Summary:Family grows as Alex and Diana speak over a light bakery lunch. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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With Diana's mind already musing through her memories of the Wheatcrest Bakery and its daily, fresh offerings, the sentiment about not straight-up offing the young man catches her very much off-guard. She takes but one step before stopping and giving him an openly shocked stare.
Her mouth moves for a moment before she frowns. "I do not murder people," she manages before she sheds the worst of the surprise. Her clutch is adjusted on her shoulder. "You are safe with me, Alexander." His full name comes forwards in her solemn earnesty. "Should anyone attempt to hurt you or I, they will not succeed. You are safe," she repeats more quietly if no less sincerely.
"Well, yes." Alexander answers her, something in the way he speaks those words so instantly in reply might offer insight into them perhaps meaning something slightly different than she means. But he gives a small laugh, more a focused breath as he exhales and pushes a hand through his silky blond hair. "I mean,"
A look to the side and then back as he says, "When I'm out and about…" He shifts his backpack, then stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking away and gesturing with a nod that they should continue to walk. If she seems inclined he'll do so as well. "Usually when something weird happens, it sort of takes a turn?" That non-explanation has to serve for a little bit.
Until he adds, "To the weird." Unhelpful. "But what umm, why did you want to talk?"
Leading the way out onto the sidewalk beyond the MMoA, Diana is certain to not run into pedestrians despite the way she's listening closely to the young man explain…and not quite explain…about his weirdness.
"Let us hope that nothing happen then, if you cannot explain what occurs when you are threatened." She is brusque in her way without being overbearing. Her heels make a soft pattern of clicks on the sidewalk as she travels down the way with Alex at her side. "I thought I might learn more about you. After all, you asked if you should know me. This feeling you have, it will make more sense to you once further explanations are shared."
"Mmm'okay." He says and she can practically feel the dubiousness in the youth, worn as openly as the word RAMONES on his t-shirt. Though he does fall into step with her, one hand resting under the strap of his backpack and his sneakers making less noise than her own shoes.
He does, however, shift the conversation slightly as a smile lights his features. "My friends though." He looks sidelong at her, blue eyes meeting then he looks away. "They're going to give me a hard time." Since really, that's what friends are for.
Of course he doesn't seem to mind too much, his smile is warm at the prospect of it. Then he shakes his head, "Or more of a hard time." He fixes his own words as they walk.
"And why would your friends give you a hard time? You are seeking answers from something other than a cellular phone. What you are feeling is important to note in your daily life. It may spare you from complications in the future," Diana replies.
They must cross one street with its busy lines of white dictating safety in light of busy New York traffic and once they reach the other side, the dark-haired woman makes a right turn. The Wheatcrest Bakery is tucked away about midway down the block, it appears, by the tavern-like signage hanging with its name and scrolling design of wheat-berries. Once inside, Diana gestures to a table tucked against the window, airy and open, with easy lines of sight in case anyone gets nervous. She seats herself and takes up one of the small menus.
"If you are hungry, please order what you wish," she tells Alex with a small smile before her dark-hazel eyes fall back to the daily offerings.
"Because they're guys?" Since really that's all the reason teenagers need to hassle someone. "Because they're okay guys, but still kinda jerks?" Harsh words but the wry half-smile perhaps steals some of that meanness.
Then they set foot onto the street, his gaze drifting to the side to check the flow of traffic before he steps with her. A small aspect she might catch as they reach the other side is he'll take up a side on the walkway, closest to the traffic as if to interpose himself to whatever danger. Unconscious, of course, but perhaps just a hint of his upbringing.
Then they're there at the bakery, and he smiles a bit. Once the server wanders by he'll ask her, "An orange juice, please?" When she accepts it he murmurs a thanks and then turns his attention back upon her.
That backpack on his shoulder settles down at his feet and he leans forwards a little upon the table, forearms resting there, hands grasping his wrists as he considers her thoughtfully. A glance is given to her hands, to the line of her shoulders, a subtle tilt of his head as she may get the sense he's gauging her. But not like a man may gauge a woman, though she is beautiful. More perhaps perceiving what small callouses may be there from any evidence of swordplay. The line of musculature, the reach of an arm or leg. Points of interest to a fighter or a fencer.
Then he speaks, "Thank you, by the way." For the juice most likely.
Diana orders a lamb sandwich from the deli as well as a cold sweet tea. Once the server has collected their menus, she returns her attention to Alexander. His measuring contemplation is returned in a similar manner, given an unconscious recognition of a fellow swordsman flitters through her subconscious. An outsider might wonder if the two are attempting to read one another's minds. The silent communication ends when the warrior's lips rise at their corners.
"You are welcome, Alex. Now, let us begin with questions. What questions do you have of me? I will answer as truthfully as I can. If I cannot answer you fully, please be aware that I do so in order to protect someone or something I love." How candid of her.
His own blue eyes remain level with hers and she can probably feel the calm ease with which he tries to perceive whatever might lie behind. From afar a passerby might imagine they were two young lovers peering deep into each other's gaze, though to be fair… she is a good bit older than him.
"Well," He starts, and then the corner of his mouth lifts as he adds, "I suppose the first few questions are questions everyone has? About most everyone they meet?" He then says with a small smile, "Are you like me? Are we going to be friends? What does this person want of me? Are they mean or rude or jerks? Is my breath smelly? Did I put on deodorant?"
At those last he grins a little then looks to the window some small ways away, noting those passing by for now. Perhaps looking for something, but not finding it. He looks back to her.
"Those are all valid questions." A laugh lingers in her dark eyes if not on her lips. He is very earnest in his own way. "I have not stood close enough to you to tell you whether or not your breath is pleasingly scented. You did seem to smell of some form of deoderant, yes. I assume I have made a pleasant impression on you thus far, given I have not tried to murder you." Drily, she points this out, and allows a driblet of her amusement to her lips.
"If you wish to be friends, I have no qualms thus far. You seem a kind young man, though I base this off limited observations. Am I like you?" Now comes the searching paint of her gaze about his face and she then holds his eyes without flinching, calmly. "In a way, I think so."
"That's good, I'm glad." When she sates she hasn't tried to murder him, since that's something very near and dear to his heart. Even though part of him likely reminds him that the day is still young.
He continues to listen to her and follows her movements, watching when she manipulates her drink or her sandwich. A tilt of his head is given as she meets his eyes fully and for a brief moment he moistens his lips then takes in a breath before letting it escape through his nose.
"And umm, what are we like?" He asks that at first, but then his brow furrows as he adds quickly, "Though I should tell you I umm, can't prove anything really. In here. Since it's not nice." He does look to the other people in the small bakery, then back to her.
"So I mean, if I tell you my thing, you might be all. 'This guy is a big liar.' and then where will we be?"
"We will be at an impasse," agrees the Amazonian warrior-woman with a nod at his observation about potential lies. Her sandwich, having been delivered along with her tea, is delicious and she daubs at a spot of dressing alongside her mouth with her napkin. "Still, I have taken others at their word before and found their word to be true. Actions will out in the end." Her lashes narrow once more at him and she appears scrutinous to the degree of attempting to sense again the subtle uncanny similarity between them.
"I believe we are both of a similar blood-line," Diana reveals quietly, her hands resting in her lap. "I am Diana, Princess of the Amazons." She pauses to see if this means anything to the young man or she is simply another royal in an interconnected world.
"Oh!" Alexander says at first, animatedly as he leans forwards in his seat as his eyes light up. Something else is upon is lips as they part, some question that surges forth almost immediately. But she can almost see the /kachunk/ in his thought process that has him biting his tongue on whatever it was.
Instead he says, "That probably explains it then." He just goes with it, perhaps by virtue of his youth, perhaps this sort of situation has happened to him before. For, in truth, it is not entirely unknown for him to be set upon by a member of the extended family, or their servants.
Then his brow furrows a little as it's in effect his turn. So he sits up a little straighter, touching a hand to his chest as he murmurs, "I'm, um. Well, I'm called by some." He clears his throat, "Phobos?" He says, as if asking her if it's alright, or perhaps expecting some sort of backlash about the whole thing.
"Phobos," echoes the woman quietly. She studies Alex for a handful of moments more, letting her eyes wander yet, before she takes up her glass of iced tea. A long sip of the sweetened beverage keeps her from speaking until she returns it to its ring of condensation on the table.
"I believe I have heard of you. It explains much of the resonance between us. Like recognizes like, even if we do not know why at first." Diana folds her hands then in her lap. "If you do not mind my asking, who of your parents is above the mortal plane?"
Definitely not the image of what one would consider the God of Fear. Not exactly a figure that would speak to intimidation and dread. Though, now that the revelation is out there, there might be something vaguely other-worldly about the youth. The features, the fair complexion, the ease of movement. Yet nothing obvious or clear at a glance.
So when she says his name and looks at him, then seems to speak soewhat… reservedly he smiles a little and says, "See, told you you wouldn't believe me." It's then that he takes a sip of his orange juice, looking down into it after he sets it down with a faint glassy clink. Already a small circle of condensation around the base of it.
"My mother passed when I was born," Some years ago, then he tilts his head and looks up at her, "But my father is um, John Aaron. Ares. And all." He offers those last few words with a subtle hesitation, as if expecting some kind of backlash because of them.
Reactive tension flickers through her expression as a pebble might ripple the still surface of a spring pond. Ares — yes, she knows the name well. Thinned lips lose their smile until Diana schools herself into polite formality once more. Schooling over a century ago taught her that while diplomats may disagree, cool heads must prevail.
"I do know your father," she admits. "We do not agree on many things." Or anything at all, really. "I am sorry to hear of the loss of your mother. It is a half-childhood, to grow without her presence." Here, empathy softens her gaze.
The way his eyes meet hers, it might be clear that he has perhaps in the past run interference for his father, or his reputation. It's in the way he sort of half-smiles, on the edge of a smirk but then he gives a nod accepts the newly introduced tension into the moment.
"So I umm, think you can understand my initial reluctance." He chews his lower lip for an instant, then leans forwards to take another sip through the straw in his juice.
"But you're part of the family too, so…" He flares his fingers slightly around the orange juice and says a little weakly, "Yay…?"
"Yes." His offering of familial ties is enough to make Diana's mein relax a visible notch. Her faint smile is rueful, as if she both recognizes the wisdom of the change in conversational tack and acknowledges the importance of it. By this alone, Alex has garnered himself what could be a diplomatic immunity as well as the ability to call for aid with a markedly-higher chance for success. "I am part of the family. We would be cousins if you would have it be so. Not everyone is interested in sudden and unexpected attachments."
Her sandwich is briefly considered. One of the home-fries having come as a side is quickly munched. "I do understand your initial reluctance. It is difficult to be the child of a parent with a reputation." The Amazon warrior would know, given her royal status.
"See, now I'm glad I didn't ask for your number, things would have been awkward." Those words seem to come from him without too much thought as he considers her sandwich as well, perhaps having denied himself the order of food for some reason. But then he looks up eyes widening a little as he adds, "I mean. I wasn't planning to. For like normal reasons. I thought it'd be funny. For my roommates."
His lip twists then he adds, "Just…" He changes the topic with the grace of a well-laden yak on the side of a mountain. "Most of my family that I've met have…" He looks to the side towards the window again, observing the passing by of the city's citizens. He looks back, "Have kinda been jerks. Right?"
Another home-fry pauses on the rise to her lips. Diana lets her laughter brighten her eyes in passing at the idea of a shared phone number. Fingertips are wiped upon her napkin after another four strips of potato are enjoyed and she gives Alex an understanding look.
"Family can be trying. It does not help when they are unable to see who you are as an individual." This has the sense of reminder for herself as well, in light of knowing his patrilineal line now.
"The way I've heard it described," Probably by his father, though he does not say as much. "Is that a family of immortals together they sort of create this big… sweeping game thing?" He makes a face and then with a conspiratorial look he leans forwards and not so subtly sneaks a hand forwards, giving her ample warning, then stealing a fry should she allow it.
"It's all about one-up-manship? Is that a word? But it's all about that. Getting points on the rest of the family, never apologizing, never showing remorse."
He holds up the fry and says, "See, like here, I got one over on you. Yay for me." His lip twists and he takes a bite of the fry, easily enough. "So now you swear eternal revenge on me for like a hundred years."
That said he then passes judgment and says, "It's shitty." Only for a shock of realization as he then adds, "Pardon my language."
Her dark eyes follow the slinking reach of his hand and with the merest lift of a brow, she allows him to take one of the fries. Her gaze rises to his face and then those manicured brows meet in concern.
Quietly, she replies, "You are pardoned — and while I do understand the implications of your experiences, I do not ascribe to the idea of one-up-manship. I remain in this world because it needs help. It needs a reason to continue to look to the good path and not fall aside into the shadows. Kindness may be construed as weakness by those who do not understand it, but there is no stronger light than one seen in the darkness of despair."
Again, the Amazon warrior's eyes meet those of Alex and hold them, attempting to see beyond and within. "Time will tell show how brightly you shine, I think. But tell me more of your friends, since we've discussed family enough." Diana picks up her sandwich again, content to eat it and listen to the young man explain the intricacies of these friends who required a tale of a phone number garnered.