatening, but almost... playful in a way. "And then a few months or years from now you're glaring daggers at me for bringing you along while we're fighting harpies or minotaurs or something, blaming me for them eating your arm or something."
    He takes another sip of his soda, but now it burbles as there's no more drink to consume.
    He then scritches at his chin thoughtfully and he decides... why the hell not and he says simply. "Hi Rose. I'm Alex. I'm the God of Fear." And with that he offers her his hand.
Rose Wilson Minotaurs? Harpies? It's like he offered to adopt a kitten, and she almost looks like she might demand for him to produce a harpy or minotaur for her to fight. But she restrains herself from trying to check off random things that are (not) on her bucket list.

When he offers his hand over she doesn't laugh, but instead accepts the introduction as fact. With some of those she's met in the past? She'll believe that he might actually be the God of Fear. She reaches out and takes the offered hand, "Hi Alex. I'm still me..."