ArchivedLogs:Someone's Daughter

Someone's Daughter
Dramatis Personae Dan, Nox	2013-02-26 Dan goes shadow-hunting.
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. Early evening, and the light hasn't /quite/ shifted over into gloomy dusk, but it's definitely beginning to fail. Already the park's occupants are beginning to shift from the day-trip nannies and joggers to people cutting through the park on their way home and the homeless beginning to claim their spots for the night. Dan is in neither of these groups, walking along the graveled path slowly, his gaze casting about as if looking for someone among the homeless. He's dressed kind of shabbily, himself, in oil-stained jeans and a tattered Army flak jacket over a similarly oil-stained gray ARMY sweatshirt. In his hand, swinging idly to bumb against his leg, is a brown paper shopping bag, heavy with something bulky and loose, judging by the way it bulges on the sides. Among the homeless is the usual assortment of young and old, hale and infirm, drunks and drug-users. The one commonality among them is their disreputable appearance, with unwashed clothes and scraggly hair most common. A few stubborn or optimistic souls are still working the dispersing crowd of tourists and residents but luck is scarce. The more experienced among them are wise enough to begin making their dens for the night--or, in the case of Nox, preparing to depart as well. Her den is elsewhere and the woman has opted to travel in her own way, which requires shedding her garments. The path that Dan has chosen is less well traveled and the mutant woman has opted to shelter behind an evergreen shrub to slip out of her clothing with a minimum of fuss, the very opposite of nymph-like. The process is silent and subtle--or would be if the bundle she's made of her clothing didn't snag on one of the branches as she shoved it beneath the bush. It rattles, annoyed, and she lets out a soft hiss of frustration. There doesn't seem to be much hope of finding whoever he's looking for, and Dan pauses on the path, looking back in the direction he's come. The rattling of brush snaps his attention around to the bush it originates from, and his hand goes into his pocket. "Just give it up," he calls to whoever is hiding back there. "You don't want to mug me. Wait for the next sucker." He grimaces. "Better yet, call it a night. It's supposed to be fucking freezing tonight. Get someplace warm." Yes, poorly-timed passers-by. Dan is advising the bush to go someplace warm. He offers a tight smile and nods at the two women who hurry by, giving the ex-soldier a wide berth. "Evening." When they've gotten safely past, Dan turns back to the bush. "You might as well come out. I know you're there." The shrub does not reply, as they are wont to do. However, after a moment, the earth beneath it darkens as its pool of shadow grows substantially deeper. Dan, if he is the sort to be attentive to such things, will know that he is being watched. It's only after Nox recognizes the man that she makes her true presence known by sliding onto the path to adopt the shape of /his/ shadow. It stretches out before him, defying the angle dictated by the setting sun, and cants its head in apparent curiosity. "Hello again, sir. How is your back? You seem to be feeling better." Battle-honed sense do, indeed, give Dan the impression of being watched, and his body stiffens as the feeling increases. He blinks when his shadow suddenly stands, and actually steps back. His pocketed hand raises, briefly, until the shadow addresses him. Then his eyes are going a bit round, until the actual voice registers, and his eyebrows meet in a deep V. "You...you're that shadow girl from last week?" he verifies, one foot working around behind him. Then her question actually registers, and he frowns. "I guess so, if you're asking about that." His pocketed hand lowers, and he takes a deep, shuddery breath. "Back's better, thanks," he says, nodding over his shoulder. "Just knocked the wind out of me, I guess." He frowns again, looking at his feet, and chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully before grinding out niceties. "How've you been?" When his foot moves, so too does his shadow's. Nox has this practice down to a fine art. It looks real. It looks as if Dan is conversing with his feet. "His" head on the ground turns a little more, seeming to be aimed at the restless hand removed from its pocket. "I am afraid that neither blades nor bullets work well on me," she tells him softly, lightly amused, "but then neither am I a mugger, so we are both safe, mm?" Finally she draws away from him and closer to the path's edge, becoming additional frills to the bush's shadow. "It's good to hear that you weren't more seriously hurt. I've been well. Business as usual, one might say." There is a brief pause before she thinks to add, "And yes. I am Nox. You were...I apologize, I seem to have forgotten your name." "I guess they wouldn't," Dan says, his unease with communicating in such a foreign manner starting to fade when the conversation proves weirdly normal. Go figure. "That's probably pretty handy, at times. Could have used it a couple of times in the Shit." He rubs his thumb under his left eye, along the scar there. "Business? Pinching folks for a handout is a business?" His mouth twitches with something akin to amusement. "And they say the homeless aren't ambitious." There's an actual flash of teeth, and he lifts a shoulder at the introduction. "Dan," he says, and chews his lip another minute. "I'm sorry if I was rude to you," he say, forcing the words from his chest in a rumbled rush. He shifts the bag, bumping it against his knee. "I can be a real bastard about shit, sometimes." "Dan," Nox repeats politely. "I don't recall ever pinching anyone, either for business or pleasure. But I have led a somewhat sheltered life." With whispers, it can be so difficult to determine the intent behind a statement. She's quiet, and she's against the ground, and it /sounds/ as if she meant that earnestly. The long silence that follows after might tell differently, though. "It was not the first time, nor do I think it will be the last. I accept your apology. Thank you, Dan. Most people aren't brave enough to offer an apology for a poor chosen action or remark. It's appreciated." "I meant asking for money," Dan explains, leaning forward just a bit to catch her words, flushing at the acceptance of his apology. "Yeah, well, I'm not a bad guy," he says, wrinkling his nose. "Don't get me wrong -- I'm a fucking /bastard/ to a lot of people, but I'm not /bad/." He scrubs his hand along his nose, and rubs at his mouth, eyebrows colliding in a deep crease. "It's supposed to be cold as a witch's tit tonight, kid," he says, the subject shift not as smooth as it might have been. "You stayin' warm enough?" "I know bad men and I'm sure you are not one of their number." This is more easily deciphered as reassurance. Nox, or the outline that is Nox on the path, shifts slightly. She rearranges herself until a more feminine shape, a head clearly visible, a neck and shoulders. The rest remains fuzzy but this way, she's able to nod to him or at least towards his feet. "Always, Dan. So long as I remain like this, the cold only bothers me distantly." Something occurs to her seconds later and her head tilts again. "Were you looking for me? You aren't here to jog and you don't have the manner of a tourist." "I'm glad I pass the test," Dan says, his mouth lifting in a small grin. The comment about tourists gets a bark of a laugh. "Kid, I can never claim to be a tourist," he says. shifting the bag again. "I was born in this city. I got asphalt and cab exhaust in my DNA." Which suddenly seems an awkward thing to say, to a mutant, and he ducks his head. "Um. Yeah. You know what I mean. But yeah. I was looking for you." He shakes the bag (at his shadow!), and tilts his head. "I got you some clothes," he says. "In case you got cold." He frowns, and waves his other hand (again, at his shadow!). "I didn't know you could do...that." "Please. Call me Nox." The request is as quiet as the rest of her speech has been but it is far more firm. She's quiet again for a time--a habit, perhaps--but then gradually the shadow lifts from the ground, filling in until she's standing before the man. Shorter this time than before, and with a translucency that makes the bush visible through her form, but there. It allows the mutant woman to look him in the eyes before shifting her attention to the bag. "That was...that was very kind of you," she murmurs. "So very kind. Thank you, Dan. Warm clothes are useful, no matter what." "Nox," Dan repeats, rolling the name around in his mouth and brain. "Like the Incarnation of Night, from those books by Piers Anthony?" He smiles. "I read those. They were interesting, until he got to the last couple." He watches as the shadow shifts and rises, his tongue finding a spot in his cheek to rest. The bag's handle gets gripped tighter, white showing at the knuckles before he relaxes, and holds the bag out for a moment. That seems impractical, though, and he sets the bag on the graveled path. "I figured you could use 'em, or know some other kid that could, if they didn't fit or whatever." Nox begins to read out--those hands taking on a darker hue and less transparency--but when she glances down, the bleached nature of his grip is noted and she lets her arms fall to her side again. "I don't believe I've read those. This is very kind though," she says again before lifting black on black eyes to his. They lock there, unblinking. "Sir...Dan. I had thought when we first met that it bothered you that I was homeless and panhandling. I had hoped that were the case, at least. But I wonder, and you may feel free to not answer this, but if it is more a bother to you that I am a mutant. Do I frighten you?" "I'll bring you a couple," Dan says, without much thought apparently behind it. It seems a forgone conclusion. "He's got an interesting world in them." At the question, Dan's mouth presses back into a tight line. "It does," he says. "Not as much as other mutants do, but yeah. It bugs me." He frowns. "But that's my own shit, yeah? I know it's not all mutants...I /know/." He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, and looks around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I got a kid," he says in a low voice; nearly as low as Nox's natural voice. "She's..." he lifts a hand in Nox's direction in explanation. "Bothers me more to think you're someone's daughter and living out here." Nox only listens, disinclined to speak--even when he repeats himself, as if cutting off any protest from her. She just...listens, her edges blurring little by little as he goes on. When that final confession is shared, her head is dipped to him--more acknowledgement than understanding. "If it helps at all, sir, I do not live out here because of my parents. Nor do I give them very much thought." She's pale enough now that there's no expression to be read on her face. There's hardly a face at all. "Your daughter is not me, nor I her." "No," Dan says brusquely, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But you're someone's daughter." He turns, then, and begins heading in the direction he came. "I'll bring you those books," he calls over his shoulder, and then he's walking on, shoulders hunched against the non-existent wind. Should he look back, after that last call, Nox is gone. But so is the bag he'd brought to offer her.