Summary:It turns out apples make a great bonding device between witches and valkyries. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Central Park offers much for the wanderer. The green lungs of the city beckon for those seeking a glimpse of forest, a long-ago echo of a place which once and remains. Exceptional, compelling stands of trees give a striking homage to a season. A reckoning that dances over the air and filters through the very soil calls to the witch wandering sidelong through the paths. None actually exists where she goes in any real sense. She cuts laterally over the grass, crushing a few hopeful springy blades forming an emerald carpet. What consequences exist for Wanda by focusing on walking wherever she goes, instead of bounding along an asphalt ribbon.
Admittedly there isn't much to set her apart from a ribbon of rope. A hard yellow line demands acknowledgment from those who come by, despite the fact no one is permitted presumably on the other side.
While horses are a common sight in Central Park… winged ones are decidedly less so. This one is pure white, with a very distinct mane that almost resembles a mohawk, in its own way. Standing next to the winged horse is a young woman of Native American ancestry, who is busy puzzling over her smartphone. And apparently talking to the horse, "Look, I'm not quite sure this app does find the nearest apple orchard, Brightwind… yeah, pretty sure that isn't a category of restaurant, either." She hrms, peering at her phone with a frown… and not quite noticing the witch yet. Though the horse is definitely hard to miss…
White, winged horses very definitely aren't a common enough sight. The pull on the heartstrings of the world might be enough to bring out every little daydreaming girl in a two mile vicinity. For Wanda, it's the abstract note playing against her sensitive intuition turned over the damaged sections of the park that predicate a sudden turn, raised eyebrows. Her hand already reaches for something that isn't there, a tension thrumming down the column of her spine and resulting in the most unexpected sight.
Those faintly poppy-flecked eyes blink. Any motes fade away in their retreat, and the twanging muscles between her shoulder blades snap, dance, alive. A few quick paces forward closes the distance. Nearer to the path, anyway, where horse and woman are. She has to pause, then call out quietly, "Are you maybe lost?" Definitely not a native English speaker. Not at all. Russian?
Dani glances up, and smiles a bit, "Nah, my horse is just eager to get some fresh apples from a nearby orchard… but this is the City. So orchards are few and far between around here. He's rather opinionated though."
The horse snorts and looks rather affronted at that, but Dani then continues, "Problems with being a Valkyrie in New York I guess. Though I like your accent, reminds me of my friend. Oh, and I'm Danielle, but everyone calls me Dani."
"No apples. It is a big apple but not fruit." Wanda negotiates the difficulty of wending around the idea of a verbal spar, so to speak, between herself and explaining English idioms. The frisson of discomfort is simply a factor of being so exquisitely foreign in one of the great melting pots of the world, and her edges are a bit too sharp to just collapse into nothingness. She holds her hands in her coat pockets, a profile swept in burgundy that seethes and bites into her profile. "Your friend?" This, a point of curiosity.
Though clearly she isn't put out or gasping in twitterpated awe over a valkyrie in the flesh. "Dani," she says, carefully enunciating it, the backward flow into a Romance language given with surprising ease. "Wanda. You come with the Asgard Embassy?"
Dani grins, "Well, sortof. I mean, I'm from Colorado, I only work in Asgard." She glances curiously at Wanda, "But well, yeah, Illyana. Her accent is similar, but not quite the same, Wanda." A bit of a shrug at that, "Though if you tell me you can do magic too, I don't know if I could take it." A wry chuckle at that, as if she only knew…
Though, if she is a valkyrie, she's dressed rather casually, wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans with sneakers. Though her hair is braided in the traditional style, a red headband keeping her hair out of her eyes.
The name floods around Wanda and evaporates. Any familiarity is skindeep at best, unless the golden-skinned young woman is a fabulous actress. Faint lines engraved on her smooth brow form and evaporate, once more eroded away as the concern passes. All of her attire is in jewel tones, dark and sanguine, almost to the point she might warrant being called some kind of Goth. Neogoth? It could well apply.
"I met a man of the Asgard Embassy. Friendly." As if that's somehow a dubious misnomer, and she has yet to puzzle it out. She sounds slightly bemused. "Hello," she adds to the horse, gravely inclining her head. Her hand emerges from her pocket, complete with a perfectly acceptable red apple imprinted by just a hint of green, the mellow proof of a definitely-not-Macintosh varietal. This is offered to Dani. "For your friend. So he will not have to wait, yes?"
Brightwind perks up and starts sniffing a bit towards Wanda, as if more apples might be produced out of thin air. Dani, for her part, smiles brightly, "Thank you, Wanda, that's most kind." The valkyrie urges Brightwind to the apple, "Come on, now… don't be a glutton about it, you got this one right here."
Brightwind is a very happy horse, and Wanda has made a new friend for certain! While feeding Brightwind the apple, Dani smiles over at Wanda, "I'd ask how you did that, but I'm just glad you did. How long have you been in New York?"
Indeed, there might be bushels of them. That yon pine tree could become an apple tree in full blossom, albeit the consequences of doing so run afoul of certain planning agencies. There is just enough of a pause to indicate that Wanda might really be considering it.
Maybe.
She offers a nod in return, not quite up to smiling. Easing back from any uncertainty about people, though, the witch can do that. "I carry food. Always have it. You do not know when you will have nothing, and it is best that way."
Dani nods, "True enough. Growing up on the rez teaches you that pretty quick, for certain." She glances over at Wanda, "Yeah, I'm from Midg… er, Earth. Though I lived in Asgard the past five years. Bit of a story, that is." She tilts her head a bit, "Always try to be prepared for what life throws at you… because it's gonna."
A blank look for a moment: "Rez?"
No, that's not something that Wanda seems to understand, shaking her head. "You come from Colorado. A state. I know it. But is this a city?" Her head tilts back, throwing a wave of her chestnut hair over her shoulder, spilling as far as her midback. The contorted swirls and waves are far from straight as someone can get, but still not in that horrific 80s permed look that suits absolutely no one. Lusher. Suggestive, together with her complexion, of being from somewhere on the fringes of Europe, the crossroads of continents.
"Five years in Asgard is long. Why did you come back here?" A gesture around her indicates the city, if briefly.
Dani stares a moment at Wanda's hair, fascinated by the change, then she shakes her head, "Oh, right. Well, I grew up on a reservation, after my parents disappeared. Turns out they actually were possessed by a Demon Bear." She makes a face, "When I was back on Midgard for a… job, as a Valkyrie, the Demon Bear hunted me down. But I got to it first." She has a pretty satisfied look about that, "So the Demon Bear was dealt with, and my parents were back to normal, and I have probably the wildest after-school job in the history of Colorado. So that's pretty cool." She smiles over at Wanda, looking at her curiously for a moment before asking, "Sounds like you had something similar… not the Demon Bear, but just… well, I don't know how to explain it, like the reservation."
The shake of her head repeated, Wanda says, "I do not know what this means, a 'reservation?' A place where people go with no parents?" Her puzzled look isn't clearing up, and she holds open her hands. "English is not my best languge. German, French, Russian?" It can't hurt to try, though she almost sounds apologetic about the whole factor.
Those full lips crushed into a moue leave their impression, and she finally take a breath. "Valkyries lead the dead." A shift; the accentuation is very different. "Psychopomps." She knows that word, but not reservation. The lengthening of the young woman's mouth eases away any pressure, any impressions left behind serene enough. "An important job. Here life is in peril, maybe."
Dani shakes her head, "No, it's a Native American reservation. Allegedly based on treaties but… well, they weren't worth the paper they were printed on. It is what it is." There's a bit of stoicism about that in her expression, though a deep burning anger lingers in her eyes. She does brighten at the mention of psychopomps, and nods, "Yes, exactly that. That's the job of the Valkyries. Um, so, well, did you want to maybe talk more about that? You seem like you… well, get that. More than most people do."
A slow, slow burning flame enters those immense golden-green eyes. Wanda looks up at Dani, and she says softly, "Like a camp." Camp doesn't have that underscored suggestion of being outside with a tent. "Or a ghetto." Italian is just as easily raised to her lips as anything else. She gives a sharp nod. "I read. I know the valkyries from stories. Eddas, futhark, yes?" Right, because normal girls read that.