Owner	Pose
Dick Grayson	Dick exited the dumpling shop, still holding Meggan's hand. The Wayneling is in good spirits and the weather is playing along. The clouds have since parted and the moon was visible, the stars mostly hindered by light pollution. Dick looks over at Meggan and says, "So where to?"
Meggan Constantine	Dumplings gathered up in a plastic container sit alongside the floaty sort of dumplings in a broth. Get down to it, the difference between steamed dumplings and wontons is pretty minimal. At least one will be donated to the raccoon if they see him; no telling what those miscreants get up to in their delightful trickery. The urban core of Gotham beats around them, trmebling and dark, barely given a shine by the street lights or neon glow of the city proper. At least a sliver of the moon coalesces to supplant the missing glow. "Funny question, you know. Ever get stumped for choice because you've got a bounty of riches? Sometimes it feels like that. Right now." Swinging her arm a little, Meggan holds up the bag for a point. "Can't eat all the dumplings at once. How about the bike?" She grins. "And you can say no. I get it if it's special and you'd rather not have some git sittin' on it."
Dick Grayson	It is strange, the odd peace of the city street. Though it is not true quiet. Dick keeps his wits about him, though his focus is still mainly on Meggan. He can still smell the dumplings and even though his belly is full, they still smell wonderful. Meggan's question gets a grin, "True, and sometimes both can't be picked. But I am all for a bike ride. You ever ride before?" He asks as he leads the way to it, "And true, I'd prefer not to have a git sitting on it, but fortunately you are not one," he grins right back, "Not sure if my spare helmet fits, but I try to keep one around for others," he uses his free hand to unsnap it and fish out a second helmet. "Can't hurt to see if it fits? Also, where would you like to go?"
Meggan Constantine	Chinatown simmers away on its own pace, driven by the gleam of business and the haunts answering to a timezone separated by the Pacific. Never vacant and never still, the city's melody hums around them if only anyone listens. Nothing changes in that respect. Fragrant pork flits over the air in a sacred swirl like joss sticks burning on an altar, but the blessings of having a motorcycle include not fighting for parking or dealing with the prowling BMWs and box trucks out there. "Can't pick both at once, but order them all the same. I try not to regret or think I went down the wrong path." She waves her hand around her hair and laughs. "You sure that helmet will fit over this? Even braided, it's got a mind of its own." Still, she takes the helmet from Dick but deciding where the bag of food goes is his. Second dinner? They eat up a lot of energy, after all. "Where to go. Somewhere windy? Open it up a little?"
Dick Grayson	Dick breathes deep, letting the unique smell of Chinatown soak in. He then nods to Meggan, "Good call, and it's not like they won't go bad so quickly and they reheat well," Dick then rubs his chin as he thinks. "Yeah, I think it will, maybe? Honestly uncertain." He chuckles, then realizes that he has to find a home for the food, "Well, we could put it in the saddle bags, maybe they will stay /mostly/ intact, or at least not crunched." He does his best to stack them well, and rearranges the saddlebag to keep them what will be mostly secure, or so he hopes. "Well, if you want open and windy, we could go along the coast, we could go to Bludhaven, or go to the mainland and zoom around." Dick ponders as he gets his phone out to check a few maps. He knows the area well enough, but always good to check wind conditions.
Meggan Constantine	Spices and cooking oil, herbs and sweat and gasoline, it all adds up to a unique stamp on the senses other than the bright awnings and the darkened facades. Gotham is never so clean cut, even in passing moments. Meggan closes her eyes for a moment, lulled by the weight of the helmet she pulls on, shaking her head a little to try and pull the weight of her hair to the sides. At least the part makes it easier to avoid grandiose entanglements; perhaps her greatest power is having a mostly untangled mane much of the time. "You figure out where they go," she says, pulling up the visor after pawing it a little to figure out the pressure points. "The dumplings, that is. Then, isn't the point just to ride?" A grin for Dick is matched by her bouncing on her toes, frighteningly young about it, perhaps. "Winding paths sound lovely. City riding must be great but we have a lot of red lights around?" Just a thought. Her shrug being what it is, she waits for him to take to the motorcycle. Probably necessary before she swings on and unbalances it a bit. "Whatever you like when zooming around."
Dick Grayson	Dick takes a few moments to actually get the dumplings where he likes them, paranoid about spilling them. Not so much about the mess, but because wasted dumplings would just make everybody sad. He watches Meggan work with the helmet and gives a warm smile, "Does it fit all right?" he inquires. When the topic shifts to the route, Dick thinks and then says, "Well, we can go to the mainland a bit, then. I got a full tank of gas and there aren't a ton of red lights on the interstate." He mounts the motorcycle with practiced ease adn then dons his own helmet before turning back, "You ever ride before?" Ready to take off as soon as Meggan hops on and is ready.
Meggan Constantine	Dumplings being wasted is akin to leaving the baby alone in the bath. Never! It must not happen, a crime to think of. Because it would make all sad and the saddlebag would have to live with the damage for quite some time. Getting wonton broth out of leather can't be comfortable. "Mmmhmm, lucky for me, it's a little snug but supposed to be that way? I've not really ridden motorbikes much. Awfully spendy with the petrol and insurance," Meg admits. She tips her head around and rolls her shoulders, getting a feel for the additional weight of the helmet. It's weird and cushioning in all the right places, but nothing insurmountable. A bounce to her step and she scoots up to pat the bike. "You're a lovely iron horse. Be kind, fair steed, and maybe not decide on a ride of Lady Godiva through town?" Let's hope he /doesn't/ know the story or else Dick Grayson might be left with an image that isn't intended. "Just a short ride into town, three kilometers or so. They're popular enough in the Lake District." With a grin, she snaps the visor down and up again. "Oof, hearing is going to be tricky. Just think awfully hard on good, bad, or ugly and I should get the drift." With that, she swings her leg over the back perch of the seat, not that they have much space between them. Her weight is solid but doesn't -quite- amount to much until she drops down from her toes, perching in place with an expertise usually reserved for hooded peregrine falcons.
Dick Grayson	"Sounds about right," Dick says with a helmeted nod, he currently has the visor up, "Yeah, even with my solid record, I still am not a fan of the insurance payments on this." He might not be an empath, but Meggan's mirth is at least matched by Dick's at the moment. The Godiva reference gets a brow raise that is hidden by the helmet, but the shift to the route gets Dick to say, "Well, this will be a bit longer than three kilometers, but the weather is nice and not too cold." Dick watches as Meggan joins him on the motorcycle, and then says, "Well, I can certainly do that," he's unaware she can pick up on his emotions as well as she can, otherwise he would be a bit more embarrassed. "Well, hang on tight, because once we clear town, I might have a little bit of a lead foot." He flashes a grin and lowers the visor before firing up the motorcycle and making their way to the interstate.
Meggan Constantine	"Could be worse. Imagine owning a fancy sports car. No one likes Jags anymore, but the souped-up Italian supercar payment probably exceeds the commercial rent around here." A wave of her hand doesn't unsettle the carefully attained centre of gravity that Meggan feels almost instinctively. Her knees tighten to the side of the bike, sloping a little, so as not to paint herself against the Wayneling scion's spine finer than all but a tailored coat. Not quite time for that yet. Speckled bits of insects splatted on a helmet are so hot, too. "Lead on, fair rider! And me!" she calls, but the helmet probably makes it very hard to hear. Or he has a mic in it and she just deafened him. Oops.
Dick Grayson	"Yeah, my car is not as exotic as a Jag, but it runs well, though I will ride this as long as the weather allows," Dick says referring to the bike. He feels Meggan lean onto him and while he expected it, a thrill goes through him. The bugs do splatter from time to time, but it's why he has a good helmet. Dick was not ready for the loud call over the comms, and winces a little, "Onward, indeed!" he responds after a moment to mentally recover, though fortunately the motorcycle does not swerve. As they clear the city and onto the coastal highway, the vista of the sea is lit up by the moon, and the occasional blip of light from the lighthouse, seemingly into eternity. To the other side is mostly farms, though there are trees from time to time. "This is definitely the scenic route," Dick says into the mic, "It is a view that never gets old, day or night. Also plenty of good beaches down this way that don't get swarmed so badly in the summer."
Meggan Constantine	"Oh, blast that. Ignore what Bond movies sell, Jags have awful electrical systems and run only when the moon is in conjunction with Mercury and you sacrificed to the Buddha." Okay, nonsense, but still. Supercars, Jaguards apparently are not. Good looks and no go, that describes a lot of people, so she makes the most of the matter with a suppressed laugh. The bike's torque is enough to kick her forward in the end, and no amount of lean will quite knock her free -- at least off the bat. In fairness, Dick might have all the benefits of knowing how to negotiate the roads and doing so with however many horsepower kicking around that light metal frame. She peers up past his shoulder to gaze at the sky and then all around, her gaze alighting everywhere. He /can/ hear her; what luck. The plucky English laugh comes a lot quieter. "Never will. See the waves breaking and it feels like something magical. As lovely as it is underneath, the sea up top is truly gorgeous."
Dick Grayson	"I'll take a note of that," Dick gets the gist of the idea, and still finds it funny, being a bit of a gearhead, he is not in a position to argue with facts. He is comfortable, definitely in the zone for the moment as they cruise down the highway. "Sorry about that," Dick says as Meggan shifts, though at least they are going at a steady speed and probably will not need to stop for anything. "Good, it's nice to have something like that you can always still feel the wonder of. Like reading a book or watching a movie for the first time." He looks up briefly, then has his eyes back on the road, "Also the farther we get, the more stars start showing up." The talk of the sea makes Dick ponder, he has used the Titans sub before, but that is for business. "Last time I explored underwater was a scuba dive," Dick says, "Though I can imagine the whole thing is just full of life, even this far north on the Gulf Stream. It just feels like it's it's own thing. Do you have a boat you go out on?" Dick asks, figuring that she must if she spends so much time on the ocean.
Meggan Constantine	Hard to argue with someone who controls the direction you go. Meg? She's just along for the ride, thrilling to the speed and gravity tugging this way and that. The shift of the road, the bumps that jostle them around needlessly. They all hold their considerable gifts for someone a junkie for experience itself. The highway is smooth enough, hardly a country road, and the dangers of deer basically minimal between Dick's reflexes and her passing sensitivity. "Sorry? What could you possibly be sorry for? We're running down a road with no class between now and then. Isn't that the whole point of motorcycles?" A laugh vibrates through her lips, teasing out the pathways of her limbs where she's sheltered from the wind. Not that it has ignored her, tugging, offering the call that always is there. "Bit like reading a book, maybe. Something vast and open, so very open. It's a wonder dolphins find food, though we could go on about that all day. The mysteries of the deep are very mysterious." That sounds terrible, and she cringes, chuckling at using up her own ruin. "I live in a lighthouse, Mr. Grayson, by the patience and tolerance of the university. Open the wrong window and I just about fall in."
Dick Grayson	Few things are as exciting and yet relaxing as taking to the open road. It might be the last week or so of the season, so Dick is intent on making the most of it. He calls out, "Eh, thought I hit the gas a little hard. But you're right, at least class isn't in the way," or work. The Wayneling keeps rolling down the road and says, "I have not really given much thought to how dolphins eat, though now I am certainly curious. Such a large chunk of the world, and no doubt a good deal of it is empty and yet not?" He thinks and then says, "How do you like your lighthouse? Though it must be nice being able to look out over the sea each morning must be nice. Also having easy access to swim must also be a nifty perk, when the water is warm enough for it?" He looks up ahead, "Riding that line between land and water, light and darkness, it is a unique building, also not having a garbage dorm is a huge bonus."
Meggan Constantine	"At least it wasn't the brakes. Going arse over tea kettle isn't fun!" Meggan squints at the blur of light around her, the visor distorting distant shapes separated by shadows and the beam of the headlight cutting far ahead of them. She'd open the visor to smell the air, but the splattered outlines from the odd mosquito probably suggest doing so is hardly wise. "The only limit to this, not putting out my arms. Seems a good way to fly into the road." Merriment clings to the tones shared by that microphone link, and so that voice dances at his shoulder, like the best of angels, and vice versa. Or maybe a terribly inept demon. Those exist. Sighing, she settles back against him, leaning in rather fecklessly. It's a source of warmth, therefore sought like a moth and a lamp. Less fluttering, maybe. "The lighthouse is a gift. It moored me when I got back having just about nothing to my name. Kind people and caring for it comes easy, though scrubbing stone floors puts an ache in anyone's knees. Probably whey the make the students do it. Sometimes good people come by to look or needing help and I can be on hand to do that. They made me do a swimming test to show I could manage the lifesaving bit of it. Rather competent, if I say so myself. I like swimming plenty, and at least it's not a dorm with a weird mate."
Dick Grayson	"Yeah, been thrown once. 0/10 Do not recommend," Dick says chuckling, comfortable as he has driven this route before. "Yeah, it is the big downside of the bike, never fully able to take advantage of the wind like a convertible or in a biplane. Actually feeling the wind on you as you soar through it." He sighs, though not in sadness, but more happy thoughts. Said happy thoughts are reinforced, and marked with affection as Meggan leans back into Dick, who is content to be the lamp in the metaphor. He smiles under his helmet, "While I am not happy that you had nothing to your name, I am glad they were able to help you out," a nod, "Though I imagine tending those floors is a pain, like you said. If there's anything I can do to help with the place, let me know." Dick's sincerity is obvious as is his mirth, while he is good at hiding his identity, he is making no attempt here to hide his emotions. "A swimming test makes sense. I just hope you never need to use your lifesaving skills, but I have confidence that if you do, your assessment is correct and they will be in good hands." He casually looks back quickly to see Meggan's helmet and braid and another bit of warmth hits him as he smiles like an idiot under the visor.
Meggan Constantine	"You've been in a biplane? I thought they only showed up in movies. Museums, too, I suppose. You Yanks put everything in a museum, instead of just letting it run or rot." It's not a negative commentary from the blonde, centered on that vision. Dick's offer brings a laugh from her. "Is that an invitation for you to take a brush to the floors while I get to sit back and do my homework? Careful there, or you might end up regretting it when you feel about eighty-seven years old the next morning." Another gentle warning is tipped by the apparent delight in the possibility. "Cleaning is much easier; it's just me there. And the postman, though he rarely has to come all the way down. He stops on the mainland and probably better. Those blocks get wet when the weather has a mood." She reaches back unconsciously, feeling the helmet. "Ah, I saved a family over the summer, towed them back to shore in a storm. They were lovely about it, all considered. Being fit to crash on the rocks or flounder in the waves, I suppose anything looks like a port. The university was serious though. The Coast Guard works out here, but the lights are all decomissioned or automated. This one's odd for being active but it's so close to the harbour, it is more historical site than anything else. But you throw me into the mix and you can get some kind of credit for having a manned light again. I don't much know the ins and outs, I just said yes."
Dick Grayson	"Once, but it was a reproduction," Dick says, "Though you are not wrong, we do love our museums. Though not much that is as old as the stuff back in your old stomping grounds," he notes. He keeps zooming along the road, the tires beating a steady tattoo as they go over the joints. "And sure, why not. A little manual labor never hurt, and besides, I'd have the most excellent company." Dick listens then as Meggan recounts saving the family, "Wow. That's amazing!" He remarks, "Well, you are saving lives and being a badass overall, so you deserve what credit you get and then some!" He takes a turn with ease, letting the shift in direction cause him to lean to avoid tipping the motorcycle, shifting gears as needed, "Having fun back there?" He calls back.
Meggan Constantine	"I'm about as much of a badass as an octopus, except if they lived longer, they would rule the world. Promise, it's no different than what I actually signed up for. Your lifesavers at the pool, the coastal watch? All of them do more. One day of help compared to working as a constable or detective day in and out? Talk about a thankless job with real benefit to the community," protests Meggan, shaking her head plenty. When the bike's tires grip the road, she jounces right along. "Oh, plenty. You make me rather remember the joy of speed under something else's power. Though I am tempted to dare you to a race and see how fast you can run this girl. Probably not so smart though, could be cars here." She shimmies on the back of the seat, poising her feet on the higher pegs, soles flat. "Having fun up there, or do you need me to spice it up?" Dick gets a thumbs up just in case he needs the visual reminder, though it means leaning on her part a bit.
Dick Grayson	Dick gladly keeps the bike zooming along, "I did not know that about octopuses," he comments, "Eh, you saved lives, that is no small thing. Far better than when I was pulling over speeders and litterers. I had my moments of badassery, but we all have our chances to make the world a better place," Dick nods. Then the adrenaline junkie side of him kicks in as Meggan lays down a challenge, "Well, at some point maybe there should be a race!" he grins, "Eh, we can probably find an airstrip that we could use sometime," Dick says, but then he sees the thumbsup and hears the question from Meggan, "I'm having the time of my life, but if you have an idea to make this a little more interesting, let's see what you got! Just be careful." He laughs openly and settles in for whatever Meggan has in store.
Meggan Constantine	"Would be a lawyer, is a police officer, generally all around friend? Try again, I'm not convinced this person stopping littering is a poor example. Speeding kills. Safety can be found in the smallest gestures." Meg doesn't struggle on that point, but she taps him all the same. "If this is the time of your life..." The notion of just taking off with or without the bike isn't exactly feasible considering they would have a pile of crumpled metal afterward and nothing by way of workable vehicle afterward. Hardly fair for a night's fun. She considers, the world blurring by, eyes closed. Street humming, earth singing, it all melts together in a vibrant palette brighter than any vista coloured in the traces of charcoal on a darkened palette. "Cliff diving or taking the road less traveled. Which appeals to you more? Not that we really have many cliffs this way, but the point is made."
Dick Grayson	"You're not wrong," Dick says, "You got me there," he nods. "The small things have their value, and often don't pay off in obvious ways." He ponders deeply on this topic as he keeps the motorcycle rolling down the road, not knowing what is going through Meggan's head, Dick himself is pretty pleased. Then Meggan hits him with a question. He would normally take a few minutes to think, but the self-professed adrenaline junkie goes with his gut and says, barely missing a beat, "Cliff diving. If I could choose both, I would, but cliff diving jumps out to me more." He stretches his neck a little, "But the latter also has its own appeal. A good adventure is always worth going on." Dick can not really turn back, but he asks, "What about you?"
Meggan Constantine	"How far are we from the water, anyway? A safe exit somewhere around here?" asks the blonde, a laugh on her lips and stalled thoughts reeling around the notion laid before them. She gestures ahead with one hand. "I'm adaptable, but hopping off high places may be a bit of a thrill for me. Too much?" It's a genuine question without an answer, so she lets it slide while the world opens before them. Exits, other cars, the gamboling clouds led by nimbus mares and fleeting clouds of dust. All of it sings to a light-hearted joy. "Find us a place to spot, I can do the rest." And what that is? Time will tell.
Dick Grayson	"Well, probably a hundred yards as the gull flies," Dick says and then nods up ahead at a beach entrance. "Closest thing we got without looping around too far." He says and pulls the bike in after about fifteen minutes of travel. It's a public beach with the usual "Swim at your own risk" signs and no posted hours, so at least they aren't trespassing. He points out over to a high point near the water that slopes down towards the beach, "Sadly it's not the best in the world, but it's got a bit of height to it." Dick puts down the kickstand for the bike on the gravel and removes his helmet after killing the ignition. Dick looks back at Meggan, "I would ask you what you have in mind, but I am going to wager the surprise is worth the suspense?" He grins back, knowing his question is rhetorical. "Though I am curious to see what you have in mind."
Meggan Constantine	"Not a crow?" Americans and their inexplicable takes on things. How is she ever to keep up? No reason to get too caught up on the details, however. In that moment, Meggan closes her eyes. The rough asphalt of the highway and the vibrations from the engine give her plenty to focus on, just as much as sharing a moment with another person. Lips shape a smile, the externalized voice buzzing at her ear. Majestic technology simplifies so much without any special powers, no need for quirks of birth or fate. It's a long way from Kansas, at any rate, with someone who could possibly be the weird witch of the winsome Englande, jolly olde, and all that. Her braids snap in the wind as the bike slows, Dick maneuvering it with far more expertise than she could, and the stiffness in her joints needs some careful appraisal. Mostly it's a swift knead above the knee and below, rolling her ankles around in the boots she wears. "Bike should be safe here, I suspect?" The question is already out of her mouth as she pulls off the shoe, unzipping the sides. Bare feet and ankles emerge, jeans pressed into her flesh. She rubs out those impressions, too, but it takes a moment. "Smells like the sea. Funny how brackish the coast gets. I'd thought perhaps more like Ireland or Norway, more mild, but your coasts are surprisingly gentle. Not quite a monstrously high cliff but a nice enough slope to play with." Thus goes the other boot, stuck close to the bike's wheel.
Dick Grayson	"Figured we were by the sea, to keep with the theme," Dick says, dismounting and putting his helmet down on the seat. He looks out over the ocean, taking a gloved hand through his hair to help settle it down. Blue eyes scan the area and then turn their attention to Meggan, "Yeah, and if anyone is going to try and take it, we will probably spot them or hear them well in advance." Dick stores his gloves in his jacket pocket and sets the jacket on the bike as well. Dick stretches a tad to reawaken some of the muscles and remove some tightness, but he chuckles and looks out there, "Yeah, and it doesn't smell like a dockyard in the city, a little fresher. Though maybe it's the wind?" He looks at the slope Meggan referred to, "Yeah, wouldn't be too bad for sledding if it didn't go down into the sea!" The Wayneling takes a sniff at the air to take in the smell. "At least it stopped raining, and good thing winter hasn't thought about stepping in early, this year."
Meggan Constantine	Meggan wiggles her toes and then slips off the bike. The next thing to fall shall be the strap of the helmet, released from under her chin, where too she carries a mark impressed on her flesh. Two smart tugs free the helmet, which deserves a place of prominence on the back of the motorcycle. She treats it well enough. "Anyone trying to take this is going to have a hard time escaping us, at any rate." Cause Dick and her on foot are such a threat compared to 120 km/h hit in a few seconds. Forget 60. "Ooh, that's better with the ground under my feet. Goodness, I needed it. All right, to see where we ought to begin." She puts her hand to the small of her back, stretching out, the muscles untensing and untangling with some concerted effort. "I like the smell of the rain. Doesn't it awaken such a sense of calm? It has a name, that smell before it rains, but then we Brits tend to have a love-hate relationship with anything falling out of the sky. Moisture, anyhow. People or money is another matter."
Dick Grayson	Dick nods, "Yup," he grins, picking up on the joke and says, "If they do, we'll just have to walk home, at worst." He grins and stretches a little more. The downside of riding a motorcycle, it forces you to be in one position for an extended period. "Though that smell is a good one, just not a fan of those cold nasty rains that seem to cut through anything with anything stronger than a breeze." The Wayneling then comments, "Though raining money or people definitely would be a weird thing, though the former is just a parachutist, normally." Dick grins and takes a few steps away from the motorcycle. "It is just so... quiet out here. No bustle, no hustle, only existence."
Meggan Constantine	"Nasty cold rains? How chilly can it possibly get in New York and Gothan?" Oh, sweet summer child. "Winter is one thing, but I thought it only snowed. The fluffy stuff everyone tells me to get a big coat for. I'll have to hit one of the consignment or thrift shops to see what they have in my size." Lucky for her, she can be whatever size she needs. Still. Tampering with her jeans, she pulls the hemline higher up over her ankles and then looks about. Hmm. Coat, last measure, unbelting it slightly and then thinking the better of it. "Shall we then, Mr. Grayson, constable once or a rank unknown to me yet?" She gives a light gesture, her hand pressing into her hip. "How does it go? Last one in's a rotten egg?"
Dick Grayson	"It can get pretty bad, not the worst in the world, but it is never fun," Dick says, "Eh, in teh city it gets turned to rain with the heat, but just warm enough to melt, no higher." He nods, "For a coat, there are plenty of good options out there! I'll be sure to find some recommendations." Dick listens to the challenge given to him and kicks off his own boots and socks, and takes out his phone and wallet and sets them all with his own shirt after he removes it. "It's going to be cold down there," he comments, "And my rank was detective before I left," flashing that grin in defiance of Meggan's challenge and begins running towards the cliff. In an attempt to at least show off a little bit, Dick gains speed as he goes towards it, while unused to doing this in bare feet, the former acrobat leaps off and does a triple somersault, not wanting to risk the quadruple and fail quite yet, as he clears the ledge and dives towards the water below.
Meggan Constantine	"And no towels," Meg points out, unless one considers a coat a towel. And since she hasn't thought to sling hers over the back of the bike until the thought strikes, that might be a few seconds Dick has to leap up and run hell-for-leather for the beach. All that training serves well there, since he can probably clock a 5K run far faster than she possibly can, all given. Unthreading the belt from around her waist, she tugs lightly to hurry along and ends up the more snarled as a result. Well, /fine/. Arms extricated from the sleeves leave her freed and she tosses the battered, worn old garment over the seat. It'll keep the motorcycle from being too wet if it does rain. Off he runs, a ghost into the night. "I ought to cheat," she murmurs to sky and wind, dancing reeds ruffled around her. Fingers trail along the nearest grassy hillock that warrants her attention, bare feet in contact with the beloved earth. "But he's so happy, I'm the Scotch egg this time around." A scrunch of her fingers scritches the stalk of some autumn-dessicated bush, and then she glides through the greenery that leads to the sandy mire marking where the earth falls away in its ragged edges to the sea. Oh, the acrobatic pursuit there is perfectly suited to show off indeed. She isn't even daring to match him on that score, but then tiptoeing up to the edge for a view of the silvered moon wreathed in tarnished chrome clouds is too beautiful not to manage. Her palm rests on her brow, shielding her eyes. A few steps back and she breaks into a desultory run; he's probably surfaced and might just be climbing the slope at this rate. But little is quite concerning as the elemental raises her slender arms in a jump, soaring up into the air in a balletic arc. Quite the long moonbow sweep at that; swirling golden braids trail behind her, unraveling plaits forming a comet's tail behind her in brindled silver and starlight, catching all the luminous hues of the Two Trees. Or the Two Trees would simply be jealous. She's real.
Dick Grayson	Dick hears the comment about the lack of towels, but it does not fully register until he pops his own head out of the water, "Shit," he murmurs to himself. While he keeps an overnight kit in his saddlebags, a pair of shorts is not going to cut it for riding, the problem with not switching out his summer gear for fall. As he swims over to the shore and begins climbing, Dick catches Meggan's jump and it just stuns him. He watches with a little bit of a slack-jawed expression. He has to stop and give an earnest and pleased applause. He may have been a professional, but that was art.
Meggan Constantine	Riding in shorts, ow. Road rash is a dangerous thing for people whose skin is not made of scales or blue fur! The risk against reward proposition might be too late to worry about. Still, Meggan isn't much thinking of clothes or anything other than the wind playing against her soles and the widely flung vee of her arms. Stars glitter behind blushing sterling veils of cumulus, and the world goes on its own course uncaring of mortal matters such as these. Waves reduced to a rippled line marching in their frothy advance mingle with teh roaring in her ears, and she drops with a disturbing lack of gravitational tug applying to someone who is not a feather. Nor made of feathers. He had to maneuver that bike around. Mr. Grayson ought to be well aware of her weight lying wholly in the 'mostly fed' category. But the crystalline awareness for her surroundigns gathered, she plunges straight for the sea on a lofty fifty foot crash. Forty. No change, her knees staying tucked slightly close to her body and her palms catching streaming breezes playfully. Thirty, the curled back begins to straighten. Twenty, her hair's at least double her height or so it might seem, rippling away behind her, her profile still too wide, one leg being extended. Ten, the certainty of crashing about ten meters away from him spelled out. Three, two... At one, she simply stops, toe pointed to hit the wavetops but poised just beyond. Her other leg is still bent, her arms dropping to her side, a ballerina twirl executed with fair aplomb and a bow sketched wide and daring. "Brava! You've won."
Dick Grayson	Dick should be climbing up and getting ready for round two. He should be thinking about what he is going to try next. He should be looking badass and tough and confident. But he is not. Instead, Dick finds himself watching Meggan dive down, he is a little worried as she gets near the water and Dick is uncertain about the angle, or the sudden increase in hair length. But then... she stops. "Did you," Dick sputters a brief bit, "You just, stopped there? On the water." He would point, but the Wayneling has enough self control to not point or look a complete fool. Dick instead takes a few steps closer, his ankles getting into the water, realizing that while she can apparently walk on it, physics still apply to him. But the rest of his words fail him, until he grins in admiration, still speechless.
Meggan Constantine	The water isn't smashing her around, but waves still pummel the shore as they have for a billion years and another billion to come unless Lex Luthor learns how to boil it all off to mine the sludge of the abyssal plains. Minor calculations to launch herself a little higher to avoid the more vigorous foaming rollers requires some attention, but the water plays along when she nudges it slightly flat. Forming a slightly more pronounced vee-trough around her toes might stand out if Dick can actually spot the break, though otherwise she looks like a girl floating in space. "Is it a trick question? I suppose I'm falling very slowly or traveling with the planet around, but that's more something to pose to a physics professor. Not so much my strong suit," she replies, a smile as wide as the moon should be hanging there. The water's not incredibly deep where she is, though deeper than where he waded. Her jump had to go on a shallower, wider trajectory. "But you made it in with panache. That's a real showman's style. A detective or someone who could knock the boots off an Olympian?" Maybe the real kind, too. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, suppressing that urge to grin. "Cat's out of the bag on this one. /Most/ people haven't seen me do it, but here we are. No need to be all show-offy on my part, not too much." She drops to wave-depth, feet in the water, ankles still bare. Gasp, flashed! How WICKED, circa 1899.
Dick Grayson	Dick had a hunch that Meggan could do certain manipulations to nature. He was /not/ aware, however, that she could do /this/. He continues to wade into the surf, approaching her, grin still plastered on his own face, like he saw something that he could barely believe if he hadn't seen it happen. "I.." a beat, "am just surprised. Definitely beat my own little trick," Dick notes. Dick then nods after gaining his composure and answers, "Was the third part of the Flying Graycens. Spent most of my childhood as an acrobat. One of the few that can do a quadruple somersault." Among humans, anyway. "Well, I am glad you shared this with me, ," it is a great deal of trust, as he knows. Sadly he can not share his own secret at this time, "and I'll admit, it's pretty awesome. I have to ask, how do you do it?" Dick is still a little stunned by the whole thing, his crush can literally walk on water.
Meggan Constantine	"Your own little trick?" With a shake of her hair, and it's not long enough to hit the water by any means, Meggan scrunches up her nose. "You have to claim more than that. You put down those criminals well enough and you can speak Mandarin. Those feats don't seem at all small to me." She offers her hands to Dick, palms out and utterly free of salt or water! She wears no rings and carries no open signs of scars, just honest labour in the calluses to be found. Bartending leaves a mark after all, and she isn't Aphrodite free of sins of flesh and work. "See, you can do something rather incredible. I could probably spin around in place looking like a broken Ferris wheel, but much less exciting or flamboyant." Says the woman doing a full bow, but she means what she says, owning enough guile to fit into a broken robin's egg. Dick gets appraised as he approaches and she grins again. "Never a time when I couldn't, actually."
Dick Grayson	"Took years of training, and winning the genetic lottery for it, but yeah, I can do tricks with teh best of them," Dick says, trying to stay at least somewhat humble. "I have my own fair share of talents and skills I have worked for. Most are from the privilege I picked up when I was adopted, but for most I still had to work at them." Dick gives a short bow in response to Meggan's in response and takes her hands, his thumbs tracing along the back of Meggan's hands. His own hands are callused from years of training, as well as a few scars here and there, which are also evident on his bare chest and back. Nothing outrageous, but they all look painful. "Always?" Dick inquires and takes a moment to think, but his smile is still there, "Well, that is still something. We all have our little tricks and talents, and abilities to seemingly do the impossible." He speaks quietly, almost to himself. "But still, I have not seen a dive like that in a long while, it was... magical, I think is the best word for it." Dick gently squeezes Meggan's hands, and flashes that grin at Meggan again.
Meggan Constantine	Nothing outrageous about her feet, either, but Meggan still has jeans and a t-shirt on, and the slight traces of wind and wave haven't done anything particularly onerous to her. She's enduring without so much as a visible trace of shivering on her bare arms, which for October in the sea, says a very good deal about her. "Always. I don't imagine I floated around as a babe, if that's any consolation. My parents never called me a trial but we lived in the middle of nowhere. At least nowhere by our standards. Here it would be like Maine or the middle of the country. Not quite so much of an issue there, what with just the neighbours being over the hill and a dale away. That's what the Lake Country is like, heaps of little windswept farms and cottages when you get away from the really touristed spots. Not like Lake Windemere where every sodding bus or bottom in a seat comes from London." His hands in hers, Dick will feel the pull on his arms as gravity falls back, the ocean stirring on to devour the earth quite happily as it has and will do til the sun flame-broils the planet. She floats higher, humming the chorus to Led Zeppelin's megahit. John Bonham would surely be proud, though who exactly is climbing that celestial stairway? Is it climbing if he is hauled up that way? "You might find it a bit easier to stand on my feet if you need the balance. Letting you hang by your arms doesn't seem very fair, does it?"
Dick Grayson	It really is an interesting string of events, from barstool confessional to the shallows by the ocean. Dick notes this mentally and is at least somewhat comfortable, even if his jeans are soaking wet. No sign of shivering or goosebumps, or if he is uncomfortable he does not show it. He comments, "That is still interesting. I was a circus brat, so no real chance to put down roots." He notes, "But the Lake Country sounds comfortable and pleasant." Dick would say more, but then he is flying. Or well, is being flown/carried. He'll take what he can get at this point. The Wayneling looks down and blinks, and then back to Meggan as she explains and he obliges by resting his feet on hers. His balance may be good, but he is /not/ going to tempt fate with overconfidence. "This is amazing," Dick says with some shock, though the Stairway to Heaven tune elicits a chuckle from Dick, "Well, then I have to ask, are you an angel? Between the flying, walking on water, being insanely gorgeous, and well everything." He smiles back at her, his cheeks flaring pink for a moment with embarrassment as he tips his metaphorical hand.
Meggan Constantine	"Lake Country is picturesque, full of bucolic visions, rolling hills, remnants of glacial lakes. It's all very peaceful and lovely, about as far as you can get from London or Manchester. But even that," Meggan smiles, "is plowed a good deal or chased by lambs and sheep all day. The occasional cow. It's known a plough or a hand for millennia, and not much left remains wild. Not like in Russia or the great dark forests of Alaska." But he has to go and distract her, a malleable mind and body influenced at the best of times, while she keeps on picking up the humming melodies of operatic 70s rock -- the best kind -- and if she can't do a Page or Plant guitar solo audibly, she can give a dim facsimile. However Dick means to get his footing, she accommodates; lifting him up with an arm wrapped around his back, him braced on her feet with a firm hand locked around his wrist. Heck, even letting him stand on her shoulders even. It takes approximately the span of time between him asking about angels and blushing for him to face exactly that, an icon draped in a beatific light radiating from a full golden nimbus around the brindled platinum-and-orichalcum hair. Radiant coronet indeed, though it's not a standard metal ring giving off a bar of light. The wingspan, though, is something she might not even be fully aware of. Mundane feathers pearled in silver, those plumes are left to lazily beat at the air with no actual need to keep them up. Except they're wings. And depending on Dick's take on how wide they need to be -- a snap subconscious choice or just an icon -- it could be rather impressive. Or not! Maybe they're little and twee like a movie costume. Either way, they're real.
Dick Grayson	"So like Wisconsin?" Dick asks, but that is all he can muster when Meggan goes full angelic. He keeps his footing where it is, though he does match the response of wrapping a hand around Meggan's waist, bits of Led Zeppelin still playing in his head. He is quiet for a few moments, taking it all in. The halo, the wings, almost all out of a storybook. Him just the acrobat turned billionaire's son. "I don't know how you do it, but you never cease to amaze me, Meggan," Dick says warmly, not an ounce of deceit or deception within a mile of him. "I did not expect any of this. I was elated you were willing to meet me for dinner and to go on a motorcycle ride. But this is astounding!"
Meggan Constantine	Wisconsin goes riiiight over Meg's head, mostly because she can hardly ignore the shifting of her shoulder-blades supporting the plumes weighing her back down. Hollow structure or not, the angle and cant of the wings take time to figure out, though it's a bit of instinctive adjustment. Holding Dick up is easy; the occasional wobble wouldn't normally be present. "Bother, that would throw us about a bit." Her green-blue eyes narrow, nose wrinkled up in an expression that most angelic beings would never admit to in a billion years. Feathers fluff and flutter, the pinions stretching out, muscles not used prior spreading and extending until they are perilously wrapped in an overlapping circle. That's probably even stranger to experience; hanging in place, with the very appendages used in nature to fly things around instead acting as a screen for Dick. "Oh, they -are- pretty. You at least made them lovely instead of boring and brown, or something like an angry goose. The ones in the park are the worst." Attacc goose is a dangerous being. She mentally walls that idea off best as she can, for the black markings of a Canada goose don't really fit the angelic marks. "Sometimes this happens. Good reason to avoid festivals now and then. Um... Right, so, this is me too."
Dick Grayson	Dick notes his surroundings, and is not overly bothered by the jostling caused by the sudden arrival of wings. He soaks everything in, then he hears Meggan's commentary about the source of the design, "Wait, it is based on what I think?" Dick is definitely befuddled by this for a moment, he does laugh though, "Yeah, Canada Goose wings would certainly be out of place. Though I am a bit shocked at all this." Dick grins back at her, "Well, I am happy that I have good taste, then. And no matter how you look, I think you are gorgeous and wonderful." A beat, "Though I am now a little curious about what happens if..." with that he leans in to kiss Meggan.
Meggan Constantine	Soaked by the sea, chilled by the air? Meggan can only do so much to hold the world at bay, but she isn't the one doused by a wave unless that happens to be a rogue one or a rebel angry about Christian iconography, motorcycle riders, or Gotham's wealthy elite slumming it down the coast. The very notion earns a brief check, not that playing peekaboo with those wings -- temporary as they may be -- really lets her see much. "Stop! They'll happen," she protests with a laugh, one stifled entirely. "At least I know what to do about goose wings, which is steal your keys and run away. All these compliments not fairly earned. Don't be--" No one will ever know the end result of that. Maybe a White Martian hiding around the bend laughing in her mind. The sentence dies, blown away, and the last laugh is the gentlest of responses, a kiss given back to the Wayneling. A rustle of her shoulders and that angelic imagery is forced to true, though the halfway point keeps the pointed ears at bay.
Dick Grayson	It may be wet, cold, dark, and out in the middle of nowhere, and Dick does not care. It could be in the middle of Gotham during rush hour, he still would not care. In this moment, there is one focus for him. The Wayneling holds the kiss for a little longer, holding Meggan close, and then after a moment releasing. He takes his free hand and, if permitted, brushes away some hair. "I do not believe any of it is unearned, Meggan." Dick responds softly, "Though I definitely will not forget this." A grin crosses his face, "You are wonderful, full stop, no caveats, no quibbles." He then gives her a light squeeze to punctuate it. Dick is about as happy as he physically can be, full of affection at this point as well.
Meggan Constantine	"But are we risking hypothermia?" Hey, big world, big word problems! Trying not to brush her nails over her scalp, she instead holds firm to Dick rather than letting him fall. Following instinct rather than purposeful intellect, she cracks into a grin. "This is the point where I usually start going for the clouds or disrupting the birds. Care to fly?" She tips her head towards the sky, impish about the offering.
Dick Grayson	"Heh, worth the risk," Dick says, damn the odds. He grins right back, "I love flying." It is not his first time being carried and flown, but dang it if he is not going to turn down the chance. "Might even be some geese for you to pick a fight with," clearly joking, "Get them back for them attacc-ing people." He looks up, towards the sky, "Great night for a flight, it seems."
Meggan Constantine	Damn the odds? Oh, it's a Vegas hand at least. Last chance to run, but Meggan gives a little shift of her shoulders, adjusting for the weight. How, exactly, to approach the moment? She clasps him a little closer, Dick given the benefit of being lighter than the typical burden one might take aloft. Or rather she isn't flying off with a Sentinel's head or a giant angry crab-monster, a blessing of sort. Taking a deep, dreamy break, she says softly, "Hold tight. Tell me when you feel solid, and then we play."
Dick Grayson	Dick is not afraid. The self-declared adrenaline junkie winks at Meggan and gets himself somewhat comfortable, or at least as comfortable as possible. He wraps his arms around Meggan to hold on and takes a deep breath. Lessons he has picked up over time. Though he is definitely not complaining about this at all. Once Dick is ready, he flashes a mischievous grin, winks, and says, "Do your worst!"