Summary:A mid-air meet up Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
  |
Koriand'r of Tamaran keeps a fairly low profile. She doesn't use her powers often and when she does, keeps well away from residential sectors. It upsets people to see a green-fire comet soaring overhead at near hypersonic speeds.
But she does need to stretch her legs— wings— from time to time, if for no other reason than to feel the wind whipping against her skin.
So she takes a big, lazy loop well over the coastline, making it from New York down to Virginia in back at terrific speeds. On her way back she forces herself to slow to a lazy hover and coast the last mile over Manhattan back towards her apartment with only a glimmer of green light forming a coronoa around her. A pleased smile is plastered on the redhead's face with her progress, which seems a little aimless and more focused on the pleasure of a late-night flight over being somewhere urgently.
Warren Worthington III has a surprising amount in common with the Tamaranean this evening. In his day to day life he keeps as low a profile as the son of a billionaire can manage, and is never seen without his trademark long coats that most assume to be a sort of signature fashion statement. They would be amazed to see him now, without the coat, soaring over the city, more than twice the height of the tallest building, up where few could possibly see him, despite the 16 foot wingspan of bright white feathers.
The green glimmer that comes in below him almost goes unnoticed. Almost. Warren stoops into a dive, picking up speed as he goes, coming in for a closer look. He's only slightly surprised when he gets close enough to see that the green glimmer has a humanoid figure in it and his wings snap back open with a "whump" as he pulls himself out of the dive.
Weirdly, Kori's flight is silent. There is no sound of beating wings and the wake of her noise is merely churning air, like an electric car whipping past. Warren's able to get surprisingly close to the woman before she notices him. Kori squawks in alarm and *stops* on a dime, hovering in mid-air with no visible support. She darts backwards fifteen yards neat as an eyeblink and stares at Warren in wary surprise for a few seconds.
"I know you!" she cries after processing his features. Her smile returns, bright as her glowing (literally luminscent) creamsicle skin. "You were at the ice rink! I did not know you could do the flying!" She claps her hands once enthusiastically. She's wearing quite the outfit, a crop top, skirt, and thigh-high boots all in purple and silver. It looks less like casual wear and more some kind of a formal outfit or even uniform of some kind, albeit of a wholly alien design and material.
Warren slows himself as much as he can without falling out of the air, gliding in a curve past Kori. He laughs at her statement and flashes a bright smile at her from not far away as she hovers, "Not quite like you do, but I get around. I knew there was something special about you."
He backs away for a moment, then twists and comes upfacing her, going into an intentional stall where his wings beat hard, as close as he can get to her effortless hovering.
For a flier, it's incredibly unnerving to watch Kori hover in place. She doesn't have wings or any kind of propulsion aside from 'go there'. The wind doesn't even seem to be buffeting her, as if she were standing on an invisible platform. At Warren's comment, her smile falters and goes troubled. "I am… I would appreciate your discretion," she tells him with a humble worry. Hands clasp over her sternum and she gives Warren a pleading look. "I do not advertise my abilities because I do not wish to frighten people with them."
Flying a tight curve around Kori, Warren manages to stay within distance for her to hear him and vice versa, even if it means he can't exxactly look her in the eye during the conversation. He smiles, "And I don't wear long coats because they're comfortable. I know how to keep a secret when I have to."
Although he can't match her hovering the accrobatics he goes through to keep close seem surprisingly effortless. At the very least, he's got enough breath to speak loudly without issue.
"Oh, I see!"
"I suppose I do *not* see," Kori admits after thinking it over. "I thought people wore long coats because of the inclement weather," Kori volunteers with a polite, bright smile. "Or because it is a 'The Matrix' and they need it for dramatic flares when doing the kicks and punches. Are you in a 'The Matrix' when you are on the ground? Is there a woman in a red dress?"
Her eyes go wide. "Oh no! Is there a sinister cabal of cybernetic machine intelligences secretly subjugating mankind?! Are you being threatened by them EVEN AS WE SPEAK?!" Her hands fly to her mouth in horror.
Warren laughs at the whole Matrix line of questioning, assuming it to be a joke. His wings beat hard to maintain his slow speed, ironically working much harder than if he were flying faster. He answers back, "For me they're just a good way to hide the wings. And I've never been inside a computer, not so far as I know, anyway. And sadly, no women in red. I guess I have to settle for one in orange?" There's a wink as he flys past again.
"I have never seen a woman in an orange dress! But if I do, I will let you know," Kori informs Warren helpfully. She zips towards him and around him with that fly-like maneuverability, and ends up inverted behind Warren. She hooks a finger over her chin and narrows her eyes at his wings, keeping up with his looping near-hover. "Interesting! Biomechanical flight!" she declares. "This reminds me of the Hawkmen of Thanagar," she tells Warren. "They utilize a rare metal element in their clothing that provides additional lift, of course, but the principle is the same."
Finding it impossible to keep her fin front of him as she moves to examine his wings, Warren levels out his flight. He answers back, "Thanagar, you say? Where's that? Some island somewhere?" There's something refreshing about this whole conversation to Warren. He's totally exposed for what he is here, and yet it doesn't seeem to phase this young lady, even if his jokes seem to be having a hard time finding their mark.
Kori lazily banks and arcs around, flying so she's facing him from far enough away they're not at risk of a collision. "It is … yes, it is an island somewhere," she says, cagily. "But it is not important. You are one of the mutants, yes?" she inquires of the socialite. "I have met some other mutants recently! They live in upstate New York. Do you know Professor Scott Summers?" she asks, cheerily.
Warren chuckles at that, "Quite well. And I'm glad to see you took him up on his invite. The school's a great place." Still assuming the girl in front of him is a mutant like himself, he adds, "It's good to be around others who know not to judge on differences."
"I have been fortunate in avoiding your tribunals," Kori tells Warren. Visible relief crosses her face. "But if I meet a justice, I hope I can convince them to be objective in their assessment of me despite my dissimilarities from others."
"The school *is* nice," she agrees, shifting from that quickly-ludicrous line of discussion. "The grounds are very well groomed and the apartment has a very comforting aesthetic. Are you there often as a student? Or do you teach?"
Head spinning a bit with the rapid turn of conversation, Warren chuckles, "Neither. At least, not at the moment. I was a student there, and I still have close friends who are part of the school." As their now linear flight takes them near the Hudson, Warren banks turning them back towards the center of the narrow island of Manhattan.
"I do not think I wish to be a student there," Kori says, thoughtfully. "The Midtown High is a unique challenge. I feel as if Xavier's School for the Gifted will make things easier for me, and not challenge me to grow in my understanding of your society," she explains.
"But it might be a good place to visit," she allows, banking in tandem with Warren.
Warren considers, then nods, "Making it easier is part of the point, it's true. You stand out, so things ca nbe a little more harsh, but if you think you can handle it, and want to, who am I to argue?" He does a little corkscrew in the air, just to feel the air rushing over his wings, then looks over at Kori.
Kori's not there. Then abruptly: She's there! Flying disturbingly close to Warren and staring at him with thoughtful and solemn eyes. It's a little unnerving.
"Well, you are Warren, the man with the bird wings," she tells him politely. "I believe you have as much right to your 'freedom of the speech' as anyone else. And I am new to this pl- country! I am still learning your customs and ways. I do not wish to create a situation where I cause unnecessary strife to anyone living here. It would be rude!" she says, and lazily loops away from Warren with her arms extended like wings.
Warren cocks his head at Kori as she soars away from him. Something about her still doesn't sit right with him, but it's not something he wants to try and pursue as they talk in midair. not when she can clearly outfly him. He shakes his head, "I suppose it would. You're a nice girl, Kori. I hope to see you around. It's nice to know i'm not the only one flying through this city at night. And he banks away from her in turn, heading to his own penthouse apartment.