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The waypoint was something of an odd one, looking at first blush to have been pulled whole-cloth from an old subway platform: the dirt path of the trod rapidly shifting to dingy tile flooring as the thorns wove into walls covered in the same, flickering lights above swaying from phantom trains made their presence known by sound alone. Along the thoroughfare a few vendors gathered, taking up the airs of the old newsstand and food sellers that tend to line such places, the imported structure continuing on for fifty feet or so until it blended back into the normal Hedge once again.
A tall stately blond-haired gentleman stood at the news booth, blue-grey eyes taking in every detail as he perused what the hobs had deemed fit to print on that particular morning. He was dressed neatly in black pants and a grey shirt, the shadows cast at his feet holding a certain sharpness that would make one suspect that touching them would leave a cut behind on the appendage in question. For the moment his attention was on the stand and its wares, but the sights and sounds around him were also monitored; he wasn't one for being surprised often, after all.
After a moment, a redheaded Darkling ducks around the bend of the trod. She approaches the little subway station Hedge weirdness, so low Wyrd it hurts. The lithe Nightsinger is in a dark gray sweater, a pair of dark wash jeans, and a pair of dark gray boots to her knees. A purple jacket is open over the sweater.
It may be her first time to the Market; it may not. Either way, she's here, and she's a little anxious. The hobs perk up, with a look of predatory glee in their eyes. Fresh meat, it reads.
An owl perches on a light fixture inside the supposed waystation within the Hedge; eyes closed. Possibly asleep. Slow whirling leaves scatter across the concrete floor.
Slow whirling leaves? There's lots of leaves. Drifting slowly across the path in every color of autumn's splendor, probably a holdout from the long-past season, carried around on the winds.
Or maybe not.
They do feel Wyrd.
Both the weight of that Wyrd and the hungry looks from the hobs turned Asbolus' attention towards the new arrival, his gaze peeling her back to her basest layers for a brief moment before he offered a nod. "Afternoon." His voice was quiet, the British accent still strong after a number of years in the States and God knows how long in Arcadia besides. "First time?"
Smiling gently, Michelle looks gratefully at the Brit. "Sort of. First time here." She gestures. "I'm just--here to look. Yourself?" Then she remembers her manners and offers her hand. "I'm Michelle." Not offering a last name, not to start. "It's nice to meet you... I think. So far." Her smile is still faint, but has a wry turn to it, now. She glances at the owl; shies away from the Wyrdo leaves.
"Much the same." He took the offered hand, his own cool to the touch and bearing that same sensation of sharpness as the rest of him. "Asbolus. Don't believe I've had the pleasure."
The spray of autumn leaves kicks up, fluttering nearby the two chattering Lost. For a moment- a brief moment- their shadow coalesces into that of a slender fellow wagging a finger at the hobs. It's enough- they back off.
Reluctantly.
The owl opens one eye. Hoots softly. Closes its eye again.
Michelle doesn't see the figure--it's behind her back. She blinks at the reluctantly retreating hobs, and then smiles more warmly at Asbolus. "I don't think I have, either. What brings you by today? Just browsing, like myself?"
A small smirk settled into place as the shadow did its work, giving Chelle a small nod at her question. "Tend to stop by now and again and see what they have on display."
Michael enters in something of finery. An waistcoat and top hat. He's still wearing those accursed gloves though. Looking about and spying Michelle he beams, approaching on light feet. The leaves result in a circular detour to keep a hopefully safe distance.
Chelle raises a hand to Michael, smiling over at him warmly, before looking back to the other Darkling. "I see. I haven't even been here once. It's... certainly something. Not like the ones I've seen before."
The leaves kick and flutter in a swirl around Michael's feet. There's no wind to speak of, though, and they bear an increasingly familiar- to Michael at least- sense of the Wyrd. They continue to bob and swirl, occasionally resolving their shadows into a lanky sillhouette in brief flickers, but never enough to easily make things out. They're not THAT interesting.
Right?
"It's more of an outpost thant anything, but a Market is a Market as long as someone's selling something." Asbolus looked around briefly. "Has a few interesting things now and again."
"Not feeling particularly talkative, I take it?" he seemed to speak to the leaves themselves as they swirled around Michael's feet, a note of amusement on the Darkling's features. He then looked to the fox himself, giving him a nod. "Afternoon."
Michael tucks his tail, doing a little jig of nerves as the leaves swirl around his legs. Darnit Vorpal! Still, he manages to wave to Michelle and Asbolus. "Hi! How are you both?" Taking the chance to shift towards Michelle, and hopefully away from the leaves, his tail swishing at them to try and deter their movement.
Asbolus gets a nod from Michelle, before she turns to Michael and leans in to gently kiss his cheek. Her lipstick does not transfer, miracle of miracles--and considering it's mortal stuff, must be good.
"Anything neat today that you've seen?" she asks of Asbolus, after a moment of a smile at Michael.
Phoof. The leaves kick up at a swish from Michael's tail. There's a flicker on the wall- another there-again-and-gone shadow.
Who had two thumbs and clearly thinks they count as "something neat that Asbolus has seen today?
That guy.
"Doing well enough, all told." He nodded, looking towards the shadow on the wall before turning back to the two Spring courtiers. "Nothing too telling, barring our autumnal associate that is."
A hand reaches out to squeeze Michelle's as she kisses his cheek. "Of course there is." He preens. "I'm here, after all." A wink to them both, but he nods after a second. "Nothing for sale that took your eye? Though that could be a literal thing here." A wince.
Chelle blinks. "High Wyrd leaves? I wonder who it is," she murmurs, before smiling at Michael. Then she shrugs. "I haven't been here long enough to see anything."
Another briefly resolved flicker of leafshadow, this time with upraised, clenched arms whipping downwards into extended, splayed hands. The perfect picture of OH COME ON.
Asbolus actually chuckled at the tenebrous display, shaking his head with a smirk. "You could introduce yourself, you know..."
"I know who it is." Michael sighs dramatically. "Oh, if only I had a leaf blower. That'd be fun Vorpal." He winks at the leaves.
The owl watching all of this shivers its wings, fluffing up its feathers, and the scent of pumpkins and cinnamon briefly flows over the Lost collected.
The leaves swirl upwards, twist tight and disperse, leaving a lanky, scarred Torrent in their wake, complaining loudly. "Yes, but what's the fun in being a sentient, swirling mass of shadowed leaves if it's not immediately evident who you are?!" He plants his hands on his hips and sighs loudly. "I need a better PR department."
Chelle turns red. "Oh. Hi, Vorpal." She eyes him and edges away a little, uncertain. She doesn't DISLIKE him, not really, but--well--high Wyrd. Anyway, she looks back to Asbolus and says, meekly, "We've met."
Michael steps back too. Officially, it seems to be to stay near Michelle and rest a hand on her shoulder in offered support. But it does happen to put a bit more distance between himself and Vorpal too, his tail fluffing up.
Asbolus' attention turned towards the new scent in the air, nostrils flaring not unlike a hound's as he sought out it's source. He kept his ears on the conversation around him, however, not wanting to miss anything.
Vorpal huffs quietly. "You know. I was a LOT worse when I was in Tamarack Falls," he mutters. "Though I guess being around a wildfire doesn't necessarily make a house fire less intimidating. Eh." It's getting very Dangerfield up in here- NO respect. Ah, well. He's increasingly used to it, and doesn't seem to actually hold it against anybody. He does gesture towards Michael and Michelle, though, glancing to Absolus. "See, this is why leaves. It's a little harder to conceptualize "ohhh noooo spooky danger" from a bunch of leaves instead of-" And he gestures to himself, as do his panoply of shadows. "Is it too much to ask for unquestioning acceptance, universal respect, and both a respectful presence AND comfortable absence of fear?"
... yeah. Yeah, Vorpal, it is. But the hint of a grin shows he's in on the joke, at least.
Chelle just rolls her eyes. "You're insufferable." But she grins at him. "Don't make me tell you the name Teagan told me, friend." A bluff! But the scent finally reaches her nose and she looks around, curious, before looking back at Vorpal with amusement.
Michael blinks, forgetting his fear and nerves in an instant. He moves forward, beaming and looking between Michelle and Vorpal. "You have so much respect from me. And a little fear I'm afraid. But Teagan, they're here?"
"Perhaps..." the Darkling said idly, watching the owl perched nearby for a moment before looking back to the group, "but it does make direct communication rather hard for those who aren't versed in reading the shadows."
Chelle looks petulant. "I've known Teagan for ages, on and off. Tell me if they're here?" She looks sad, like she misses her friend. Before glancing at Vorpal again, that is. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to things anymore. I--changed, somewhere along the line."
"Here right now? No." He says, surprisingly confident in that for someone who can turn completely invisible. "Here in Philadelphia? Quite so." And he tips a wink to Michael, appreciative- he'd meant the outburst in good humor, but his ego does appreciate the occasional stroke.
"Oh, it's quite alright, sweetling. I mostly tease. Don't take me too seriously, mm?"
Michael's eyes widen at the revelation and then he's hugging Vorpal without inhibition, laughing brightly. "Excellent, wonderful! I'm glad for you!" He looks back to Michelle, eyes warm. "They're here." He announces, not that she needs telling. He extends a hand towards her, inviting her to join him and the ambushed Vorpal. "This is a good day!" He declares to Asbolus.
Chelle takes Michael's hand and makes sure he's not stabbed by Vorpal, before stepping in and hugging the fox. She offers--does not ambush--the other Darkling, before looking to Asbolus. "Care to celebrate with us?" she asks, wryly.
"I suppose the return of an old friend is worth celebrating." He nodded to Chelle, a small smile on his face.
The owl, either satisfied with what he sees, no longer interested, or always paying attention to something else, alights from his wire, spreads cream-and-tea-colored wings, and sweeps off into the Hedge alone.
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