|
Silver-haired and pale-eyed, Alain was walking along towards the Pavilion in the Trees of Fairmount Park, her heels clicking on the wooden boards as she walked, trailing one hand delicately along the worn wood. It was lush, green, the spring vibrancy giving the environs a near-enchanted ambiance. Towards the end of the long wooden bridge, there was that Pavilion, more like a treehouse that sat up there in the canopy of trees.
Leta:
Now, Leta Abbott is a bit of an oddball. This isn't her usual speed by any stretch of the imagination, but even the park has something interesting to offer: people. She's stick-thin and gangly, wearing her blonde hair in a messy bun, and dressed in a floral print button up (top button fastened tightly) and crisp, non-faded black jeans. Her coat sits nearby - draped over a bit of railing, and she's fussing with a laptop and one of those mobile WiFi hotspots because even while engaging in a hobby there's always room to multitask.
If she notices the approaching Alain, there's no reaction - and when she gets closer, the blaring static sound of drone metal can be heard through the pair of earbuds dangling from Leta's ear.
Alain:
Eyes cast out and across the green expanse that ripples with the wind and hugs the earth, Alain's attention is everywhere but on where she's walking, and perhaps that's lax of her, but she's been here too many times; she knows the way. So she doesn't notice Leta, she doesn't even seem drawn to the sound of Leta's music from here headphones as she closes the distance towards that vaulted pavilion, some many meters off the ground. She doesn't notice her at all.
Leta:'
"I've been expecting you to come running at some point, Miss Mulgrew." Leta's nasally voice chimes in as Alain enters the pavilion proper - even over the cacophony of static and amplifier fuzz coming from her headphones. "Who could possibly resist my wit and charm for long - though I'm rather curious as to how you knew to look for me here - as it's nowhere close to our usual meeting spot..."
She looks up, getting a proper look at Alain's face and then her jaw drops. Step into my parlor, indeed. "Shit."
Alain:
Alain picks her head up, and turns her attention in the direction of Leta, dark blonde eyebrow already starting to arch high as the words form in her mind, start to make sense. "Miss- I beg your pardon?" she starts to ask, bell-like lilt in her voice, treading the few lingering yards that distance her from the Pavilion and coming to a pause, a polite but confused smile starting to turn the corners of her pale, pink mouth upward.
Leta:
If there was anything that might tempt Anthelion to say "fuck it" to her own philosphy about the use of magic, it's this exact moment. Righting her terrible embarrassment is just a spell away - but... the window of opprotunity dwindles away as she watches - mostly in horror - as Alain begins to smirk.
"I, err." Leta clears her throat, a tinge of pink begining to appear in her cheeks. Wit and charm indeed. "You're not who I thought you were. Good lord this is fucking awkward now."
Alain:
"That's alright. Only so many people can have this color hair, I suppose. I hope the mix-up is not too much a disappointment," Alain returns amiably, all effortless charisma and attendant social graces. She steps forward, and holds her hand out. "My name is Alain," she introduces herself. "And you are?"
Leta:
"An idiot, apparently." She leans forward over her laptop, offering her hand to accept Alain's. Leta's hands are soft and without calluses. She has the hands of a scholar - and though her arms are thin and noodly, her grip is firm. "Abbott," she offers her surname. Best not to get to comfortable with strangers, or she might embarrass herself again. "Pleasure to meet you, Alain - though now that I get a closer look at you, I do believe I recognize your face for real this time."
Alain:
"Abbott," the Snowskin repeats with a soft smile. Her hands have shaken many hands; it's easy to tell. The muscle memory is there, exactly how much force to apply, exactly how the hand should fall and the fingers curl, and her skin is soft and warm, though there are a few soft scratch marks on her wrist, like from bramble or a small animal. "Oh? And the pleasure's mine. Do you mind if I join you out here?" she gestures around to the pavilion.
Leta:
"Not at all," she offers a sweeping gesture to all the available seats in the nearly empty Pavilion. "I'm a tech at a forensics lab, so I've acted as an expert witness a few times - and correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe I've seen you around the courthouse somewhere? Or perhaps city hall? These places all blend together for me - I haven't the patience for most of it."
Alain:
Alain lets her body sink down into the wooden seating, reclining backwards and tipping her chin upwards towards the gentle, ambient light that filtered in through the tree boughs and branches, and then tilts her pale, glacial blue eyes back at Abbott, and bobs her head in a slight nod. "Oh, it's very possible, more than likely," she admits. "I have several colleagues with offices at City Hall and the courthouses, and my offices are in Center City, as well. I work for some charities in the area," she appends, in brief explanation.
Leta:
"Fascinating," Abbott leans forward, closing her laptop and focusing her attention on Alain from behind the rim of her little sunglasses. It's a very odd type of scrutiny to be under. "... and what does your charity do, exactly? What special interest groups do you work alongside?" For all the intensity of her focus, and the probing nature of her questions, she doesn't seem to be malicious with the interrogation, just... oddly interested.
Alain:
"Ah, that's a very good question with perhaps, a very boring answer," Alain acknowledges with another of her exceedingly polite and socially aware smiles. By the look of it, she probably just walks into a room and lets people fawn over her in exchange for writing fat checks to non-profits; it would be a passing decent guess. "It's really a foundation, and we invest in journalism, the arts, civic wellness, community enrichment, public spaces, and social programs. Some of our grants are made directly, and a good portion of it is funneled through other charities whose niche focuses fall within our mission statement, essentially."
Leta:
"That's a lot of very safe buzzwords to use." Leta offers a Spock-like quirk of her eybrow - but ultimately seems disappointed with the response. "... and it is a rather boring answer. I was hoping for more information than that - after all, it's very difficult to decide whether or now I'm in favor of funding Community Enrichment, The Arts, or Social Programs without knowing specifics. Not that it's my money to throw around or anything - or that I have to agree with what you do with yours - but..." She makes a wishy washy motion with her hand, and opens the laptop back up - looking down as she continues. "Something something conversation something something."
Alain:
"I don't make it my business to try to convince every person I speak to to donate," Alain rejoins in a kind voice. "Particularly not in my off-hours. But as I said, it's a large foundation with an extensive mission statement; I'm sure you'd be interested in the specific programs themselves, of which there are dozens. If you want to stop by sometime during hours, I'd be happy to give you a more formal introduction."
Leta:
"Of course," Leta waves another hand - brushing aside the topic rather than asking further work-related questions. She reaches over to her coat, fishing a box of out of the front pocket before placing it back down. She plucks a toothpick from the box, and places it between her lips, gnawing on the wood as she continues. "So these are off hours for you, then? I'd just assumed anybody wearing heels like yours was still working." Beat. "Though I suppose this isn't exactly the kind of place one goes to rub elbows and grease palms."
Alain:
"They are wherever I can find them," Alain concedes with a somewhat deeper grin that creases her features in an aesthetically pleasing way. "The real time vampire of working with non-profits are the events. You're in the office, doing the behind-the-scenes during the day, the weekdays, and then evenings and weekends, well, then you're at the events, hobnobbing with all the other souls that were working then, too, except now they're relaxing and you're still working..." She looks down at her heels, and bobs her knee. "I like them."
Leta:'
Let's currently wearing ankle boots with a three inch heel. Given her last statement, this probably says something about her work-life balance- or her attention span as far as indulging in hobbies is concerned. She crosses one leg over the opposite knee, looking back up at Alain. "That sounds fucking miserable, actually. I cannot imagine spending that much time around other people - least not in situations where I'm expected to interract with them and not be bitchy and," she fishes around for a moment - waving a hand. "Well. Miserable."
Alain:
Alain smiles ruefully at that, tossing her head lightly to the side. "No, it's not so bad. My office hours are generally quiet, and then I go socialize with colleagues and friends and talk up good causes to them. They are long hours, they are," she admits with a small nod. "But you said you were a forensics technician?" she wonders. "What kind?"
Leta:
"Oh, technically I'm a utility player. I occasionally assist with collecting evidence, analysis, and with investigating crime scenes - though my particular area of expertise lies with identifying human remains that are either incomplete, or too decomposed for normal assments to turn up useful information." There's a momentary pause, and she squints at Alain - as if gauging a reaction, or perhaps trying to discern a motive. "You say "socialize" as if it's a thing you're doing for enjoyment, but that still sounds like work."
Then she sticks out her tongue. "I don't envy your hours."
'Alain:
"A utility player," Alain repeats the words, absorbs them. "So like the show, Bones?" she asks, tilting her head to the side with a thin, congenial smile. "What are those hours like?"
Leta:
"Of course - I have to do something when my very specialized area of expertise isn't relevant to this week's episode," she offers this with a shrug as if it's incredibly obvious. "... but yes. I imagine it's like Bones - I find it difficult to enjoy that type of television - only none of my coworkers look like Angel, which is admittedly fucking tragic." There's a sigh - though whether it's because she doesn't have David Boreanaz in her life, or because she's about to detail her hours is unclear. "Long-ish? More than forty hours a week, on average, but most of it is under conditions I can handle - or enjoy - so it doesn't bother me."
Alain:
"So, see," Alain gestures encouragingly, "That's how I feel. The hours are longer, but most of it, very much to your point, is under conditions I can handle, or enjoy. And there's usually hors d'oeuvres and champagne. We could both do worse," she cajoles amicably.
|