Difference between revisions of "Log:Track and Edith"

April 20th, 2017

Darby and Alex meet. Edith Piaf cements their interaction.

University Track

Mid afternoon. Too early for high school kids to make the university track a hang-out spot, too late for most sports training and reserved times for regular practices and events. That leaves the track mostly empty, two others aside from Darby actually circling it at their own paces and styles. There is one college-aged young man doing sprints up and down the bleacher steps. At the base of the bleachers, two moms with strollers, presumably containing sleeping infants, sit talking and drinking from giant size coffee to-go cups.

It's one of those days where the weather just can't seem to make up its mind. The day began drizzly. It briefly got sunny and almost too-warm for Spring, then the clouds returned in a collision of warm and cold fronts and there were two not-quite-consecutive hailstorms that have left puddles here and there. But after the hail, the sun peeked out through white, puffy clouds as if to laugh at the fickle day. No more ice remains.

Running would describe Darby's speed. She's not sprinting, but her strides are long and even, her form excellent enough that if she looked a trifle younger, she might be a senior at the university. But there's some element to the way she holds herself, aside from the grace and posture, that suggests more life experience and less 'new' adulthood than the typical college student. But you never know, really? Well, most don't.

Her running shoes are good but worn, well-used. She wears black running pants and a bright green moisture-wicking tank that are both still damp enough that the hypothesis that she started her run before the last of the precipitation ended isn't without supporting evidence. Her hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail, only a few strands have fallen loose and cling to the skin on her face and neck. Her color is high, no make-up at all, but her breathing is rhythmic to match her running. She's not in need of a stop to catch her breath, though the lactic acid has likely built up. A small pack is attached at her hip - large enough to hold a key, phone, ipod, driver's license but not much else. A line of wire runs up under her tank and she's clearly wearing earbuds. When she passes the young woman practicing sprints or the elderly woman getting her walk in for the day, she gives them a wide berth.

It seems that Alex's hair hasn't been able to make u pits mind either. Part of that may well be due to the weather. Those tight, messy honey-brown curls are slightly damp, rendering hair that ordinarily verges on blonde a slightly darker shade as the young woman is making her way out onto the track. It is still striking, with her skin tone. She could be bleaching but the messy riot of curls suggests otherwise; few people who would go to the effort of bleaching their hair leave it in such a state. Never mind the difficulty presented in working such an even bleaching into hair that no doubt defies all advances of a brush. It's usually this feature that first draws the hair to the blue-eyed, slender sprinter when she emerges into view.

A thoughtful gaze scans the track. It's a quiet day, the wind sweeping past providing the only real backing track to the whisper of breath and Alex's own pulse in her ears. She's wearing a slender pair of earbuds herself, running up under her pink t-shirt and then mostly lost in her autumn goldenrod locks. A small hand works its way into a pocket of her black exercise shorts to tap a button on her MP3 player. Then the girl takes a deep breath and starts to run. The twenty-something college student runs like someone who has nowhere to be except for as far away from where she started as she can manage. Her form is good but no one has really shown her how she was supposed to sprint. This girl picked it up on her own. It probably hurt. Still, she's relaxed as she settles into this headlong sprint and carries it well past when most people would have to stop, her breathing falling into a familiar, quiet rhythm. All the while strains of music are playing in her ears. Des yeux qui font baisser les miens... (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0feNVUwQA8U)

Alex doesn't really notice as she goes streaking past Darby and starts up the far curve of the track. She'll be back this way soon enough. Eventually, of course, the girl will have to slow. To pace herself. But then whatever it is will catch her. So she pushes it to the last breath. Every time.

Darby's speed isn't near a sprinter's pace, but it is fast for a runner's. But the difference in speeds gives her some time to watch Alex without seeming rude or worse. Natural form. No apparent stretching ahead of time. And that nothing-to-lose, twenty-year-old energy and lithe recovery. Depending how far Alex sprints, she may pass Darby. If she is doing wind sprints, stopping and starting again, the pair may pass one another a few times exchanging position on the course. Darby gives the same space to Alex - maybe more - that she does the others present. The elderly woman finishes off her walk and heads for her ride - someone either arrived early to pick her up or has been waiting the entire time for her. The two mothers seem oblivious to the exercise going on around them.

The college kid on the bleachers stops to lean forward and rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath before doing some extensive stretching. This lasts longer than it might because he ends up watching Alex. With which sort of interest it is difficult to ascertain. He may actually go through his rounds of stretches more than two times.

Darby glances now and again, but not frequently up to the bleachers, but it's not in a way that looks anxious or unusual. She rounds the track once more and this time puts on some speed. It could be called a sprint for longer distance runners. But it's not the speed Alex is running by any means. She reaches the 'finish' m ark on the track and slows to a jog, doing one more slow cool down loop of the track before stepping into the damp field to being a thorough stretch. Whether legs, arms, twisting, bending down, she keeps track of Alex. The striking, untamed hair, atypical eye color, and incredibly delicious tone of her skin to contrast in a way that likely the young woman is accustomed to glances where she goes. But if Alex looks over pointedly, Darby will always be looking elsewhere when that happens.

Alex isn't really looking. She's breathing too heavily for letting her mind cloud with many thoughts of the people surrounding her. Still, subtle glances mark the positions of everyone around her. She's running from something, right? Well, other people are something from which you have to run. The logical extension of the hell on your heels, all-out energy sapping sprint she's thrown herself into. Rather than doing wind sprints Alex actually circles the entire course at that pace before finally slowing down to what someone might term a more normal run. She's puffing at this point, cheeks slightly red and perspiration gleaming on her naturally tanned skin as it rolls across her face and down her chin. It isn't enough to make the woman stop running. No, she actually makes a second circuit as Darby is slowing to a jog, and is at the finish line as the woman is finishing her cool down circuit of the track.

Alex actually jogs in a circle a couple times as she slows, those brilliant eyes snapping to the young man watching her from the edge of the bleachers for just a second before returning to her surroundings. Heat is coming off of the young woman in waves, the price of working so intensely. She seems to have managed without the warm-up stretches, and withdraws her water bottle from the small bag she took with her on her run. It holds half a gallon of water when she starts and is almost empty by the time the girl is done.

It's only after all of this that Alex takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders, looking around in a more careful, composed way. Everything should be noted and categorized but it doesn't mean her gaze needs to linger. No one is looked at pointedly; that would be too obvious. Which is why Alex and Darby's gazes eventually begin to meet. Slowly.

The athlete in the stands offers Alex a broad but not lewd smile before he settles onto one of the benches, leans down and unzips a backpack. From inside he pulls out a Psychology textbook and a pen, leans back with one arm and his back against the bleacher behind him, the other flipping to a page midway through and starts to, presumably, read. For those keeping track, now and then he circles something or scrawls a few words, and pages do turn. But he doesn't lose track of especially the younger of the two women on the track.

The mothers are talking about breast-feeding now. Fortunately they're not loud and the outdoor area soaks up sounds, seemingly more so with the weather teasing as it is.

When Alex is drinking her water, Darby pulls the earbuds from her ears and watches the striking woman more directly now, meeting the gaze offered her. A bit of Ella Fitzgerald can be heard if one knows what to recognize for a few seconds as she reaches for the stop button. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDlKb2cBAqU (I'll Be Seeing You)

"I thought I'd met most of the track team. At least say you've signed up for try-outs," she murmurs in the sort of gentle tone reminiscent of a friend one has known for years or the sort of person who doesn't go around offering platitudes and unsolicited advice. There's a pause as she recognizes Ms. Piaf's voice in the tinny hint of what's in the earbuds and a fleeting but genuine smile sifts across her alert but usually solemn features. "I'd be interested to hear how Edith helps you with your rhythm." Now, it could be all for naught, given that Alex's earbuds -are- still in. And Darby will be off the hook. However, Alex -- tee shirt of mutual agreement aside -- has caught Darby in a situation where she is more likely to initiate a conversation. The co-ed, we'll call him Eric, continues his Psych homework with possible h opes that Darby will head off and give him a chance to trundle down the stands and introduce himself to Alex. Darby, too, is sweating generously, though it mingles with the residual dampness of the post rain/hail weather. Something about her brown eyes give her an aura of sincerity that may or may not be accurate.

"Well," Alex responds quietly. A finger is used to key the MP3 player off. If she hadn't done it they might never have actually met but as it is the song is finished sounding just as Darby is speaking to her. Blue eyes blink once and then Alex takes a deep breath. "The first thing I wonder is how you could hear that from over there." This isn't a complaint. Alex's smile is a brilliant one, outshining the currently half-hidden sun for warmth, and rendered more obvious by its contrast with her actually rather colorful appearance. Blue eyes, blonde-brown hair, pink shirt... Black shorts. White teeth. She doesn't realize how loud her music was, apparently.

"But yeah. I signed up for tryouts just a bit ago. I did track when I was in high school a little bit but it didn't go anywhere." Now the young woman is taking a moment to survey Darby carefully from head to toe. it is not a lascivious undertaking; she takes the measure of the athlete in front of her and then returns her gaze politely to the other woman's face.

"Edith doesn't help my rhythm exactly. She keeps me from getting carried away. I get into this head space where I am running and running and I don't want to stop... Can't, almost. If I let my mind get too far ahead of itself I'll run myself into the ground. Never stops. Keeps me on an even..." Alex lifts her hand, palm down and parallel to the ground and makes a motion like a board skittering across the ground or someone planing wood.

"Anyway. I haven't met the track team yet. You're on the team then... Or a- you know..." The girl trails of shaking her head as a brief spate of frustration crosses gentle features. She has a soft, rich mezzo-soprano voice that greets the ears smoothly while carrying well amid the wind and rain despite the fact that she barely raises it above a whisper. Small hands reach up to tug the earbuds from her ears and she takes that moment to glance at the charm bracelet on her wrist. "My name's Alex," Alex starts slowly while she studies the bracelet. "You were watching?" Sadly for Eric he is being thoroughly ignored.

Darby returns to some less intense stretching, the most of it completed, but it helps her keep the paranoia at a tolerable level to have something else to focus on. Some arms. Some waist twists. Nothing fast and sharp. And, oddly enough, the skimming gaze doesn't have the effect that Alex simply watching her circle the track, 'tracking' her movements would have had. She gives off a sense of being somewhat the opposite of body-conscious, though not on a scale where one leans toward body display.

The mention of the music and sprinting rhythm tips a chestnut brow upward on Darby's strangely unsunny yet friendly features and expression. "Sounds like ... " She ticks out on her fingertips as she lists the options. "-- you're running from something, you have a dearth of extra energy - either physical or psychological, you like to -feel- the edge, a risk-taker, or perhaps you need to work with a coach so you can develop that natural talent rather than grind yourself down and eventually have to seek out some other way to burn off whatever it is you nee-- want to burn off." There's a hint of a self-deprecating glint to those warm brown eyes before Darby adds, "Or I could be full of assumptions that are all bollocks."

Alex asks about the team. "No, not -on- the team. I'm the director of off-season conditioning." Another of those -almost smiles-. "It's not as impressive as it sounds. But if you decide to try out, or you want a few pointers, we might be able to work something out." She tips her head in a little jerk of motion toward the stands. "The soccer jock over there would probably like to give you a few pointers, himself. Can't remember his name."

While Darby looks like she'd prick her ears to ear that whisper better, she doesn't move forward to close the space between them. "What's your major?" she asks mildly, as if it were the most natural question in the world and not an assessment of an entirely different sort. "Alex." Darby repeats, in a manner that sounds like not only a polite, even etiquette-practiced manner, but also a way to remember a name. She takes a bold half step forward with one foot and offers her hand. "Darby." Then after a pause. "Nash." As if she forgot it, or abruptly realized that if Alex needed to ask someone about her, about training, a last name might be appropriate. "Watching?" she queries, echoing the word. And she seems absolutely lost. Of course she was watching. She was watching everyone she could see. So Eric himself doesn't occur to him, even as the topic of the recent conversation. "I don't like to be surprised. By people." She adds the second with something of a strange tone to her voice. But there's nothing jocular about the way she says it.

"I don't like to be surprised either," Alex responds quietly in a similarly final way. She glances away for a second before taking the opportunity to meet Darby's eyes again. Alex extends her right hand and takes Darby. She has a good handshake, a firm one that doesn't show off her strength but isn't unpleasant or clammy. "Alexandra White," Alex clarifies helpfully when Darby bothers to offer her last name in such a deliberate way. The girl shifts her weight slightly to the left and then to the right, rocking her self in the most gentle, almost imperceptible way. She's working muscles without overtly stretching, preventing cramps through small motions.

"I guess I'm running from something," Alex allows as those vibrant, pale blue eyes are alighting upon Darby's own in a much more direct way. She opens up her stance, facing Darby rather than presenting halfway into profile, and drops her hands to the side. The two are only a meter or so apart now, a closeness which allows the slight difference in height to be noticeable without being remotely disruptive. "I'm studying- um. Transistors, robots, wiring, thing, ah... Damn it." with the gentle swearing Alex looks very cross, and now she's swinging her small bag down from between her shoulders to root through it. Finally a finger is pressed firmly against the front page of a notebook. "Electrical engineering," the girl finishes in that same quiet town, even though her triumph is being overridden by a wave of irritation that tightens her features. Especially around the eyes.

The contradiction of Alex's name and her incredibly lovely combination of colorful attributes doesn't earn an amused look from Darby, but she'll likely remember the name better that way. If they were the f-word (friends), she might tease the younger woman about it. But instead she simply dips her chin. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance," she answers in what seems like a bit too formal or old-fashioned a tone. "You might be surprised how many people are. And how few are willing to admit it." she says, in indirect agreement that she is doing her own 'running away'. "Even if the thoughts, the situation, even the PEOPLE are still there after running, it's often cathartic enough to help function past the haunting ghosts." She glances to the side at the two mothers, then up to the bleachers, then scans the track and visible areas nearby. Perhaps it's more than her usual, perhaps not. But that sharing was pretty close-to-the-chest and it may be that Darby is having a moment of regret.

Finally Darby looks back to the even more petite woman, then watches the complex process of remembering the name of her major. This time it's not a brow uptipping, but an ... empathetic? slight tilt to her head. She doesn't ask, but perhaps ... perhaps they'll have an opportunity to talk again. If Alex were to be either formally on her list of off-seasoners or unofficially someone she met now and again to share tips and runs with, maybe. That's as far as her mind allows the thought; but it's enough to allow Alex more than most anyone for the past week has seen of her beyond the exterior persona. "Sounds challenging," Darby replies, utterly sincere. "I can hardly get a phone to work. And let's not even get started with computers." A quirk upward of the corner of her lips, though the true warmth of the expression shines in her eyes. Common ground and differences. But a rather safe balance of the two for now. "Before I head off, would you like an introduction? Aaron or Richard, I think it was. He's not so bad, really." Darby lifts her arm to brush the material of her sleeve across her forehead to stop further trickles of perspiration to tickle down over her skin.

"...Richard?" ALex is surveying the bleachers slowly, her head tilted slightly to the left as she does. Blonde curls bounce slightly as she moves, and then moreso as the wind is sweeping past her and blowing them away from her face. She could have sworn his name was- the thought drifts away from her and the girl's brows furrow, echoing those thoughts.

Finally Alex slowly shakes her head before taking a deep breath. "I think he's dying to meet me so I might as well go up there and talk to him. Yeah. that's a good idea, thanks." Alex takes a deep breath and then very slowly exhales, tilting her head forward toward the ground.

"And if you need help with your computer or something I'll do it. No problem. I'm good with that sort of thing and you were offering me pointers and things anyway, so..." The girl shrugs faintly, rolling her shoulders as she turns toward that bleacher. Blue eyes alight upon Eric and they exchange a smile, though Alex's is more reserved.

Then the girl adds in a whisper, "You're right. It does. And sometimes you just need someone to run with. Or to. Let's go meet... Um. Whatever his name is. Yeah?"