1965-03-05 - Friction in Memoriam
Summary: Rosemarie has a few innocent questions that make Lucian less than comfortable. Blame an owl!
Related: None
Theme Song: None
rosemarie lucifer 


Her voice travels from outside, on the balcony. It's a clear evening, brisk and nippy about the edges. There will be ice rimming the puddles of water found on ground and trapped in various pools about the city. Rosemarie is warm enough in her tan thigh-length coat, what with its dark-brown fur trim about neck and wrists. Matching gloves in that same mahogany hue settle in a bundle at her waist as she turns to look back towards the window-walls of the upper level of Lux. Beneath the safety of leather tied about her waist to give an hourglass form, sheer black leggings and a dress whose color trends to shadowed violet. It stops short of the coat's hem within; the light play from it is jewel-toned amethyst on the crushed velvet of its sheath design. Her brown eyes search for the barkeep.

"Lucifer? Come see!" She sounds…delighted about something or other, whatever it is that can be spied from where she stands next to the railing.

Temperature really ceases to be much interest or concern to the Morningstar. He can wear thin filmy poet's shirts and cotton pants on the chilliest day without an issue. Today he actually tries to reciprocate with some kind of normal look, sweater and wool dress pants indicating a businesslike purpose from earlier hours. He carries a book in one hand, the perfectly sensible sort of academic tome filled by far more text than anything graphical.

Come see, she asks, so come see he does, ignoring his unremarkable study. "What, is there an elephant on the loose again?" Why would there be an elephant out there? No telling.

How the clothes make the man, or rather, archangel. He wears them, they certainly do not wear him. A moment's dedication to appreciation and then she comes back to her original intentions.

"I'm certain you would know if there were an elephant loose," she replies with a little laugh. Her teeth flash brightly and she gestures for him to come to her side. "Don't be too loud, but look — "

Her point down the way, to where the railing along the balcony almost comes to an end. There, in the slanting countenance of warm interior glow and cool moonlight, sits a barn owl. Lean and tawny, it turns a pale face towards them and surveils them with button-black eyes. Ghostly and utterly silent, this night-bird, and beautifully out of place within the city.

Sartorial pleasures aside, Lucian is every bit as likely to don a bathrobe and wrap a multicoloured rainbow towel around his head as a stylish turban, leading the fashion world. It's amazing what humans are undaunted by, when mixing up odd things.

"Elephants loose would be cause for Tolkien's invasion or some terrible gimmick for a shop. Maybe Macy's." He flips another page, meandering his way nearer. The rush is limited. Lack of fire convinces him no emergency is in the offing, not much to hurry his footsteps in Rosemarie's direction. "Loud? Hardly." Not really his idea of a threat, anyways, as he saunters up to see… a bird.

What can one typically say about a bird in the city? It's no pigeon, his opinion on those threats. Analysis devises a commentary. "Quite well fed, I think."

"You think so?" Rosemarie watches the phantasmal bird with honest interest, not knowing much of the species. She knows it's an owl, at least that, probably that it is an oddity here in the big city. "I bet it eats mice. Those aren't normal talons." Even at this distance, she can see the recurved blades, perfect for punching into warm and unsuspecting rodent bodies. The book is cause for another shift in attention and she steps into his space, threading an arm through his and leaning against his side. Mmm, warm. Shi'ar Otherness can't complain. She tilts her head, attempting to see precisely what he's researching. It brings her hair to crush against the sweater's fabric.

"What are you reading? Tolkien? Oliphaunts would be an issue here. Imagine the traffic in Times Square," she says so very solemnly…so much so that it's almost gentle tease.

"Owl in a city full of rats? Perish the notion of it going hungry." 'Tis just a bird of some sort, lustrous feathers and prominent eyes well-suited for capturing all measure of motion in the garish nocturne that personifies East Village and its bigger cousin, Greenwich. Whatever the book contains, the particularly odd writing within and on the cover isn't easily identifiable. Minoan Linear A is no one's idea of a fun time or a simple read, unless they held a direct hand in the proverbial Tower of Babel.

He lazily puts an arm around Rosemarie's shoulder, fitting her more neatly to his side. "Anarchy in the streets. Better than typical rush hour traffic, you must admit."

Mmm, definitely warm. The Warbird in her psyche croons softly and doubled contentment relaxes Rosemarie's body against his. A hand snakes up to settle at the base of his sternum while the other arm circles about the small of his back now. Indeed, Minoan Linear A is completely beyond her and no matter how hard she tries to remember seeing anything similar, nothing comes to mind.

"I can't imagine the traffic being much better with giant elephants parading down the street, likely stepping on taxis in the process. What are you reading?" she asks, unable to contain herself on that note further. "I don't recognize the language."

Heat is something the Morningstar embodies, even at an hour unfavourable to the absorption of energy. Daylight typically gives the greatest transferral of power to the seraphim, but he won't complain for the dying whispers of night or the moonfire penetrating through wisping barques of fair fog. "A bit of bedtime reading, nothing much more." He can set that aside, laid on a sidetable, something to forget at the moment.

"Elephants at least warrant watching from the sidelines." Lucian's veiled gaze thickens to indigo, flooded over his blackened pupils. "Exposing the faults in the transportation system is something of a New York tradition, I think. The language is from ancient Crete."

"Crete," the librarian echoes, a note of disconnect in her tone. Those eyes. They do such things to her. In fact, a heartbeat or two is lost to her beginning to get lost before her brain catches up to everything else trembling beneath the archangel's gaze. "That's…Greece, right?"

Abrupt movement out of the corner of her vision makes her glance over to see the barn owl taking off into the night. It disappears as quickly and as silently as it originally arrived, likely off to land upon some unsuspecting garbage-raiding rat. "She was pretty," murmurs Rosemarie, already missing the novelty of the night-bird's presence. Within the confines of his arm, she nuzzles in closer still, until there's really no break between their bodies.

Where has their friendly little owl flit off to? Surely the renegade escapes like a thief in the night, descending on grim, fluttering wings that bestir only the silghtest column of air. What creature would be capable of distinguishing the predator on high from innocuous surroundings, like a street lamp or a friendly pedestrian Spider-Man?

"Charming, and not even dinner," says another innocuous danger unrecognized until he strikes. His thinned eyes turn, catching profile of curly brown hair and easy features outlined against the night. He sets his chin atop the librarian's head, flattening a fair bit of her hair in the process. "Knossos, the ancient capital of Crete, was a city famed for Midas and snake-goddesses and bull-jumpers. The largest island in the eastern Mediterranean, yes, it currently belongs to Greece."

Her nose settles nearly into the divot of his neck, where lean tendons lie alongside veins in the human form. No matter if her hair is crushed; those with any texture other than straight-as-a-stick invariably acknowledge that lack of frizz is a pipe-dream. Who better to frazzle her in the end?

"Snake-goddesses and bull-jumpers. How exotic," Rosemarie muses innocently. Truly, city-born and -bred, this one. "What about dinner though?" Her hand drags down his torso before shifting to meet with the other at his far side.

Strange to be able to stand there and behold the world without a chorus of sniveling, demanding archdukes or infernal powers nattering, nor the wailing of souls burning in the afterglow of their sinful existence. "Quite so. They were admired long after their demise with the eruption of Thera and the arrival of the Sea Peoples. Beautiful murals, and their writing was rather fascinating for all half the relics remaining are grain tithes." Dead languages hardly trouble a man who reads them all, their secrets in the bureaucrat's mind and the clerk's secret hand.

"Dinner? They were reliant more on olive oil and fish, for the most part, and the supplements of grains and certain fruit. The climate wasn't terribly different then than it is now." The hook of his arm remains in place, heavy but comfortable.

"Did you ever have the chance to visit them?" It might be an innocuous question, but Rosemarie knows well enough that the truth might be revealing. Likely he can feel her shift her weight, curling up against him as best as is possible when standing aright. A faint wuft of lavender and lemon might arise from the turn of her head, better settling her cheek against his pectoral muscle.

It's times like these, when the world goes on around them, when she counts her little blessings — one of which includes safety in the devil's shadow. Life is odd at times.

"The palaces of Knossos? No." The truth-fueled spectre crossing Lucian's face holds an age-old degree of resistance and contempt, something acknowledging his own dim imprisonment far from the sunny splendours of a Mediterranean beach or hill palace. "They've been well gone for three thousand years. Most of the wonders so beloved by the ancients do not stand the test of time." He shakes his head, not straying terribly far from the top of hers. "The Parthenon remains standing in spite of efforts to destroy it by storing munitions within it. Few things happen because of, but somehow around."

Rosemarie's nod is a little thing against his frame.

"I'm sorry." Hers is a quiet apology for only the Lord knows what came of his time elsewhere. All she can offer is her presence and a squeeze around him, gentle pressure increasing and decreasing in solidarity. "I would like to see the Parthenon one day," she admits quietly, her eyes somewhere off to the city horizon, beyond the organized glow of rows of lights in blacker blocks of buildings against the night sky.

Why apologize? The sins of mankind are myriad, none of them in the immediate succession of curses directly responsible for missing out on the bare-chested Minoan queens parading around in their flower festivals. He wants that, Lucian can go outside any given warm day in the Village down to Washington Square Park.

He smirks, unseen, reflected slightly in the polished glass. "Athens is supposed to be quite lovely by the dawn. The islands are a spectacle themselves, much less lush than anything about here. Always surprising to see the green lungs of the city out the window." Considering his own realm isn't famed for forests without suicides and demons running around, no doubt. "Where is the furthest you've traveled?"

|ROLL| Rosemarie +rolls 1d20 for: 13

|ROLL| Lucian +rolls 1d100 for: 84

"I have family in Maryland, down south." Briefly, she removes her head from beneath his chin to look to that bearing — aided on by the Shi'ar, of course, it of the avian persuasion and handful of more subtle abilities. At least she knows which direction to jog if winter is too cold. "I haven't seen them for a few years now."

The librarian looks up into his face, her regard shifting between his eyes, and a beseeching aspect washes through her expression. "If you ever go, w-will you t-t-take me with you?" It feels forward enough of a question to trigger a little stuttering in turn.

Maryland is a place. Had she said Delaware, she would be an imposter. Lucian nods slightly, his gaze distant. However Rosemarie might seek to know the expression worn upon features human in affectation and emotion to the satisfaction of social expectations, the eyes hold the lie. Narcissistic intent or not, the pastiche of starscapes never known, ancient background radiation sparkling with primal elements like thorium in their radioactive decay sparkle against the drowning dark. "Go is a very complicated statement where I am involved," he murmurs, a trace of the celestial harmonics evoked in the backbone of muted melodies and harmonies. No vocal chords designed by homo sapiens have ever projected those in warbling synchronicity. "I take it you mean go to the Aegean Sea, rather than perish or abandon a dimension for a traverse of another."

Well, one must ask, needs must and all that.

The quiver follows the mainstream of her spine and out into her limbs, spreading starbursts of sensation. Very few are lucky enough to hear such a sound from human lips, perfection as made real in the Morningstar, down to the damned cupid's bow. She tries quite hard to ignore the prickling of her scalp, but the plumage behind each ear? No such luck. It unfurls silently from beyond mostly-tamed tresses as she tries for her own voice.

"I m-m-mean the Aeg-gean Sea, y-y-yes. D-D-Don't g-go elsewhere, p-please?" She then finds a smile for him, at the very least. "I think w-w-we're late for d-d-dinner though, hmm?" A palm smooths down his sweater's front, fixing the nonexistent wrinkles. "Shall w-w-we go?"

And somewhere high above, the barn owl circles on silent wings, looking for dinner of its own in a place of prosperity…if one simply knows where to look.

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