Log:What's In Your Bag?

What's In Your Bag?
It's all about manners, man.
Participants Cian and Cressida	24 July 2017 A star and a thief meet in a meadow..
Location Some meadow in a bit of wilderness in Tamarack Falls
The moon is just a sliver, letting the stars have the stage. There is some light pollution from the city, Fort Brunsett, but not enough to blot them out completely. They twinkle and shine, these celestial lights. Some still live, some died millions of years ago and only their memories remain. Night beasts -- crickets and owls and other such creatures -- sing their songs and fireflies blink on and off over the cool meadow grasses swaying dark in the soft breeze. There is something else here, another being moving slowly through the darkness. It's hard to notice it at first, it looking just like a patch of sky torn from above. But then it spots something and darts forward more quickly. "Ah-HA! Gotcha!" There is a hissing squeak -- a cat? no, smaller: a kitten -- and that patch of moving night sky, for anyone who might be looking, oh -- it's a woman! A glowing, twinkling, shining woman .. who is gleefully holding up a kitten who seems very unhappy about it. It is spitting and hissing and scratching and clawing and the woman's reaction? "Oh my god, you are sooooo adorable! You are the adorable-est! I am going to put you in my pocket, yup.." The starry stage is ripe for the plucking, heavy hanging twinkles that almost give the illusion of being within reach. The symphony of evening song soothes the people-weary Darkling, which brings Cian wandering aimlessly towards the very same field. Soft scuffing steps come from the almost smoothed-out soles of his beat-up Chucks. A practice of grey-scale, the man wears charcoal grey trousers, a heathered grey shirt, and an almost-black pea-coat. Slung over his shoulder is a canvas satchel, rather heavy looking and full. He has it currently swung around to his front, resting on his belly with the flap held close to his chest. Nimble, too-long fingers dig around in the Stuff. A parking ticket is pulled out and tossed behind him carelessly. A G.I. Joe action figure follows it, then a wire whisk. Mumbling to himself in a volume that is only just past a whisper, "I stop to see a weepin' willow, cryin' on his pillow, maybe he's cryin' for me..." All motion stops however, the moment his vanta-black eyes stumble over the motion of a piece of sky that isn't attached any more. "Oh - um.." his voice seems strained to be heard, almost causing discomfort. Upon closer inspection, the man is, but isn't, a sort of wispy smoke and nearly translucent man stands before her. A veritable treasure trove is held in that wide-open satchel as he just sort of blinks between her and the kitten. "Shhhhhh," she says as she continues to hold the kitten by the scruff of its neck. The glowing woman grows a bit brighter and the semi-translucent objects that float around her -- a galaxy in miniature -- move in a lazy orbit about her head. A comet swings wide and passes through Cian; there's no feeling to it but it's hard to say whether that it due to its composition or his. Regardless, it comes back around and rejoins the tiny planets and moons and stars that drift in circles around her. Occupied with the small, angry creature in her grasp, she has yet to notice the Darkling who has wandered into the vicinity. Plus? She seems kind of high, maybe probably. Eyes half-lidded. Expression kind of distant and dreamy. Words a meandering draaaaaawl. Additionally, she smells like she's wearing some Eau de Marijuana. Cough-cough. Know what I mean? Mmmmn-hmmm. Anyhoo. She actually does put the kitten into her pocket. Don't worry, it's not like she's wearing skinny jeans; the thing isn't getting smooshed. The glowing woman is wearing a loose, flowing peasant skirt and the pockets are deep. In goes the wee baby cat and it immediately starts to squirm around in there. "Adorable," the star laughs, not at all bothered by the scratches she is no doubt receiving through the thin fabric of her garment. She starts to amble in .. um .. that random direction there. Which happens to be right towards Darkling Dude. Is she going to walk into him? Does she even see him? Just when one might think 'Nope', she smiles a dopey half-grin and sighs out a breathy: "Wassup.." To say that the Darkling is in awe of the walking spectacle of sky made into the shape of a woman would be a bit of an understatement. The Thief of dreams and gold has never beheld a star this close. Cian's light-absorbing gaze doesn't even glimmer in reflection of Cressida's being so it's hard to tell where exactly he's looking, other than /at/ her. While the tiny danger floof struggles in its new confines, the Darkling Dude is blinking rapidly in the face of a friendly greeting. "Um," his lightly accented voice barely reaches her ears. This close, his Springness is all but dissolved, so the wake of silence that normally follows him, the motes of shadow that dance in his presence simply cease and quiet. "The sky?" he offers hopefully, clearly not the talkative sort, and yet he is interactive somehow, those expressive eyebrows, the very real twitch and curl of his fingers - little spazzes that seem uncontrolled. Both of his eyebrows loft some as if lightning has struck, and the Wisp's shadowy form sort of coalesces in place, rippling like someone threw a rock into the puddle of shadow-stuff. His too-long digits dive back into his open satchel and after a moment he comes up with a tiny, blue plastic flea-collar and this is offered over to the star-lady with a semi-crooked smile, just don't ask where it came from. The sky? His answer causes her to look upward, her mouth hanging agape as she ponders all above them. Wassup. The sky. Wassup? The sky? It takes her a few stretching moments and she stands stock still while she works it out (did she get stuck like that? is she broken?) but suddenly: Laughter! Bright, twinkling laughter. As she laughs, the star grows brighter and brighter and her celestial halo expands, the speed of its orbit increasing. There are more planets now, more moons, and wee meteors fall all around them both. "Oh, I get it. I said wassup and you said 'the sky' because the sky is up there! That's funny. That's a /joke/! HA!" See, Elementals can 'get' stuff. See, she's hip to these things. Suddenly and swiftly, she sticks out her hand. To shake! Because she has one (a hand) and that's what you do when you meet people (shake). But instead, he's offering her a flea collar and she's back to blinking blankly with her mouth agape. Blink-blink. Twinkle-twinkle. "Oh, hey, thanks!" She accepts this kind gift and .. and .. fastens it around her wrist. The kitten? Continues to struggle angrily in her pocket, managing to stick its head out of it and squeak at the two of them. Hiss! Spit! Cian stands there in utter silence other than his soft breathing while she goes through the motions to get to the lightbulb. Only it isn't a light bulb, there's a veritable explosion of lights. Still nothing seems to penetrate the jet blackness of his gaze, not a meteor or star reflects off that blackness. The laughter brightens his face again and he gives a disarming smile of almost joy, she got it! "Yes," he confirms in that hushed tone, their closeness making it so that his throat doesn't strain to make the sound loud enough; rather, he can simply speak at his natural level. The hand sticking out draws a confused look, but she's already taking the flea-collar and sliding it around her wrist. "Oh, um," he points down at the squalling kitten and it's hissing and spitting, "For yer friend," he indicates before nervously and rather hurriedly shoving his satchel closed. But that unfortunately means his hands are unoccupied. So while the left is picking at the strap of his satchel, the right? The right is meandering of its own volition. "Manners, sorry," he whispers and then his hand is offered, those long fingers given over to the Death Star without hesitation this time. She is brightest at her extremities and those long fingers are met with light-filled ones. Her grasp is a firm one and takes hold of his hand with no small amount of enthusiasm. "We are going to do this now," she says as she leans in with a borderline manic smile, her galaxy-filled eyes going wide and searching his face. "On three, okay? One. Two. Three!" And then, boy oh boy, the handshake BEGINS. UP! DOWN! UP! DOWN! With vim! With vigor! With glee! With joy! She practically vibrates with eagerness, her grip tight. Goofball, this one. She doesn't seem to have a sense for how long handshakes should last, the woman continuing to pump up and down as she proceeds with the conversation. "My name is Cressida, it is very nice to meet you," -- up, down, up, down -- "... what's your name?" The kitten is a bit further along it its escape, wiggled out of her pocket about halfway now. It can almost taste freedom, sweet, sweet freeeedom. There might be a possible bit of squinting when her lights go super glowy, wowsa. And still his eyes just swallow every bit of it, giving none of it back. "We are?" he whispers when she gets in nice and close. He smells of sandalwood and almond oil, of dryer sheets and a hint of fabric softener. Then they are shaking! The goofball's vigorous greeting actually rattles the Wisp a tiny bit and his eyes would be bouncing in his head if they weren't solid colored. They're still shaking by the time she's introducing herself, and then asking his name and all he can do is watch with a manic kind of happiness that may have been infected from her own. "Cian McCarthy," he says back while they still shake. That movement, it catches the eye - just not his actual gaze. Subconscious relays caught the movement, the glimmer of want surging down his arm until the hand not currently wrapped up with her glowing one is slipping between them. A simple pluck relieves the weight when Cress will least notice it, only for the poor thing to get tucked neatly into his satchel while he looks her right in the eyes. Now? Now there is a plaintive mewl from his bag. Traitor! Up, down, up, down! "It's nice to meet you, Cian McCarthy!" she says -- nay, almost shouts. But the way she shouts it, it's like she's going off a memorized script: 'Social Interactions for Dummies: An Elemental Guide to Making Friends' She continues.. "It is fun shaking your hand! You have a nice, firm handshake!" Cressida grins radiantly, her planets and moons spinning about in their orbits and bouncing off each other. A comet zooms straight at the Darkling, passing through his forehead between his eyes and reemerging out the back of his head with a fwoooooooop. "Hey, would you mind tellin' me where this pla-.." MEOW. The handshake stops dead. For a moment, she stands frozen, her hand still holding onto his. Her infinite gaze fixed on his. Her expression is null, nothing, a blank slate, a void. Cold. Slowly, ever so slowly, she looks down as she follows the sound to the mewling satchel. "What's in your bag?" she asks, her fingers tightening around his own. Up, down, up down! Someone normal might have found this to be borderline crazy, but the not-so-little Darkling rather finds this amusing. His arm is shook and he gives as good as he gets while she runs down the pre-recorded helpfiles. A flinch fomes at the shouting though, is it any wonder that the Wisp avoids loud noises and lights - and yet, here he is making social with the epitome of both. "I..thank you," he whispers even as his eyes go crossed watching the comet passing through his forehead, the passage bringing a reflexive little flinch. The handshake stops and he starts to retract his hand, except the Death Star has an incredible grip on it all of the sudden, tightening to keep him right where he is. Well, that's a lie, if he was truly frightened the shadow could undoubtedly vanish if he needed to. Noticing the mewl coming from another spot, he can't help the startled look that is genuine shock. "Shit," he mutters softly, not because he's been caught, but because this requires another explanation, another moment where friendships blossoming become friendships buried and gone. Breathing through his nose, his captured fingers squirm, shifting and moving like a cat's tail caught in hand, constantly fluttering and clutching involuntarily. His free hand lifts and pulls back the flap of his satchel. Resting atop the assorted Stuff is the very kitten from her pocket a moment ago. Hissing and likely clawing at the bag as it scrambles to get out. Looking back up at her gaze he just says, "I have this condition?" the end pitched up kind of like a question, but only in that 'I'm pretty sure you're just going to not believe me' way. Tight. Tighter. Tightest. That is how hard she holds onto his hand, bone moving under flesh. When he flips back the flap of his satchel and she sees the kitten there, Cressida is, for a moment, shocked. Goodness knows why though -- after all, she /heard/ the mewling cries. Is this really a surprise? Maybe she thought he just had a spare in there and they could be kitten buddies or something? Who knows what goes on inside that head of hers. Anyway, her free hand zip-zooms to her pocket, grabbing at it and quickly finding it: EMPTY. "That's my cat!" she exclaims, all her moons and all her planets coming to a very sudden standstill. That can't be good, can it? Oh no, probably not. They all hover there for a second and then expand outward in a flash, like a big-bang happening with her being the epicenter of it all. "YOU CAN'T JUST TAKE PEOPLE'S CATS," she says in a voice that /booms/ and she lets go of his hand to reach into his satchel with both of hers. Zoink! She 'rescues' the kitten who doesn't reeeeeally wants to be rescued (shut up, I know what you need, you'll like it eventually, stop meowing like that) and cuddles it close against her chest before taking a step back from Cian, mouth drawn down into a scowl. "Not cool!" Oh no. Not /cool/. This is, like, the worst. His hand shifts when the tightness becomes almost too much. Able to squish down tight and compact like he was practicing to get out of a pair of handcuffs. Slllip! Which is just as well as she goes searching her pocket to find the kitten no longer there. Instead she exclamations come with an utter stop of the expansive Cressi-verse to come to a complete standstill. No, that can't be good at all. The Starry Night recoils from the Shadow and the Spring can feel it all too viscerally. Suddenly motion again and she's exploding with the raw force of the cosmos and the Wisp seems to go further see-through in response. His jaw agape a little, he tries not to stammer when he speaks again but only a few noises come out. Lips tighten and thin some and he regathers his thoughts before speaking in that near whisper. "I'm sorry, my hands have a mind of their own," he explains and then opens the satchel to expose the myriad of things he's collected today. Inside the flap is stitched 'Lost - So it may be found'. The contents today look like someone visited Japantown, an office building and a restaurant. A salt shaker lays with a chibi Hello Kitty with a bazooka, a box of unopened Poki sticks nestles in with several notes with embossed letterhead regarding tenure and the recent cessation of it. So. SO. Cressida has her kitten back -- she's returned it to her pocket. She's also being shown a lot of interesting things in Cian's satchel. Whatever anger she had been feeling, this seems to wash it away and reset her mood -- just like that! "Oooooo," she intones softly on an intake of breath, leaning in to peer into his bag. So let's recap.. First: zoned out Then: giddy-spazzy-happy-wheeeeee! Next: MAD!! CRESS-I-RAGE!! Now: mellow-curiosity And how much time has passed? Ooof! Not much! It's been a rollercoaster, keeping up with her shifting moods, and who knows what corner it will turn next. She pokes lightly at the salt shaker and laughs at some internal joke. Reaching up, the strange star plucks a joint (unlit, of course) from behind her ear and presses it between her lips. "So," she says, fishing a lighter out of the pocket that isn't currently occupied by the kitten that has finally given up the fight. And that's it. She doesn't even finish her thought. Just lights her joint, takes a few puffs and amiably offers the blunt to the Darkling with a crooked smile hung on her lips. Well. This a turn. Cian's bag has many thinks to take interest in, shiny, new, old and in between. It's not as if he plucked any of this stuff on purpose, it just sort of happened. The recap of the Mad Star is one to take note of, but then if we're taking note of that, the seemingly unflappable nature of the Thief should be noted as well. Simply rolling with the ebbs and flows of the tide as they roll over him. "So," is stated back in mimic'd fashion, how one who isn't typically great at socializing might. Good Kitty, it's better this way, you'll never understand, but it is. The offer of weed has the Darkling's eyes widening some, still black as pitch and twice as hungry for any light around it. Lengthy digits reach out to pluck the smoldering doobie and he presses it to his own lips to take a slow pull. The fragrant smoke billowing from nostrils and pursed lips after he breaths in and out a few times. "Thanks," he whispers in offering the joint back to its owner. We won't discuss the fact that his other hand is nearly cramping before simply taking a very feather light voyage across the distance between them. Whatever they can find, they'll take, up to and including lint. Her universe in miniature has returned to a mellow orbit and her glow has faded to a low twinkle, excitement -- both good and bad -- having died down considerably. Cressida absently pats her kitten-filled pocket, humming a low note to herself as she watches-but-doesn't-watch Cian take a puff off the joint. She's looking through him, not at him, yannow? Thoughts somewhere else and all that. The weed is offered to her and she blinks back to the present, her blank, zoned out expression lifting up into a sedate smile. "Hey thanks," she says as if he is offering her something that belongs to him -- she accepts it. Puff-puff-pass, puff-puff-pass. This back and forth goes on a for a while, the absence of conversation filled by the night music of rural Vermont. "So," she says again but follows it up this time. "I gotta get my kitten tucked in for the night. But it was nice meeting you, Cian McCarthy." The star gives him a wink and shooter-gun fingers -- kapow! -- and doesn't even mind that he stole some lint. And with that? She turns on her heel and starts to amble away. Through the field. Toward the forest. Because .. of course she does. Cian is used to being looked straight through. Mr. Celophane, you'd never even know he was there. Mellowed a bit himself, those wandering fingers get sloppy even off one hit and she feels him briefly. Those smooth fingertips brushing over starry skin in a feather light stroke that is neither overt nor deliberate. Except that it happens a few more times before she retreats and pulls herself away. "Have a good evening, Cressida," he whispers before she's too far away. His brows furrowing and he checks his satchel quickly to make sure he hadn't absconded with her kitten yet again before she left. The sounds of the world around them start to crash in around the space as she starts to trot away, only for silence to rush in like a storm after him when the Dusk is out of range. His vanta-black eyes follow her as she leaves, his head tilting to the side as he muses allowed, "..and things seem hard or tough, and people are stupid, obnoxious or daft. And you feel like you've had quite enough, just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving, revolving at 900 miles an hour," humming a few bars he is whispering about a galaxy he calls Cressida.