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It's late at night — or early in the morning. Depending on who you are? It could be one, both, or neither. During the daytime, during the summer especially, Coney Island is a place where people of all ages gather to have fun and eat deliciously unhealthy foods. At this time of night? It's practically a ghost town, but for the rare person who walks the area.
One such person is Marie-Ange, wrapped up in the warm winter coat that envelopes her tiny (in mass, not height!) form. She walks along the wooden boardwalk with long strides, movements graceful and even involving the occasional fanciful pirouette. She's not saying anything, but she's certainly humming a little tune; thoroughly content and enjoying her stroll without wandering eyes to watch her from afar — as far as she realizes, at least.
*
Perhaps Sofia was thinking the same thing. She walks with long stride, her careful gait somehow managing to match the quiet elegance with which she bears herself. She is wearing a dark winter coat open over the top of her short sleeved black dress, legs clad in sheer stockings, skirt reaching all the way to mid calf so that she is covered from shoulder all the way to her feet. She even wears a pair of evening gloves, matching those short sleeves by extending all the way past her elbow to end on the young woman's forearm.
Sofia, for her part, is also quite small (in this case something attributed to a combination of dimensions; she has a petite frame and a slightly below average height). Her hair has been placed into an elegant bob, that frams her face primarily to the left and is about shoulder length. She's carrying a large purse that matches the rest of her… And she walks alone, despite being dressed up. Complete with a ribbon tied delicately into her hair, the same red as her carefully painted lips.
It might be a mystery that brings the two together, walking along a similar path, both expecting to find themselves alone. It cannot, of course be happenstance that Sofia finds herself quietly singing along to that hummed tune. Possibly before she realized she even heard a few bars. She has a rich, smooth voice that carries well despite being soft. Also her French is impeccable.
*
Barbara arrives from Brooklyn.
*
Barbara has arrived.
*
Marie-Ange draws 18 Moon.
*
Blink. Well, that wasn't what Marie was expecting at all. Another voice in general was a surprise enough, but to hear it singing in French… and to the same song that Marie had on her own lips? That's enough to stop the girl in her tracks and make her take a look around to identify the source of the sound.
Spotting… well, one other person who's lips are moving, she decides to move in that person's direction after consulting her cards. The sight of the Moon brings a wry smile to her lips; confusion is an accurate state for the moment. "«A beautiful song, is it not?»" she asks, deciding to speak directly to the woman in her native French. Her own accent's perfect, given that she /did/ grow up — and spend most of her life — in the country! "«Where did you learn it, if I might ask?»"
*
Sofia's accent is fantastic. She might pass for a native speaker of parisian French, though there are soft lilts that hint she might not be. Of course, maybe she picked those up living in the United States. It would be difficult to be sure. She smiles quietly when Marie approaches her, brown eyes widening slightly as they study the woman now approaching in some detail.
«A personal favourite. I remember it playing when I was quite small.» Sofia does not miss a beat in responding. She tilts her head slightly to the left and then takes a deep breath, a soft whispe that matches the passing nighttime breeze. «Where? I learned that song in Milan. It's traveled the world, though you rarely hear it anymore, it seems. Outside of Paris, perhaps. Edith Piaf was a gift.» That last is spoken witha hint of sorrow as Sofia refers to the recent passing of the renowned chanteuse.
«You're from Lyons?» That question is asked carefully, Sofia testing the words on her lips as she speaks. «I recognize the accent," she adds by way of explanation. «Forgive me if my French is slightly stilted. I rarely get to use it. My name is Sofia Mendoza.» She isn't French, clearly. If her appearance didn't give that away."
*
Of course, there's names she recognizes, others she doesn't; it's a matter of her upbringing. While some women raised in the 'City of Lights' are rather worldly… Marie isn't one of those women by any means. Having been raised in a convent, she was sheltered from quite a bit! "«Yes, from Lyons — you have been? It surprises me how many seem to know of my homeland in this city.»" Pause. "«Well, know of it in ways beyond, say, a magazine, or a book's retelling. Perhaps your New York truly is a melting pot, yes?»"
Flashing a brilliant smile, she offers her hand in a dainty manner. "«Marie-Ange Colbert, my friends simply call me Marie — it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.»" Pause. "«Your French is wonderful, Miss Sofia, but if you would prefer English I can speak that, too.»"
*
«Ah, Miss Marie, it's truly no trouble. French or English. Truthfully I grew up speaking neither so I am hardly put out either way.» There is a small amount of amusement to Sofia's sweet, melodic voice as she makes this pronouncement. She returns that smile incandescently and hen reaches out toward Marie to delicately take that hand. Despite the glove Sofia's hand is warm and strong for a woman of her size though she doesn't really squeeze.
«It is a pleasure indeed,» Sofia responds quietly, meeting Marie's gaze as she does so. She steels herself for a second, taking a slow breath. «New York City is no more mine than Lyon. I am afraid I've not been to Lyon really, though I once knew a Lyonnaise man.» She takes a moment after this to think quietlyy, chest gnetly rising and falling. Sofia is a softspoken person and though her words are sure she seems given to pauses between phrases. It lends gravitas to her words, like proof of thought. «What brings you out this late at night? Not that I can really say much on that account…»
*
Where Sofia's hand is warm and strong, Marie's is the polar opposite; cold from the air outside, and frail in general; although how much of this can be sensed through Sofia's gloves? Hard to say. Marie herself isn't wearing them, mainly due to not being out with Scarlett at the moment — if she were, they'd be on. Just in case, for that little extra security.
"«Well, if it is no trouble.»" she decides, settling on French for the moment at least. The story of how she recognizes Lyon, however, brings a bit of redness to her cheeks. "«I… I see. I fear the men of my country carry a certain… reputation, which would not extend to myself.»" she can't help but look away at the thought, her mind travelling a bit at the thought. "«I come out at these hours often to take walks… the craziness that happens in this city does not seem to extend to the earliest hours, and it is nice to be able to take a walk to… what's the expression… 'clean my head'?»" Clear, actually, but she's close. She's just.. really not that good with expressions.
*
The gloves are actually quite then, the sort worn to look elegant in a Jazz Club or at a ball. Still, if Sofia notices anything unusual from aking Marie's hands she does not show it, instead keeping her gaze firmly on the red haired woman in front of her.
«If I were being charitable I would say he fit that reputation fairly well. If I were being less so… I would say he was a cad.» Sofia's voice is brieflywry with amusement but then she nods quickly, glancing away on her own. She looks over their surroundings and takes a slow breath, as she had before. Contemplating the world surrounding them both for sevderal long seconds, even as she allows Marie her hand.
«Your hand is cold,» Sofia notes very quietly. «You're well enough? Would you like to borrow my gloves?» The question is allowed to hang earnestly for a bout a second before the Filipino woman continues to speak. «I walk at this time of night for the same reason. Few people are out, and fewer still that look twice at me. It's a good way to- clear the head, yes.» That correction is made in the gentlest possible way, without drawing attention to itself whatsoever.
«I hope I'm not interrupting your thoughts,» the shorter woman finishes finally. «It is nice to run into a friendly face out here.» As this is said she is already removing those gloves.
*
Where Sofia's hand is warm and strong, Marie's is the polar opposite; cold from the air outside, and frail in general; although how much of this can be sensed through Sofia's gloves? Hard to say. Marie herself isn't wearing them, mainly due to not being out with Scarlett at the moment — if she were, they'd be on. Just in case, for that little extra security.
"«Well, if it is no trouble.»" she decides, settling on French for the moment at least. The story of how she recognizes Lyon, however, brings a bit of redness to her cheeks. "«I… I see. I fear the men of my country carry a certain… reputation, which would not extend to myself.»" she can't help but look away at the thought, her mind travelling a bit at the thought. "«I come out at these hours often to take walks… the craziness that happens in this city does not seem to extend to the earliest hours, and it is nice to be able to take a walk to… what's the expression… 'clean my head'?»" Clear, actually, but she's close. She's just.. really not that good with expressions.
The gloves are actually quite then, the sort worn to look elegant in a Jazz Club or at a ball. Still, if Sofia notices anything unusual from aking Marie's hands she does not show it, instead keeping her gaze firmly on the red haired woman in front of her.
*
Where Sofia's hand is warm and strong, Marie's is the polar opposite; cold from the air outside, and frail in general; although how much of this can be sensed through Sofia's gloves? Hard to say. Marie herself isn't wearing them, mainly due to not being out with Scarlett at the moment — if she were, they'd be on. Just in case, for that little extra security.
"«Well, if it is no trouble.»" she decides, settling on French for the moment at least. The story of how she recognizes Lyon, however, brings a bit of redness to her cheeks. "«I… I see. I fear the men of my country carry a certain… reputation, which would not extend to myself.»" she can't help but look away at the thought, her mind travelling a bit at the thought. "«I come out at these hours often to take walks… the craziness that happens in this city does not seem to extend to the earliest hours, and it is nice to be able to take a walk to… what's the expression… 'clean my head'?»" Clear, actually, but she's close. She's just.. really not that good with expressions.
The gloves are actually quite then, the sort worn to look elegant in a Jazz Club or at a ball. Still, if Sofia notices anything unusual from aking Marie's hands she does not show it, instead keeping her gaze firmly on the red haired woman in front of her.
«If I were being charitable I would say he fit that reputation fairly well. If I were being less so… I would say he was a cad.» Sofia's voice is brieflywry with amusement but then she nods quickly, glancing away on her own. She looks over their surroundings and takes a slow breath, as she had before. Contemplating the world surrounding them both for sevderal long seconds, even as she allows Marie her hand.
«Your hand is cold,» Sofia notes very quietly. «You're well enough? Would you like to borrow my gloves?» The question is allowed to hang earnestly for a bout a second before the Filipino woman continues to speak. «I walk at this time of night for the same reason. Few people are out, and fewer still that look twice at me. It's a good way to- clear the head, yes.» That correction is made in the gentlest possible way, without drawing attention to itself whatsoever.
«Anyway, I… hope I'm not interrupting your thoughts,» the shorter woman finishes finally. «It is nice to run into a friendly face out here.» As this is said she is already removing those gloves.
*
"«Well… I apologize on the behalf of my countryman, then.»" Marie replies, bowing her head slightly to the shorter woman. Truth be told, she's not surprised. Especially considering some of the assumptions that she's had made about her over the months that she's been living in the city. It's a thought that makes her make a face.
"«It's just a chilly night… nothing I'm not used to, nothing to worry about.»" Marie replies, shaking her head slightly, bu offering a bright smile once again - thankful for the offer, but not wanting to impose, either. It's just her nature; always the second fiddle. "«No, no… it is fine. As long as no…. newsworthy insanity occurs, I do not have problems with company. Did you wish to sit, or walk, or…?»"
*
"«Well. He was charming.»" There's a flicker of a smile from Sofia and then she gives a soft laugh as she shifts her weight from left to right. "«It doesn't matter. You don't need to apologize for him,»" Sofia continues, rolling her shoulders lightly as she does. When Marie looks up Sofia makes a point of attempting to meet her gaze.
«"Mmm. Yes, it's a chilly light. Nothing to worry about,»" Sofia agrees in a musical near whisper. She returns that bright smile with her own and then continue removing her gloves. They are then carefully balled into one palm and then held out toward Marie. She tilts her head slightly as she does so. "«Mmm. Walking is fine for the moment. If we find somewhere we adore we can sit.»"
*
Well, if Sofia's insisting… she's not about to refuse the hospitality of a newly made friend. Well, acquaintance, but for Marie the line is so thin it hardly deserves mention either way. Hands as pale as the rest of her take the offered gloves and slip them on carefully, one at a time. Followed by a slight widening of her already-large smile. "«Thank you, this is better.»" Thin gloves they may be, they have the bonus of being worn over warm hands, too. So it helps heat upt he otherwise chilly girl!
Nodding along, she starts moving once again. Long legs carry the girl with ease, but she walks at a pace that's easy to keep up with the strides. "«So what troubles your mind so that you require its clarity, Miss Sofia? I have heard that speaking of such things can be helpful, at times.»"
*
Thin but warm. It's all on the making of the thing, really. Craftsmanship is important, after all. Sofia nods slowly when Maie thanks her and then turns her gaze down the path ahead. She is watching the darkness for a long second, her own smile somewhat more thoughtful than Marie's. Then she nods once and starts to walk.
Sofia has no trouble keeping pace with marie, even if the disparity in stride forces her to take a step and a half for every one of Marie's. When the red haired girl standing beside her speaks Sofia frwons faintly, delicately pursing her red lips. "«I'm not certain that it's something which bears speaking of,» the woman admits then. "«It's been a very odd few weeks. I'm coming to terms with the idea that I am not who I thought I was, or who I was raised to be. I came all the way to New York City because of that. And things continue to change."» There's a shrug from Sofia, who takes a one that is less brooding and more reminiscent.
"«It's just a matter of figuring out if I like who I am becoming and making a choice, I guess. The first start is to find a better dancing partner.» That last statement comes with a soft laugh as brown eyes cast downward to look over her attire. Dancing would make sense like this. "«And you…? What brought you out here on a chilly morning to seek that sort of clarity? I can at least offer an ear. I apologize for being vague.»"
*
Marie-Ange draws Queen Wands.
*
"«When we are young, Miss Sofia,»" Marie begins, arms swinging loosely once before interlocking behind her back for a moment. "«Our parents, or others entrusted for our care take great effort to mold us into the people they wish us to be. Sometimes their intention mirrors are own, and we adjust well to life. other times…»" she trails off and her expression falters a moment, but only a moment. She tries hard to be the optimist. "«…they can be off the mark, regardless of any good intentions they may have.»"
Marie speaks from personal experience, there. To be absolutely certain. Of course, the talk of dancing piques her interest, and consulting the deck of cards in her pocket is a must; the Queen of Wands; a positive omen revolving around feminine energy. "«What sort of dancing do you enjoy? When I was in France, I learned a great number — though in America, the dancing is… different.»" As for Marie herself? There's a couple moments of consideration, before the smile - and a light blush - precede her words. "«Simply trying to summon up the courage to do something I am meant to do, something I /must/ do. It… is something a bit frightening, but I already know what will come of it. It is simply /getting/ there.»" The cards told her the answer, afterall. The cards are never wrong.
*
"«Precisely so. What we are intended to be and what we are often don't align. It's just accepting being different rom how my parents wish, I guess. I was a terible child and now I wish I could be a dutiful daughter.»" That comes with a bright laugh, Sofia's smile widening again. She shifts her weight again, folding her hands in front of her as she walks with often swaying stride.s Somehow she manages composure in time with movements that almost manage to be a dance.
Sofia seems to understand as well. She listens intently, her head cocked once more while she watches Marie's momvements and owrds. She notes the blush as well, though what that means to Sofia is unclear. She has a calm face, gentle and kind but concealing her thoughts. To some extent, at least. "«I learned to dance in a ballroom. Waltz, the Argentine tango…»" She shrugs her shoulders delicately and clasps her folded hands firmly for a second before dropping them to her side. A careful look might note the blush entering the shorter woman's cheeks. The coloration blends well with her skin tone.
"«I believe in you. If you simply need to reach out and grasp it you won't fail.»" Sofi's vote of confidence is genuine. She does not, after all, know anything about the cards or any predictions made. How could she, really? "«Frightening. Mmm. Most of the best things seem to be. Is it… Dangerous? This thing you have to do.»" A beat before she adds, "«You needn't elaborate, of course. You're a dancer. French dance, no less. Mmm. It sounds as if we likely learned some similar things then.»"
*
Marie-Ange has partially disconnected.
*
"«Be a happy one. If your parents truly care for you, as most parents do… that is what they will wish for you in the end. Your happiness and good health. Often times we spend too much time trying to create in others the things we wish for ourselves, but perhaps it is best to simply… follow our own dreams and let those around us follow theirs? Should I ever have a child, I fully intend to let them walk whichever path it laid before them.»"
But that's partially because Marie wholeheartedly believes in fate; fate is what it is and it can be nothing other than this. The talk of dancing makes her giggle again, "«I have not danced since I was a child,»" Well. Since a few years ago, honestly. She's not exactly /old/ by any means. "«If you ever wish to practice, I too am classically trained and would be happy to indulge; it has been too long.»"
There's another bob of her head to the continued questions, and a slight frown. "«I am told it could be, yes. I do not disbelieve the source of my information, but… the reward is greater than the risk, you know? I could /not/ do this and live to be ninety, but always regret not following my destiny.»"
*
"«As many loving parents do my parents would prefer that I be happy and also live my life according to their wishes and ways,»" Sofia replies with a wry smile crossing her lips. She nds, however, listening to what Marie has to say wtih a care and attention that proves she is considering every detail that is being shared. "«I cannot be othr than what I am. It just conflicts with what they think is right. And so I am here in New York City with my abuella and they are in Los Angeles.»" She shrugs her shoulders slightly at this and itlts her head slightly as she does so.
"«I would love to dance with you sometime. In whatever style you prefer. If need be I will learn how to dance it myself. I am… A quick study.»" A soft laugh follows and then Sofia is nodding her head then. She continues to rleax as the conversation continues. A finger is lifted to tap against her bottom lip for a second when the subject turns to destiny. Then Sofia nods. "«Then follow your destiny. If you need help with that I would be glad to offer it. I doubt I am involved, of course. It sounds as if you would likely know this already."»
*
"«A fair point, if a misguided one they seek to impose. My parents are much the same, which is part of why I find myself in the city.»" she replies, doing a little twirl as she walks and letting out a laugh; her voice isn't quite melodious, but maybe could be with practice. "«Other than the giant monsters and madmen, I find it a most agreeable city to my needs. The people… they are quite resilient. Their courage inspires.»"
As the offer to dance is taken? There's another bright smile, and she digs into her pocket; out come a pen and a slip of paper, which she has a bit of struggle writing a set of numbers down on, but it's offered nonetheless. "«This is my phone number, then — I should be going home before my dear roommate worries of me,»" Frail little Marie, out on the streets all her lonesome? "«…but feel free to call when you wish.»" A pause. "«Fate does not reveal all her cards at once except in the rarest occasions; the story, and players for all its roles are written by her whims, and known only to those who listen. I will be happy to let you know, should your name be called.»"
*
The number is glanced at first and then Sofia gives a brief no. Sh takes the slip of paper an tucks it easily int oher purse beforeturning her gazefirmly onto Marie. There's a slow nod and then a final, quieter msile. It is no less friendly for it, instead also carrying notes of being full of careful thought.
"«The people here need and are worthy of protection,»" Sofia begins."«But they don't give up. It's quite a thing to watch. Especially with all the horrifying things that seem to happen here. People continue on. Sometimes I feel privileged simply to partake.»" Sofia stops moving finally and nods as Marie is making her parting statements, folding her hands in front of herself once more. «"Allow me to walk you home? It is quite late. I… Understand why your roommate would worry.»" That statement is made without any real inflection, brown eyes studying Marie's face.
"«Otherwise I shall call you tomorrow. To at least be sure you made it home and are well.»"
*
"«As you wish, Miss Sofia. I will not reject a kind offer.»" Marie replies, offering her arm in a ladylike manner as she prepares to be escorted; if there's anything that the convent taught her, it was manners; hers are most often sublime, even if some might find them misplaced at times.
*
Taking Marie's arm Sofia lowers her head slightly and then she steps into place. She takes the role of the gentleman in this case; perhaps awkwardly, given the height disparity. They both have manners, apparently. This is done almost without a thought in the world, skin touching skin. …And, of course, the dynamic is further skewed because Marie has to take the lead. Still, somehow Sofia manages.
*