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It's a beautiful day in Westchester, considering the season. Cold, but the sun is shining. Sam finds himself with a bit of free time between classes once again, and as he has taken to doing, is spending a bit of it outdoors; he's always preferred to be outside, rather than cooped up indoors. Maybe something about all that time spent in a mine in years past, he just craves the fresh air and expanse of space. His footprints in the snow tell the story of his journey, should anyone care to trace his steps; not exactly random, but meandering for certain, as he left the main building and wandered all over, to the trees and around the basketball court, back to the school, and finally where he seems to have settled for the moment, on the bench in the gazebo. No book, nothing in his hands to entertain himself; just Sam, sitting quietly, looking up at the few clouds that grace the sky with their presence.
*
The crisp beauty of a winter's blue sky cannot be taken for granted, not the least because these days seem fewer and further between. Lead grey skies, pouring cold rain or snow storms have punctuated recent days more than not, and no doubt the cabin fever around the institute practically burns in the veins of every student. Among the elder set, Scarlett enjoys the benefits that confirmed adulthood brings: her own apartment, freedom to roam, and apparently the choice to ride her motorcycle up the road much to the amusement and shock of the younger students. Especially the boys; they simply aren't used to rebels without a cause, especially the likes of a re-belle. Pulling her helmet off, she props it up on the back of the back parked off to the side of the great drive. No need to upset the professor with suggestions his building has a date or might have adults. It might be a terrible time to ride a motorcycle but the roads are bare, if wet, and the temperature flirts above freezing. Snow may not last long or hard. Slipping off, she finds her path around to the back of the building rather than cutting through. Hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket, she makes a brilliant addition to the grey landscape. Flaming hair pulled into braids marked by snowdrops, she slips along, pausing upon seeing another student. Not surprising, but her hesitation speaks volumes. It's been a while since she was in residence.
*
The sound of the motorcycle certainly doesn't escape Sam's notice, breaking the relative peace and quiet he had been enjoying. Not that the sound upset him, but it broke him out of his momentary mental wanderings, bringing him back to the harsh reality of the present. The red-haired woman that Sam knew well contrasts against the white and grey of the landscape, and the sight of her brings a smile to his face. It's not as though he had been gone for years, but each familiar face that he meets since his return brings him some sense of happiness, and relief. Everything had changed, it seemed, in those months, and so there is a comfort in the presence of old friends, familiar surroundings, and the knowledge that not everything was completely different. "Scarlett," he says, his southern drawl still thick as ever, and a smile settling onto his features. He stands up, moving to meet the redhead with a friendly hug, if she'll have it.
*
The faint wave from her hand is mannered, because no matter the situation, Scarlett adheres to those rules of engagement. She absolutely must acknowledge his greetings, and does so rather enthusiastically once determining no 12-year-old mite is about to throw a snowball or that she enters into a lover's tiff of some sort. The world has indeed changed since his absence, and in many ways, the girl in question is in the forefront or center of it. Less in recent days than some, but the choice to retreat into a normal life is rather important to staying sane. "Sam Guthrie, if this isn't a surprise worth celebrating. I wondered whether you would ever come back to us, or if your family finally brought you back for a spell." The hesitation for the hug is not a personal matter, a habit built in since who knows how long — it's known at least among some of the students she knows not a whit of her childhood or origins, ever since rolling up bedraggled and wild-minded two and some years ago. Her stiff posture and stillness might be construed correctly as uneasy, but her gloves and long-sleeved jacket certainly help. The embrace is thus permitted, just a bit slowly as she offers the same back without any evidence of practicing that often. "Aliens in our age. Who would have thought, no? To think we had it hard enough with trying to get our grades."
*
Sam won't take it personally; she's no stranger, and while he may not know all the details, he knows enough to know. But there's no getting around it; he's been gone long enough that a hug is damn well warranted. "Ah wouldn't've left, but.. well, family's family, and Ah couldn't just let'm flounder," he says, offering a bit of a smile. "Ma got sick, but she's doin' better.. pretty much kicked me back out the door soon as she could stand on her own two feet again," he explains, and gives a bit of a shrug. "No arguin' with that woman."
"Ah heard th' news about that.. crazy times we're in, for sure. But the world keeps turnin', right? Ah'm just tryin' t' get back on track. You gotten mixed up in all.. that?" He asks, his tone friendly, but he gestures up in the air, presumably to indicate the whole 'aliens' matter.
*
Little would imply Scarlett is a mutant, even if she's riding around on a motorcycle at a time of year when most people put them away. "You made the right choice. We will always be here for you, and though the cast changes, the lovely theatre and its mandate remain." Her gloved hands go from an embrace to her sides, allowing for a comfortable posture while they speak. Should Sam move, she will follow him, letting him decide whether to take to the air, forest, or stay as he is. "I hope she didn't exhaust herself. Nothing worse than trying to take on all the responsibilities and duties around the household when feeling unwell. You have the right of it. Some people simply cannot be argued with."
A laugh graces her lips, but her jade eyes are somewhat distant for a moment. "Yes. The world keeps moving, and we stand at an important crossroads where we need to participate or risk being forced to react to any decisions."
*
"Ah'm sure she'll be okay. She's stronger'n anyone Ah know." Ma Guthrie would have to be, with ten kids, and no end of drama surrounding her eldest boy. "Present company excepted, 'f course," he say withs with a smile. He starts to walk along, not with any particular destination in mind, but it's cold out here, and moving will keep the blood flowing. "Lots'a things goin' on, not just visitors from outer space," he muses, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep his fingers warm. "Demons comin' outta some hole in Central Park? Ah saw a fella on Ed Sullivan claimin' to be a Viking God, 'r somesuch?" He shakes his head, finding it all a little hard to believe at face value; it's a lot, but Jean at least assured him it's all true. And he's not inclined to think any of his friends as liars. "So, Ah guess Ah'm wondering how Ah can help. Or if Ah should even try. Seems just a bit.. beyond me, Ah guess."
*
Scarlett's smile traces a curve against her pale expression, lending itself to a warming hue badly needed by her fair skin. Keeping pace with him is not difficult, given the benefits of height she possesses, more than the average sort. "Plenty. I know about the Ed Sullivan show, too, I was watching it and wondered about the madness." Yet there are few who may understand better in Midgard, there's the rub. "Indeed, we have been discovered by those beyond humanity's knowledge until now, and they have found our lovely blue gem of a planet. We of seas and forests, deserts and glaciers, must contend with those creatures. The President is the worst of it, in a way. You can help. Surely you know your opinion matters, and not everyone who speaks shares what background you have." Her voice carries quiet conviction, for all that. "An alien falls out of the sky, and they have, what sort of reception they receive could be all the difference."