2009-09-26: Race You To The Top Of The Morning



Date: September 26th, 2009


The speedster and the empath meet up for just a race but end up sharing more of themselves as they follow the end of the day and back.

"Race You To The Top of the Morning"

Frankfurt, Germany

Possibly one of the more unusual things to get used to is instant time differences: so that when they set off around lunch time in New York, it's now later evening in Frankfurt, Germany. Luckily, one has done this many times before and the other can travel… through time. Their ultimate destination is the Deutsches Filmmuseum - or Movie Museum - with, just like the name promises, great film making history inside. It isn't pulling a huge crowd at the moment, but all the better.

That streak of bleach blonde and blue is Daphne coming in, sending the nearby environment scattering in the fast breeze. She pulls to a stunningly instant stop at the museum entrance, immediately glancing around for floppy-hair. There's a silent victory arm-punch in the air when none is noticed. A couple of people on the street may look at her funny, wonder when they missed this person arriving, but what business is it of theirs. They soon move on. And Daphne adjusts her blue v-neck over jean skirt and gray leggings before trying to find the most casual way to be leaning against the wall.

Not too long after the blond and blue streak settles in, another streak makes an appearance. This one darker. Black, blue, white. The white is the shirt worn under the dark blue jacket, the black is the rest of him. Peter comes to a halt, immediately dropping down to put hands on his knees. Unlike her, he looks as if he actually got some strain from running that distance. Breathing increased, sweat showing up on his forehead. Not just sweat, but there's some scars that are visible for a moment before he straightens. Not as deep as the man she briefly knew, but visible.

The scars are gone when he turns to see her, lounging against a wall like she'd been there for minutes, waiting. There's nothing to tell him how long, not even the people who stop, double take for a time before moving on. "Okay. You win," he says, running a hand through his hair. The light sweat sticks his hair down against his scalp. "I completely lost you after the first hundred or so miles." In open ocean, no less.

The distances have been getting progressively further, in anticipation of the girl speedster's excitement to be overseas again. Biting down some of the more vicious gloating, Daphne pushes off from the wall and strolls bouncily towards him. There's this bright smile on her face that seems to glow extra in the city's lights, "Just gotta break you in some more, champ." She twirls to the side, eyeing the creative architecture of the building beside them. "This stuff just never gets old." With her face turned away from him, her expression falters slightly but she's so fast to recover. "I— Well. All I know is, sucks to be anyone who'll never get to go anywhere else."

"I'm always afraid I'll lose it in the middle of the ocean," Peter admits quietly, touching at a stray lock of hair that falls into his forehead as he looks down at her. The quite cheerful woman always comes off as bright, until she looks away. The falter in expression must have been noticed, cause he tilts his head to the side a bit, eyebrows lowering. Even if it didn't last long. "It is nice to be able to see places that most people have to pay an arm and a leg for air fare to see. Though in some ways I like flying over the ocean better than running on it," he says with a hint of a grin. While she's all bright, he's often less so.

Oh no, he didn't! Daphne immediately eyes him across her shoulder, arms going to cross over her chest in all her tiny-sized indignation. "I'd rather be able to run any day," she retorts, nose lifting in the air. As she licks her lips to ruin that sassy look, she also wavers some, shifting weight heavily to one side. "Well. I wouldn't give up running for flying, but I always did sort of wonder. Seeing as how I can't go there myself." Which is, seriously, a darn shame. But she'd prefer not to think about handicaps, so she gives a hop-skip step forward and then wiggles her fingers back at him. "Come on, big strong sweating hero. I had to meet your friends, so now you have to see my sights." Because she owns Europe, didn't you know. And that's what she meant. Europe.

"I could always show you sometime," Peter offers softly, but then reaches up to push that lock away yet again. It doesn't want to stay. Either needs to get a hair cut or grow his hair out even more. "I mean being able to run fast is very handy, my mind just has a hard time wrapping around how it manages to work on water, I guess." There's science behind it, he knows, but his mind can't help but try to go 'why am I not swimming with the fishies?'

"What do you want to show me?"

She puts her hands down to her hips where, for once, that usual messenger bag is missing. This isn't business for Daphne, it's pleasure. She even seems briefly pleased at his offer. Though then it's eye-rolling and a little stamp of her foot. "Something cool," she informs him vaguely, this time only reaching out one hand and asking plainly, "Does it matter?" She causes her own self to falter, however. She blinks a couple of times, looking at him head-tilted and matter-of-fact. "You've got somewhere else to be."

"There's always somewhere to be," Peter says, a serious tone to his voice. Even at the wedding, he'd been somewhat serious, though that had been a short-lived exception. Hard to be completely serious when cake was getting smooshed into one's face. Even with that said, he steps forward and takes her hand. "But the world won't end if I spend a few hours touring Europe. Lead the way, Daphne." There's that hint of a smile. His breathing has returned to normal, and he doesn't look as winded anymore.

Daphne survived the wedding untouched, but that may just be because she didn't have any Church-types sneak-attacking her. She brightens in a more gentle fashion when their fingers touch, as if she'd never been down. "And even if it did," she says, "Totally one of the better ways to spend it." Bam! He may not be winded but now he's moving like it at the speedster's behest. She curves around obstacles and even runs sideways along a wall like a regular prince(ss) of Persia before vision everywhere has been blurred by green. Having likely adapted to high-speed perception, it might be clear to Peter that they're in a garden even before they halt by a magnificent fountain. Perfectly trimmed grass, trees of all heights, and exotic flowers abound in elegant formation. There's even a mighty symmetrical mansion up front with other greenery hinted at inside.


Once they come to a stop, Peter lets out a breath as if he'd been holding it, and looks around at the sight. There's the hint of a smile again, a little more genuine, before he says, "No wonder you keep beating me. Even with a passenger, I think you move faster than I do." For a moment, he almost sounds like he's about to laugh, before he lets go of her hand and steps away to get closer to the fountain. "This place is beautiful. How'd you find it?"

"Like I say, I'm really, really—" She twirls a hand for emphasis, "You get the drill." The place may be beautiful, but Daphne starts out watching him, finding all of those reactions. Her hands her own again, she swings her arms by her side and wanders the edge of the white stone surrounding the water. "It is, huh. I used to look at those travel booklets and stuff when I was younger. I guess all I ever wanted to do was get as far away from home." Since she has trouble talking about herself she doesn't do it often, and even now indulges in glancing away into the mini-paradise they're in. A paradise that is, by the way, completely devoid of other people. There are what might be security lights in the distance, but it's otherwise abandoned.

"Fast, I know," Peter says, tucking his hands into his pockets while he gives everything a thorough looking over. The mansion in the distance, the fountain, the garden… the whole thing has it's own level of beauty and intrigue. Seeing it at night is something he's sure people rarely get to do. Enough light to see how nice things look, but dark enough that it casts interesting shadows and adds a level of mystery to everything. "Your ability lets you do that, get far away from home, see other places," he says, quietly. "I always found it interesting how some abilities help people fulfill their personal dreams. I guess in a way it fulfills some of mine, too. Let's me understand people. I can see the world close to the same way you do, with your ability, at least temporarily." When he looks away from everything and back at her, he asks, "So where was home?"

In the dark, it's almost like it's their own place. Surely a kind of privacy Daphne enjoys as she continues to step one foot in front of the other around the decorations. She mutters something while he talks, something possibly about ideas and how he has none when it comes to what her ability lets her do. But when she laughs it's to say, "You would be the guy who'd want to 'understand people'." It's teasing, but not with all the sharpness it could have. She shakes her head a little bit and turns around, facing him wherever he's wandered. "Not here, that's what matters," is the only answer he seems to be getting over home.

Staying close, but allowing the petite woman plenty of personal space, Peter keeps his hands down as he wanders around in the dark. Eyes may have adjusted to the lack of light, there's that sensation that something could jump out of the shadows at any moment. Doesn't change how nice everything seems, and how quiet it is. There's sounds of bugs, wind against foliage, but only their voices really give something distinct. "I am a paramedic, too. I want to help people. Sometimes even just helping one or two people is enough to make it through the day, but with your help I'm able to help larger groups, when politicans aren't stealing it." There's a pause. "So you just want to see the world?"

If something does jump out, it might be security. Though some here might have experience with that. Daphne rolls her eyes upward, her chin lifting stubbornly. "Yeah, politicians blow." Then, "See the world and get my payday. And, now, thanks to my ability, I still get both caaaaause I'm still faster than you." And she's not going to let him forget it, and she's not going to feel bad doing so. It'd odd sharing, especially something as personal as an ability to her. "Actually, that reminds me. Somebody took out your no good con crook from the hospital. A cop or something. Goes to show even the helpers can be haters, huh." She's cynical, and it shows, but only just enough to suggest she's been cynical too long.

"I don't wish people dead, even bad people. I kinda wish every time I send you to requisition belongings that they would look down and realize that they were stealing too and second think things," Peter says, though he's well aware that it's a hopeful kind of though. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper. "Your next job'll be Governor Malden of New York. Not sure how much assets you'll be able to get off him, but I'm sure you'll find something," he says, holding out the piece of paper. Not that she needs an address for the Governor. "And since you did win, you keep whatever you get out of this."

There's that dangling piece of bait for Daphne. She keeps along the edge of the fountain, going back towards him those steps of personal space he left and plucking the paper up. "I get to meet so many important people in my line of work," she comments, sliding the name and address neatly into her back shirt pocket. Malden'll never know what hit him. After some serious thinking that shows all over her face, she eyes up at Peter. "I wasn't talking about you, you know. I mean the cop. Somebody's who's supposed to be good and turns out rotten. You, Peter. You're… still good. Don't ask me how!" She laughs, something else hidden inside of that humor. "But… there you are."

"It's tough to stay good when the whole world seems to be falling into various degrees of gray," Peter says, looking up toward the stars. With the lack of light and with no city lights close by, there's a lot that are visible. The weather patterns are different than they'd been overseas, too, making for a brighter sky. When he looks back down, he's still very serious, "A couple years ago I never would imagine I'd have sought out the help of a thief in trying to change the world the same way that some people try to destroy it. With money." It's a change from many things, but part of him blames Jack for that, whether he'd admit it or not. "There's a lot of bad people in positions where they're supposed to do good, and a lot of good people who do things that might be considered bad. I think you're a good person, even if you're out for you."

"Don't." Daphne says it flat, quickly, like she's pre-empting the rest of where he's going even if he was already done. The seriousness is finally infectious, with Daphne's bouncy shoulders now slumping. She stands at that angle that means attitude all of the sudden, arms halfway to crossing in the universal sign for shielding yourself. "Don't do that… you're using me because I'm a bad person. It works out a lot simpler if we just - leave it at that." She's not bragging anymore, this isn't the same as having the ego of the world's best anything. She isn't quite upset, either, but there's still a tinge of emotional vulnerability to it. Naturally, this means it's swept away in a second. She doesn't loosen her arms, just works out a smile again. "Tired of this place? I know, like, a dozen more. I've been everywhere." Almost.

The level of vulnerability keeps Peter from directly addressing what she says, but there's a sad look on his face for a moment as she says he's using her. 'Using' is such a harsh word, really, though it could describe quite a bit of what he's getting out of it. Not like she chose to turn over a majority of her money to charities, even if it does something good. "Yeah, we can move on," he says, before he begins to move closer, so he can offer his hand. "We can end this… um… arrangement if you want to, you know. If you were just a bad person, I probably wouldn't have made it in the first place."

She sees that sad look, she does, and maybe even that uncomfortable extra shift of weight is Daphne's way of showing it. But things still progress as they do, and that's alright. At first it seems like she didn't even hear about ending it; she glances around instead and says, "Great. We're almost late," and takes his hand again. Whoosh! This time they're really through the city, the streets, going by people, causing heads to turn. Around traffic, into a building, right by some pay station, and then up - up - up the stairs. When they burst out of a door it's onto the roof of the fourth tallest building in Frankfurt. Below several floors, there's a viewing deck where those who actually came into the building like normal people are hanging out, but the roof they have to themselves. It's a theme with her. But nevermind that — out in front is the middle of what is definitely a quite beautiful sunset. It may be because of air pollution… yet it's hard not to like. It was dark in the park already, and here is where the last of the light has gone. Almost disappeared. They are late.

Did they just go up stairs? Peter isn't sure he likes being a passanger with this ability. While he may have adjusted to the speed of movement, it's different when there's no control of his own. He's not sure he'd feel comfortable dragging anyone along for the ride— is this how they feel when he flies with them at top speed? There's a small wobble in his stance when they get to the roof, and the hand holding hers tightens some, and is joined by the second. To steady himself using her petite form. He's about to make a comment about something else most likely, when his mouth is stuck partially open, as he looks out at the sunset. "Wow. This is— it's beautiful." Then he looks down at her, "You really have seen a lot of things."

Daphne stuck her entry for the most part with just a jolting lean forward at the exact stop, the pressure of him depending on her. She manages a second longer before fumbling forward a step. With his compliment she smiles a truer smile again, a bit smug from all she's been able to show off today. Her hand is enveloped in his and she squeezes his fingers unconsciously, turning up to return his look. "I've never even shown anyone else," she confesses in the flurry of her excitement, "Probably thought it couldn't really be appreciated the way I did. But you like the speed, too, and you've never asked me to stop. Not in the same way…" Perhaps realizing a bit of what she's saying, her eyes dart forward. Those tell-tale fingers wiggle.

"I'm honored to be shown your favorite spots of Frankfurt," Peter says in that genuine voice she'll often hear. Still serious, but that's part of what makes it genuine. "And I do like the speed, though I think I might like it better when I'm doing the running," he admits, looking back toward the sunset before it's all gone. They don't want to be completely late, even if his mind is a bit preoccupied. One of his hands drops away, but he doesn't let go completely, joining her step forward, so he can get a better look over the roof. "What do you mean by that? Who asked you to stop?"

His admission earns him an amused look - enough, at least, to break Daphne's wariness over eye-contact. Though she's always been a bit skittish under that super genuine pressure. "Of course it's better, doing things yourself," she does happen to agree. Testing another few steps to the edge of the roof's barrier, she makes sure to give several long seconds to the sight as it dies away moment by moment. "A bunch of losers," is another of her answers that isn't really, "Ones that never really got me. The only comfort is freedom. Not their incessant yapping. Not — well, definitely not getting stuck back where you were, right?"

"Freedom is important. One of those American rights," Peter says, though there's a hint of irony in his tone, considering their location. The more steps forward don't seem to worry him. If he managed to fall off the roof, it wouldn't be the first time. "Before I realized what I could do, I jumped of a building to try and prove I could fly," he suddenly says, seemingly reminded of that moment up on the rooftop. "My brother, my mom… they all said I was too much of a dreamer. That I needed to… be realistic. My dad too, actually. But I had these dreams where I was convinced I could fly… And that it was my turn to prove I could be something. Something more than what… what everyone thought I should be." While he's not looking at her while he says this, he does squeeze her hand a bit, "As long as you're going somewhere, you shouldn't stop."

Daphne stands there quietly, the unusual stillness of her a testament to the gravity she's giving Peter's words. Although, it may not at first seem like it when she giggles under her breath and off-hands, "You believed you could fly. It's like a sappy radio song…" But she's able to sober and she does. There's a glance snuck over at him while he's not looking before she follows suit on staring off. Remembering. It's like they both can see a whole different day. "I had a dream once," she blurts out into the sensitive silence his story has created, "But I was, like, three, so. Anyway, it got crushed. Pretty hard. My mom, she tried for a while and then she just didn't. I thought it'd never come back… And then, one day… I could run." She swallows, hard, and this time her return hand-squeeze lingers. She looks up, at him. "And then we were special. Right?"

"We were always special, just now we know why, I think," Peter says, though there's something rather humored in the way he says it. Humored for him, at least. Still serious, but the hint of a smile is there when he looks down. "So now that you've taken me to some of your favotite spots in Germany, do you want to see what it looks like from even higher than up here?" he asks, nodding his head upwards toward the sky. "Or we can save that for next time."

There's something nervous and unhappy in Daphne at the suggestion that it was always true; her eyebrows knit together, she doesn't quite believe him. For the sake of his humor, she presses her lips together and makes a smile. Her eyebrows are able to lift in curiosity when he begins talking, and, even with the question and the nod, she still tilts her head and starts, "Do you mean—" The realization comes with a small jump up and her hurried attempts to cover up doubts. "Wait? For this? Are you joking?" Silly Peter! But even the most incredulous questions can't hide how shyly she turns to him. This time, she has to wait to be led.

"All right, just hang on," Peter says, as he turns to face her, still holding on to her hand, but also putting the other one around her for support. "This isn't quite the same as in the movies, but… Who am I kidding, you run up mountains and run on water. I doubt you're afraid of anything." And with that, they suddenly are in motion. Daphne should be used to going fast all of a sudden, but rarely does she go straight up. The wind doesn't have the biting effect that it should, something about the ability making the experience pleasant. "We can catch up to that sunset, if you want," he says once they've reached a height he thinks they can stop.

Daphne is unused to the closeness and her hand that's not in his searches for something halfway comfortable. The instant her feet have left solid ground, well, suddenly her grip on his arm is quite able. She may run everywhere, but she does so by her own power, and now she doesn't even have a ledge to balance on. At least she's used to the wind brushing by, not treating her like it does other people. There's only the view now, as everything else rushes away and she stares, stares and counts the twinkling lights as the city embraces night-time. She knew Frankfurt… but never like this! When they're at this chosen height, she tightens her grip carefully and then leans to the side to look all the way down. "Wow!" The word barely comes out, she's breathless. The only problem is still her dangling feet… So as she starts to look back up at him, she tries to inch forward to daintily balance her toes on his. Movement in the air is — yeah, it's weird — can she even do it like that? "Whatever *you* want," she tells him, "This is your thing now."

"I apologize," Peter says preemptively as he lowers his hand to her waist to help give her some additional support so she can step up on to his feet. "Should've asked you to do that when we started. I'll warn, this is probably going to be a little… different. Maybe like how it feels when you drag me by the hand," he says with that hint of a laugh again. They're touching a lot more places than their hands, though, so maybe it won't be quite the same. With that said, they're suddenly going a completely different direction, and she's upside down, looking up at the stars, the clouds. The clouds gain light, color… and they've caught up to the sunset. They straighten again, though not as easily, hovering in place once again. They're no longer above Frankfurt. In all likelyhood they're closer to Paris.

"So — awesome, right?" Daphne's tease is just barely the last thing she gets to do before her world flips around. That sensation enough is odd but she's maybe an ounce more prepared than the average Joe, having had some practice running up walls where you can feel similarly overturned. From this, she works up the nerve to crane her head backwards. It could feel like she's falling more, but she's going to go ahead and trust Peter; otherwise, she'd just have her face in his shirt the whole time. Ah, the joys of tiny. "The sky looks like it's being painted!" Paris is perfect. Paris is her dream. Which is what this is starting to feel like. "Peter, this is more than magnificent," she gushes, but quietly. It's the moment. "It's like you can do anything you want up here."

"Well, you showed me something you don't share with everyone… this is something I don't share with everyone," Peter explains, and while he can honestly say he's never shared this sight before, he has gone flying with people before. Never at sunset. Never over France. "Now you might see why I prefer flying over the ocean to running on it," he says. Then there's a pause, "I know you're fast, and I bet you're a lot faster than this is." In many ways, flying is cheating. No need to dodge or manipulate movement. Just open air and speed. "I know you said I'm in charge, but any requests?"

"I still like running," Daphne immediately defends, without any harshness but plenty of conviction, "This is just… another kind of freedom." A cheating kind, maybe, but it's the lack of obstacles that's also intriguing. Absolutely no boundaries or limits. She just holds onto the empath and breathes in deeply of this open air. "Well, since you asked…" is the start-up she seems to forget. Instead, she takes her time watching the colors from the sun, her gaze thoughtful and then angled off in some seemingly random direction. Almost as random as when she decides to speak up again and only says, "Kansas." Determination. And a tiny bit of it turning up into a question at the end.

"Kansas it is," Peter says, letting go of her hand finally so he can put the other arm around her and hold her more firmly. There's no telling if he understands the significance of the choice, but he knows the direction. Toward the sun. He can figure out the finer mechanics when they're closer. Once again, she'll have to strain to look down, but with both his arms around her, there's a possibility she could twist around in his arms so she can look down better. The speed increases, creating a boom for those in Paris, a streak of whiter wind, like something a jet would create. The ground turns to ocean. The ocean turns to ground. It takes longer than it took them to run to Germany, just as he guessed. There's more ground to cover, for one. He doesn't seem as strained, though. He's more used to this ability. He doesn't feel nearly as winded when he spots the Mississippi River, or when they fly along the Missouri until he passes Kansas City…

Only then does he slow again. It should be Kansas. And that sun is a lot brighter.

Too late to take it back. Daphne instinctively tightens her grip again, having to throw her other arm around him once he lets go of her hand. Yet there's definitely some wiggling partway into the flight; she isn't going to just let this experience go by like nothing. So, relinquishing the one hand-hold on his upper arm, she turns a bit, slowly so as not to disturb him. When she thinks she can, she lets that arm stretch out. She spreads her fingers and feels the wind stream around them. It's fast and faster, but she's safe all up in here. That helps alleviate some of the weight building up in her chest as they get closer and closer to her request. Here come the states and the speedster's little body is beginning to tense - surely noticeable with how close they are. But even if she wanted to flee, and she might, she can't. There's no ground. There's just Peter's feet. Then there's familiar territory, the old scenery. As they slow, she uses that out-stretched hand to point him various times. And then, at some distance, she's not pointing anymore; there's just a rickety old house surrounded everywhere by cornfields. A wily scarecrow pokes out of some of that, all alone.

As she points, Peter follows, until her hand finally drops and he slows to a stop so they can level off. The field, the scarecrow, the house… It doesn't take a telepath to know this place is important. That she specifically chose the destination. For the first time since they took off on the roof in Frankfurt, he begins to lower down toward the ground, in the middle of that cornfield. The wind pushes the corn stalks together, making a soft sound. The fluffy clouds block some of the sunlight, casting shadows along their landing spot. He continues to hold onto her, even if he feels her tension. "Where are we, Daphne?" he asks, not clueless, but perhaps wanting to let her give the answer.

Seeing the place has Daphne distracted enough that she doesn't immediately notice the movement. Eventually, though, it becomes too difficult not to notice that that front porch is changing angles - the stalks are getting larger and larger. She can't exactly struggle for the period they're in the air and then, once they're down, she doesn't want to. She keeps a hold on Peter also, tip-toeing further up his shoes. "I don't want to," she announces, shaking her head and bouncing all that bleached hair fervently, "I don't want to be down. Then it's like I'm actually here." Her urgency grows, her obvious need to keep moving clearly rising because she wiggles so in his grasp - maybe just short of bolting with his arms still there. She's looking at the door like it might open any second, then she doesn't want to look at it anymore. "Come on. We can be anywhere!"

"All right, it's okay, Daphne," Peter says, trying to be reassuring as he tightens his hold. It's much closer to an embrace than it was before, perhaps because now he's trying to give her some kind of emotional support. Up they go again, leaving behind the stalks and the scarecrow, rising toward the puffy white clouds, until they fly right into it. Technically it should be difficult to breathe, but that doesn't seem to matter. The laws of physics don't apply as he takes her above the clouds, a sight only people in planes often get to see. Even with being able to breathe, the moisture clings to them, dampens them, cools them. But it doesn't freeze them. Once again they go quick, fast, away from the sun, instead of toward it. The orientation might be strange. They're going toward New York, but aiming too far North for the city.

This time when he slows, there's trees all around. Some losing leaves as fall starts. Some still green. Some red, some yellow… There's a house, too. Bigger than the one in Kansas. "This is our family house in Vernon. I liked it up here as a kid— There's a tree house that me and my brother built. It got broke last year, and I keep meaning to come out here and fix it up. But…"

This time, Daphne isn't entirely against face in shirt because she doesn't want to look nor does she particularly feel like facing Peter after her little show. An interesting dilemma when tucked up in his embrace, but, that's another hurdle. The feeling of getting higher and higher again gets her to glance outward just in time for -poof!- through the crowds. She stays quiet for the journey, curling cooling fingers into his sleeve and just experiencing this all before she has to face what happened back there. The reference is a bit sideways when it comes, when she's looking out over some big home and its old signs of children's play. He had a brother. And a tree-house. Puts a raggedy scarecrow in perspective… but not necessarily a bad one. She leans away from him, but only to stare past their feet to everything below them. "What," she remarks, all jibe and no sign of the distress of before, "No tree-house fixing ability in there yet?"

"Not everything is done with abilities," Peter says, letting them lower closer and closer. He knows exactly who would be at the house, if it would even be occupied. There's no need to worry about the doors opening or people coming out. The treehouse comes into sight. There's a huge hole in the roof, splintered wooden panels. It looks like something fell straight through it. Not big enough to take out the walls, but big enough to take out the roof. "I wasn't actually here when this happened— well, I was, but it— nevermind." His future self had been here… He knows what happened, more or less. "I haven't been able to get up here to do it, you know how busy I am… Besides the wedding, this is the most time I've spent just…"

"Only because someone hasn't figured out a way yet," Daphne challenges, not at all protesting the downward movement now. She whistles out a low note as the actual state of the tree-house becomes clear. "If you hadn't told me it was just a year, I'd just as soon assume this is where your pod crashed after you were jettisoned as the last of your kind from your home planet." She totally would believe that. Might even believe some of the rest, thanks to a certain scarred individual who liked to call her out in the hallway. That put a fun note on these two's very first meeting that didn't seem first at first. (That's a nice one, right?) "Yeah, I know," she adds, easing a little bit away from him, "Things to do, people to save. It's called 'me' time. Except the part where I'm here… that wedding was totally silly, by the way."

For once, there's actually a genuine laugh at the talk of his alien pod. Their first first meeting had been different, and now they've been working together in a way for months. They continue to lower until Peter's feet finally impact solid ground. The earth is rocky, with sparce grass. Roots break ground here and there. The gravity defying power finally gets to stop. They might be a little damp and cold, but it's warm enough with the sun fighting it's way through the trees. "The wedding was crazy. The bride and groom are a bit out there, though. If you think I'm an alien, you don't know Meryl." And she's even the one without an ability! Craziness. Though he can finally let go of her, and he does, one of his hands sneak up to touch her bleached blonde hair, even more windblown than normal. "I don't mind spending my 'me' time with you."

Daphne peeks to either side as they sneak up to the ground and then, whomp, a soft landing from him means she can shimmy off of his poor feet. The ground feels totally familiar under her running shoes and she relishes the reality of it even with the enjoyment of the flight. She brings her hands back to herself to rub an arm and aid that sunshine. From afternoon to evening to sunset to sun. Speaking of crazy. "I definitely don't know Meryl," the speedster retorts, "It's not like I was there for her." In great timely fashion, he follows with hair-touching and that little sentiment. It's true, her hair is always something but now it's scattered in a way even her running doesn't seem to cause. Her eyes dart to try and trace his movement. "I guess you're not completely terrible either. I mean, you have good taste."

The movement stays at her hair, as scattered as it may be. Peter might be trying to push it behind her ear, but he's really just marvelling at how it seems to defy gravity. Good taste makes him laugh again, faintly. The smile's lopsided, messed up by his lower lip, which hangs differently than it should. His hand finally drops away from her hair, fingertips brushing her cheek on the way down. There's almost a sigh for a moment before he asks, "Will you be at the next meeting?"

Daphne's hair is clearly just awesome. There's no other way around it - though Peter's making a valiant effort over there. The longer it keeps up, the more her lips jut out in what could be an infamous start to that 'okay you crazy and i'm gonna tell you why' expression. Unfortunately, his crooked smile hanging on pretty much begs one out of her, too. But for the very briefest second, happening to be the one with contact to her cheek, she has no look at all. His question saps that all up. She isn't disappointed, surely not; that's just exasperation as she glances in the air and quips, "Maybe." Her hand reaches behind and pats her back pocket. "Business as usual? That's right, I've got what I need. So, thanks for the tour and stuff. Everything ends sometime." There's a moment's hesitation before she kicks off of a heel. It's over just like that; now it's Peter hair that's wind-whipped.

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