2020-07-19 - Fusion in Subdued Rage


Pris and Scandal bump into one another again and get reaquainted with music.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sun Jul 19 00:34:02 2020
Location: NYU Campus

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Theme Song



The motorcycle is quite eye-grabbing, frankly, a visibly custom design of dark metallic purple with gold along the exhaust pipes and around the handlebars and central headlight. The hollow-core wheels gleam, and while the bike is capable of running with virtual silence - an electric vehicle - it currently is putting out the roaring sounds expected of a modern enthusiast's motorcycle.

The rider astride the bike is equally attention-grabbing, with a purple-accented black leather jacket and painted-on tight dark blue denim jeans with dazzlingly colorful beadwork, a gold-accented dark metallic purple helmet, all wrapped around curves that even that jacket can't begin to hide. The color scheme is one many here on NYU campus would appreciate.

Priscilla Kitaen Frost is cruising for a parking spot on a warm summer evening.

A cluster of motorcycles stand in close proximity in a designated rank. One has a leather-clad young woman standing beside it, her attention lifted from the panniers to the new arrival by the sound of that engine… only for her brows to arch upwards as she takes in the colour of the machine, and the appearance of its rider.

Chuckling softly to herself, Scandal raises a gloved hand in greeting, a wry smile curling her lips.

The bike's rider lifts a gloved hand - gold stripe down the outside of a purple close-fitting dot-vented glove - and then turns into a space right beside others in that rank. The bike's full-throated engine roar cuts off as it is shut down, and then she shunts down the kickstand and fiddles with something on the column before swinging her leg around and dismounting, standing up to that impressive height of hers, augmented by the heels on her boots. Then she reaches up, unsnapping something at her neck, and lifts that helmet up and off her head, her riotous tumble of long black ringlets falling free in a cascade. Purple eyes alight on Scandal's face as the mocha-skinned woman smiles. "Good evening, Scandal. Good to see you again."

"And you," Scandal returns warmly… though after nodding politely to the new arrival, she *grins* at the striking vehicle the dancer straddles. "That is… quite eye-catching," she notes.

Her own mount (or at least the one whose panniers she was raiding…) is of rather archaic design: sleek lines of black and chrome wrapped around the kind of bulk that speaks to real power, though the elegantly cursive 'Norton' on the chassis is unlikely to mean anything save to afficionados of obscure motorcycle design.

Priscilla knows motorcycles, but she is not an expert in rarer breeds. She does have an appreciation for the older lines and designs, however, and smiles warmly. "Thank you. Yours is beautiful, too." Yet it is likely there could be few more different pairings of bikes. "It has been a while. How have you been?"

"She's getting on, but I love her," Scandal says - trailing fingertips over one of the Norton's upper curves, while smiling wryly. "I've… mostly been well. A few ups and downs at work." Such as being blasted into a wall while fighting otherworldly invaders. "But the academic studies are going well, thankfully. How about you? I'm sorry that I haven't managed to catch one of your shows yet."

Pris smiles and comes around her bike, glancing at whatever it was Scandal was pulling out of the panniers. "I'm glad your academics have been going well, and I hope you end up on top of your other challenges." Supportive as always. "I'm sure you'll catch the show eventually." She's just happy to catch up with the other woman, and no condemnation is required; if Scandal wants to see her perform, she'll make it when she can. Everyone has conflicting priorities.

Just riding gloves and a silk scarf (black for the former, electric blue for the latter) have been extracted from the panniers, at least thus far.

Scandal smiles ruefully. "I do feel guilty." And the empath might tell that she even means it - regret and chagrin joinig the ever-present repressed rage that might be sensed from her. "I admire those who can bring a little artistry into the world. I like to provide support, when I can."

The taller woman smiles acceptingly and leans over to embrace Scandal; Pris is a hugger, apparently. In case Scandal didn't catch that last time. "It will happen when it can. We all get busy, Scandal, and I'm not upset or blaming you." Purple eyes take in the gloves and scarf, and then she asks, "Were you leaving? Don't let me hold you up, if so." Or maybe Scandal was putting finishing touches on an outfit for a social reason? Can't help to ask.

"I had been about to set out before I saw you arriving, yes," Scandal admits. "Are you on your way to somewhere in particular? I wouldn't want to hold you up, if you have places to be or things to do…"

The mocha-skinned woman smiles. "Well, I was coming in for a concert. One of my friends mentioned it, and said I should drop by if I was interested." Pris gestures towards one of the nearby halls. "I have an affection for music." Not hard to guess, for a dancer, after all. "But I believe I have at least a few minutes to catch up. Or, if you have no pressing engagement, you could join me?"

"A concert? Should I ask what sort of music it is, or would that imply that I might be unduly narrow in my tastes?" Scandal grins. "And… I think that I can rearrange things. If an emergency comes up, I'll have to deal with it." There's a definite tinge of regret, at that, but no hint of doubt or excuse-making. "But I could certainly try to be available somewhat longer, if you would like the company."

"It's supposed to be a jazz reggae fusion." Pris offers, happy to explain and share. "The band is not one I know, so their particular style of blending the two is not one I know." Not yet. "But since I happen to like both styles, I thought it was worth the experiment. And showing a little support." She doesn't explain that one, though. "Don't worry. Everyone is entitled to their own tastes, as broad or narrow as they may be. If you walked in, I would expect you to not humiliate anyone with your distaste, if that's what you felt. But you're welcome to just beg off, and no harm, no foul."

Scandal arches her brows, surprise and amusement mingling in her inner response. "…I confess that I do not believe I have encountered a jazz reggae fusion. I can make no promises that I will *stay*, but I can certainly give it a try, if you would appreciate my joining you."

"I would welcome company." Pris offers, extending an elbow toward the other woman with a smile, then turning them both towards the hall in question.

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