[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [*decides to keep this character instead of changing* Who's posting up first!]
[Imogen Slaughter] (I'll post)
[Imogen Slaughter] Hot sticky days. Heat, weather, unpleasant. Chicago is disgusting in summer. The wind never stops, but it just grows hotter. It picks up dust and dirt and dried filth and carries it with it on the breeze. It sticks to the skin, leaving behind a film of the scab.
The proximity of water does nothing to alleviate the weather, and in fact, only seems to make the humidity worse, but at least the breeze off the lake is cleaner.
Imogen is pulling herself up a concrete embankment her hands planted on the balustrade, the muscles of her bare arms standing out in definition as she hauls herself up by the strength of her upper arms, at least until she can lift a knee over the edge, and find an easier method of getting back over to the pedestrian sidewalk.
She brushes off her hands and shakes out her arms, her gaze flicking down the walk and back again. The lake is at her back. Her shoes are muddied, as are the cuffs of her jeans. There's a jacket laid askew against the embankment. She picks it up, shaking it out before slipping back into it.
[Kora] The evening is hot, sticky and humid, even with the sun falling to a fat, hot ball somewhere in the west, behind the downtown apartment buildings, heat lingers like a haze through the park. This close to the lake, everything feels heavier, drenched in moisture, humming with insects that drone in the summer heat. The sky is partially occluded by heavy summer storm clouds, and there's a promise of rain in the air - that lingering sense of expectancy which can only be fulfilled by a sudden cloudburst.
"Doc - " the Fenrir is perched on the back of a park bench close to where Imogen's jacket had been discarded on the embankment. Her feet are on he seat, and she's neatly balanced between the seat and the back. There's a certain wry curl to her mouth when she continues, "I'm going to guess that you weren't fishing." Lifting her chin back down the embankment, the lake hidden below, she finishes, " - need help with something down there?"
There's a hot dog half-eaten in a wrapper close to her foot, and a bottle of water in her right hand. She's dressed for the weather, in a tank top that leaves the rather strong shape of her narrow shoulders bare, showing off what is clearly a farmer's tan, darker. Her forearms and the lower half of her upper arms are more tanned than her shoulders and upper arms.
[Kyle] Tugging at the leather collar around his neck, Kyle groans as he looks up at the sky. He could handle heat but this muggy weather bugged him big time. He was tempted to roll up his long sleevse on his shirt but remembering the looks he got last time he did that he decides not to freak people out. Absently he pulls an elastic band from his pocket and ties his hair back into a pony tail to give his neck a little more air.
Spotting a familiar figure ahead in the form of Imogen he casually wanders towards her and Kora. Clad all in black with that white pale skin he looks like a typical goth. Today he's sporting a new pair of silver rimmed classes with blue tinted lenses. Why someone would be wearing long sleeved clothes, heavy biking boots, jeans and a leather collar in this weather is anyone guess.
Once close enough he slips the guitar case over his shoulder so his hand can give a casaul wave in greeting.
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] There's plenty of reasons to hate a city, and Sarah is discovering just how much she hates a city today. This heat, the moisture in the air, the filth of everything is almost strong enough to gag on in some parts. Out here it's not so bad. There's slightly cleaner air, coming up off the water, which isn't exactly freshwater even if it's meant to be one of the cleanest lakes in the country. It's not home. It's not woodlands and streams or tall mountains and valleys.
But it's where she is, walking along the path that will take her past Kora and Imogen. The woman climbing over the embankment had caught her eye. Sunshades conceal them, perched on a lean, pert ended nose. Sarah is dressed in a pair of shorts, volleys and a simple t.shirt. She looks like she should be in California.
[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly, glancing briefly in Kora's direction before looking down at her hands, the palms first, then the backs. Imogen dusts them off absently on the thighs of her jeans.
"False alarm," she says. "There's one bloody bloke who thinks everything is a tainted creature." She does not smirk though her mouth threatens it. Her eyes do not come close, as she turns her head to look back at the Skald.
"But one day he might be right, so."
Kyle approaches, and Imogen watches him as he does. "Kinfolk," she says, simply, quietly in Kora's direction, a word heard only between them. "Kyle," she greets him when he's close enough. There's no warmth there, though there has never been.
(Lost the rest of the scene!)
[Imogen Slaughter] (I'll post)
[Imogen Slaughter] Hot sticky days. Heat, weather, unpleasant. Chicago is disgusting in summer. The wind never stops, but it just grows hotter. It picks up dust and dirt and dried filth and carries it with it on the breeze. It sticks to the skin, leaving behind a film of the scab.
The proximity of water does nothing to alleviate the weather, and in fact, only seems to make the humidity worse, but at least the breeze off the lake is cleaner.
Imogen is pulling herself up a concrete embankment her hands planted on the balustrade, the muscles of her bare arms standing out in definition as she hauls herself up by the strength of her upper arms, at least until she can lift a knee over the edge, and find an easier method of getting back over to the pedestrian sidewalk.
She brushes off her hands and shakes out her arms, her gaze flicking down the walk and back again. The lake is at her back. Her shoes are muddied, as are the cuffs of her jeans. There's a jacket laid askew against the embankment. She picks it up, shaking it out before slipping back into it.
[Kora] The evening is hot, sticky and humid, even with the sun falling to a fat, hot ball somewhere in the west, behind the downtown apartment buildings, heat lingers like a haze through the park. This close to the lake, everything feels heavier, drenched in moisture, humming with insects that drone in the summer heat. The sky is partially occluded by heavy summer storm clouds, and there's a promise of rain in the air - that lingering sense of expectancy which can only be fulfilled by a sudden cloudburst.
"Doc - " the Fenrir is perched on the back of a park bench close to where Imogen's jacket had been discarded on the embankment. Her feet are on he seat, and she's neatly balanced between the seat and the back. There's a certain wry curl to her mouth when she continues, "I'm going to guess that you weren't fishing." Lifting her chin back down the embankment, the lake hidden below, she finishes, " - need help with something down there?"
There's a hot dog half-eaten in a wrapper close to her foot, and a bottle of water in her right hand. She's dressed for the weather, in a tank top that leaves the rather strong shape of her narrow shoulders bare, showing off what is clearly a farmer's tan, darker. Her forearms and the lower half of her upper arms are more tanned than her shoulders and upper arms.
[Kyle] Tugging at the leather collar around his neck, Kyle groans as he looks up at the sky. He could handle heat but this muggy weather bugged him big time. He was tempted to roll up his long sleevse on his shirt but remembering the looks he got last time he did that he decides not to freak people out. Absently he pulls an elastic band from his pocket and ties his hair back into a pony tail to give his neck a little more air.
Spotting a familiar figure ahead in the form of Imogen he casually wanders towards her and Kora. Clad all in black with that white pale skin he looks like a typical goth. Today he's sporting a new pair of silver rimmed classes with blue tinted lenses. Why someone would be wearing long sleeved clothes, heavy biking boots, jeans and a leather collar in this weather is anyone guess.
Once close enough he slips the guitar case over his shoulder so his hand can give a casaul wave in greeting.
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] There's plenty of reasons to hate a city, and Sarah is discovering just how much she hates a city today. This heat, the moisture in the air, the filth of everything is almost strong enough to gag on in some parts. Out here it's not so bad. There's slightly cleaner air, coming up off the water, which isn't exactly freshwater even if it's meant to be one of the cleanest lakes in the country. It's not home. It's not woodlands and streams or tall mountains and valleys.
But it's where she is, walking along the path that will take her past Kora and Imogen. The woman climbing over the embankment had caught her eye. Sunshades conceal them, perched on a lean, pert ended nose. Sarah is dressed in a pair of shorts, volleys and a simple t.shirt. She looks like she should be in California.
[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly, glancing briefly in Kora's direction before looking down at her hands, the palms first, then the backs. Imogen dusts them off absently on the thighs of her jeans.
"False alarm," she says. "There's one bloody bloke who thinks everything is a tainted creature." She does not smirk though her mouth threatens it. Her eyes do not come close, as she turns her head to look back at the Skald.
"But one day he might be right, so."
Kyle approaches, and Imogen watches him as he does. "Kinfolk," she says, simply, quietly in Kora's direction, a word heard only between them. "Kyle," she greets him when he's close enough. There's no warmth there, though there has never been.
(Lost the rest of the scene!)
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