2007-04-20: Sunday in the Park With Sunday

Starring:

Eliana_icon.gif Jane_icon.gif Lachlan_icon.gif Sunday_icon.gif

Summary:

Lachlan runs into Eliana in the park and then Sunday runs into them and shows off her interesting "art" involving Polaroids. Eliana buys a photograph. Jane comes along and a man with a dog whistle upsets her and Lachlan. Lachlan has words with the man, who winds up hiring him as a dog trainer. Jane tells Lachlan about her abilities.

Date It Happened: April 20th, 2007

Sunday in the Park With Sunday


Central Park

The sun is, thankfully, still high enough in the sky to provide warmth and light when Eliana gets off work. As she has done these last few days, the young waitress with pink hair has detoured through Central Park on her way home. Having given up writing, Eliana lies on her belly in one of the park's many sprawls of uninterrupted grass, a paperback bent in her hands. Her bike is propped up on it's kickstand not far from her, and a moleskin notebook and pen can be seen sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans.

Though Bonnie has become more Cass' dog than Lachlan's of late, the Scotsman still co-owns her, so to speak, and with events being as they have been lately, he needs some canine companionship. That's how he's wound up walking the half-grown Irish wolfhound-mix, who has gotten quite a bit bigger since she was given to him. He absently holds a ball in his free hand and occasionally tosses it, allowing Bonnie to run the length of her retractable leash to fetch it. She's very good at it. It's only by chance that the ball — and, thus, Bonnie — happens to bounce toward Eliana on one of those absent throws, and that brings Lachlan's attention to the pink-haired waitress. "Hey," he grunts as he nears. "Sorry."

Bonnie gets Eliana's attention before Lachlan does. The young woman startles a bit, barely recognizing the dog who has grown so much. She leans over and picks up the ball before she begins to sit up, and when she finds Lachlan coming toward her at the other end of that leash, she can't help but smile a little. "What'd you do to Bonnie?" she asks, for that's clearly who this dog must be.

Wagwagwag goes Bonnie's tail, tongue lolling in a happy puppy grin. She sits obediently on the grass next to Eliana at a command from Lachlan, tail going even faster behind her. "Nothin'," the Scotsman utters in reply. "Just fed 'er." He plops down unceremoniously nearby, not bothering to wait for an invitation. "So. How ye been?" One hand rests over Bonnie's back.

The girl turns the ball in her fingers, the smile on her face steady yet stagnant. "I've been alright. Saw your girl a few days ago." And the fact that Eliana is still breathing is definitely a good sign. "You?"

Sunday in the park. … Well, yeah, that too. But on this /particular/ Sunday in the park, Sunday is, herself, in the park. The girl so-named pauses a moment as she wheels her way through on one of the many paths, reflecting (as she fiddles with the ancient Polaroid Instamtic camera hanging from a strap around her neck) that it would have been better to be named Saturday. Then, at least, her presence in the park would have a theme song. It would, also, be cool if the man selling icecream, over there, would sing some Italian songs.
Ah, well.
The dogs get her attention, so she wheels a broad arc and comes to stand before Lachlan and company, instructing the humans present, "Say cheese!" before popping off a photo. CHUG-Bzzzzt! Goes the old Polaroid, spitting out its dull green film.

"Yeah?" Cass hadn't mentioned anything about seeing Eliana. Maybe she just didn't want to talk about it. /Lachlan/ surely wouldn't have wanted to, considering the awkwardness. "Yer, uh, still alive, so I'm guessin' it went a'righ'?" He grins a little, but this soon becomes an expression of shock and surprise when there's suddenly a camera and someone asking him to say "cheese". The picture Sunday snaps will be less than remarkable as far as subjects are concerned: Lachlan is staring with lips slightly parted, eyes widened; Bonnie is grinning stupidly with a "lolwat?" expression. This moment in time is frozen forever, but the Scotsman continues to move and react long after the flash is done. "The bloody /hell/?" he growls. "Wha'd ye do tha' fer?"

Like Lachlan, Eliana is taken by surprise when the picture is snapped, her own expression one of shocked confusion - but at least she's not trying to catch flies. As startled as she may be by some random girl on rollerskates snapping a picture - which could be used against her, if someone wished to do so or someone cared - Eliana is equally startled by Lachlan's reaction. She turns and looks at him, keeping that same shock on her face before she tosses the ball at his arm. "It's not like she stole your soul."

Quick, quick like a bunny, Sunday sits and hunches over the slowly developing photo. In her hand in something which reseumbles a Palm stylus, and the stylus is being traced over the photo, racing time. "I don't deal in souls," she backs up Eliana, not looking up from her work. "Just hearts. And ocasionally wallets. But it's been a shitty day for wallets…"
As the photo develops, it becomes clear what she's doing with the stylus is manipulating the emulsion of chemicals, altering the image within. Bonnie's lolling tonue is comically long now; Lachlan's wide eyes the size of tennis balls; Eliana's hair longer and wilder. The background has been traced over to look like an impressionist painting, colourful and bright-bordered. It's the moment the way it might be viewed by a fairy… or someone tripping balls. As it is, it's interesting work.

Tunk! The ball bounces off of Lachlan's arm, and Bonnie's head snaps around to stare at it as it rolls harmlessly a few inches. Then she half-bounds after it, catches it up in her jaws, and turns to deposit it again by Eliana's knee. Play? Lachlan just grumbles something incomprehensible, scowling and rubbing at his arm in a very sulky manner. Grumblegrumblegrowl. He watches Sunday's antics with the photo with a bit of curiosity and distrust, and when he sees the final result, he blinks. Stares. Then frowns. "Tha' … wha'?" Confused Lachlan is confused.

But Eliana doesn't pick up the ball and toss it again when it is returned to her; she's too busy watching Sunday. That smile slowly returns to her face, but it widens quickly. "Hey," she whispers in growing awe. "I haven't seen that…well, ever! Except in books. Mentions and what not. That is /neat./" Because it clearly is. And…well, wallet be damned. "How much?"

"Yes," Sunday confirms to Lachlan, sagenodding and dimpling. "I see you're speechless/that/… is the power of art, my friend. ART." She nods and waves the altered photo at Lachlan, putting on her best smile. "And it's yours for the bargain price of only five American dollars." She perks her eyebrows. "Just think what it'll be worth when I'm famous! Then you can say, 'I knew her when…' ANDin the meantime—can you really put a price on this memento of time spend with your dearest companions? Hold on to the memories!"
She beams at Eliana. "A discerning eye! Only five dollars, ma'am." She hands the polaroid over to Eliana. "And thank you for supporting the arts!"

Babblebabblebabble five dollars, babblebabble dearest companions. That's all Lachlan really hears. It /is/ pretty cool, he must admit — except the part where his eyeballs are wide and goofy-looking. The Scotsman is settling down, but he doesn't reach for his wallet to pay. Nope. /He's/ not keeping that. He doesn't /care/ about art. "She's no' m'companion," he growls, referring to Eliana. Bonnie whines softly when her ball is ignored. /Plaaaaay/?

As much as Eliana agrees with Lachlan about the companion remark, she still smiles at him as she reaches for her wallet and pulls out five ones - most likely tips earned today. "Maybe she was talking about Bonnie," she offers, and once the bills are handed over and the picture taken, Eliana tosses the ball for the wolfhound so that she won't be annoyed as she admires the tiny piece of art.

Sunday pockets her earnings, smiling contentedly as though all were now right with the world. "I was refering to both human and animal companions—if she's not your companion, you should change that. She has an eye for art after all; it might rub off on you."
Grinning, she asides to Eliana, "I'm Sunday, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"'ve a'ready /got/ a bloody companion," huffs Lachlan, feeling not at all comfortable with this conversation. "Dunna /need/ any bloody art." Maybe. Perhaps. Cass doesn't seem the type to go for art or anything. Hmm. The Scotsman keeps a firm grip on Bonnie's retractable leash as the dog bounds after the ball and returns with it much as she did before. Ball drop. Tail wag. Playplayplay.

But the ball is uncerimoniously passed to Lachlan. "Maybe you could have Sunday here - it's nice to meet you Sunday," she adds, looking up and smiling at the girl before she turns again to Lach. "You could have Sunday drop in on you and Cass at some sort of…I dunno, when you go out or something, and surprise her with it. I'm sure she'd at least think it was interesting."

"Oh, pish posh," drawls Sunday, looking impishly like she's getting a kick out of the grumpy Scotsman. "One can never have too many companions."
Once again she beams at Eliana, She of the Great Taste and Even Better Ideas. "That's a great idea. I am, as it happens, available to do commissions and without pressing engagements in the near future."

Lachlan absently accepts the ball and tosses it out of reflex, sending Bonnie galloping after. He considers Eliana's idea, frowning even more, though now it's /thoughtful/ rather than affronted. Hmmm. It's not like he's tight on money, though he ought to watch it now, considering. He glances between the two women. "Mebbe. Ye, uh, got a number 'r somethin'?"

Now it's Eliana's turn to beam at Sunday, pleased she could help out a fellow artist. She doesn't say anything, but goes back to admiring her newly purchased picture, tilting her head, and it, as she does so.

Sunday flashes Eliana a brilliant smile before nodding happily to Lachlan. "I do!" She pats herself down for a piece of paper and writing implement, finally scrawling a number on the back of a receipt. "Just give me a ring if you and your girl are out and aboutI'll happily wheel by and snap off some pics!"
Her Polaroid left to hang about her neck from its strappy thing, she gives both Lach and Eliana two thumbs up. "It was a pleasure to meet you both. Have an awesome evening!" And she's off to swindle
er, introduce ART—to more unsuspecting people in the park. An artiste's work is never done.

Bonnie returns with the ball and drops it into Lachlan's open palm, but he doesn't throw it again immediately. He peers after Sunday with that same frown, then looks over at Eliana, then at the paper in his hand. "City's fulla kooks." That is his assessment of the situation.
Jane has arrived.

"You and I are chief among them," Eliana says idly as she admires the picture, but a moment later she looks up across the green. There's a glimmer in her eye, and soon she's dropped the picture in order to nearly rip the notebook and pen from her pocket to write down the pair of lines.

Not usually the normal reaction to having a conversation with Lachlan — unless you're a police officer taking a statement. The Scotsman lifts an eyebrow and peers over Eliana's shoulder at the notebook. "Wha're ye writin'?" Bonnie whines, then drops onto her chest and barks, pawing at the ball in his hand. He frowns at her, orders her to sit, and then returns his attention to Eliana when the dog obeys.

"What you said," Eliana answers. "And what I said. It was…poignant. Poetic. Almost 'coffeespoon' quality." She smiles as she rounds out the compound sentence and reads it over again before she looks up at Bonnie, then Lach. "A girl's got to make a living."

Entering the park, maybe within view of Eliana, Lachlan, and Bonnie, maybe not, is a guitarist of their acquaintance. Jane's a bit calmer now than earlier when she upbraided Jaden Cane after her session with Miss Bishop. Screaming in the woods with no one seeing her and no glass to shatter has helped with that immensely. She looks much the same as she normally might, except perhaps appearing a little to tired side, carrying the guitar case and backpack as she tends to do. Her attire is a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, dark jeans, and the two inch heeled boots.

Regardless of whether or not they're in view of Doctor Forrest as she makes her way in, a thirty-something man and his mid-sized dog are in that path. The canine breaks away from his grasp and takes off, leash trailing on the ground behind her. The dog owner wastes little time in pulling out an ultrasonic whistle and blowing into it repeatedly. For Jane, this is Unpleasant, to say the least. Her first course is to try willing herself not to react visibly, and the second to attempt a countermeasure.

Both efforts fail, and Jane's soon moving away from the path of those two, wincing and holding a hand to her ears for some moments while hoping no one sees her reaction.

Any references made by Eliana go right over Lachlan's head, but this is not unusual. He just assumes that 'poignant' is a good thing and shrugs a little. "A'righ'." Whatever you say, Eli. The dog whistler is not pleasant for Bonnie either, who whines and takes on a withdrawn, pained sort of expression — and thus it is /definitely/ not pleasant for Lachlan, whose head snaps up and whose eyes narrow dangerously at the culprit. He spots Jane, but his focus is on the man and his whistle, and the Scotsman rises to his feet. Time to lay the smackdown. He drops Bonnie's leash near Eliana's elbow — "Hol' this." — and then starts toward the man. "Oy!" he snaps angrily. "Quit blowin' tha' bloody whistle b'fore I stuff it down yer throat."

GAME: Eliana has rolled TEMPO CONTROL and got a result of GREAT.

Whoa. There's a dog leash, and an angry Scotsman, and…Jane? Eliana takes the leash, but she doesn't get up from the grass. "Lach!" she calls, but the name gets choked in her throat. Shit. What does this look like? Eliana's face starts to pinken, but it soon goes pale again as Eliana harnesses her heart. Down, girl. Easy.

The man whistling after his dog catches up to her when she stops and retakes the leash, only to then hear and see Lachlan coming at him. He doesn't look much the fighting sort, and so at the sight of this Scotsman and his approaching wrath his face takes on an expression which can only be described as Ack! The whistle is quickly pocketed, and he moves to be elsewhere. Quick.

Jane, a few seconds after Lachlan rescues her without direct intent, lowers her hands and resumes walking forward. She acts as if nothing just happened, and soon spots the pair ahead. Booted feet head in their direction, she reserves speech until getting closer.

But Lachlan's not about to let it slide so easily. He picks up his pace to follow after the whistler. When it comes to the well-being of dogs, well, he's notoriously stubborn. "Oy! Hey!" Still doesn't look like a happy Scotsman. "D'ye use tha' whistle ta train yer dog?" Doesn't sound like a very friendly question.

The dog owner, hearing the Scot's voice coming toward him still, stops on his tracks. He turns to face the man and answer. "I do. The dog gets away sometimes, and… I don't know any better way to calm her down." He doesn't want to fight or have an argument of any kind, he just wants to walk his dog and get home. Maybe this accented man is a trainer who has ideas. He certainly sounds like one. "Do you have suggestions?"

Jane glances behind her as Lach storms past and continues on toward Eliana and Bonnie. "Hey," she greets, sounding and looking a bit fatigued. "Good to see you."

It's as if Eliana was avoiding Jane's eyes, as if she /did/ have something to hide, even if she doesn't. "Hey," she says as Jane nears, instinctively holding the leash a bit tighter. "You okay?" Lachlan storming off and Jane's general appearance and demeanor doesn't leave much to the imagination for Eliana.

"Yeah, I've got suggestions," growls Lachlan as he catches up to the poor dog owner. "Stop usin' tha' bloody whistle. Dog doesna like it. Keep a better hol' o' the bloody leash an' mebbe she wouldna get away from ye. Try trainin' 'er ta have better recall an' she'll come ta ye when ye call 'er." Tact is definitely not his strongest suit, and though the man is complacent, Lachlan has a poor track record when it comes to temper. He's not /shouting/ at least — that's something.

"I'm good, Eliana," the brunette answers. Jane's playing down the dog whistle issue, wanting not to think about having failed and how much she sucks for having nonsuccess. "How about you?" Her eyes lower and rest on whatever written material might be around.

The chastised dog owner, swallowing nervously, answers Lachlan. "O, okay. Are you a trainer, sir? You sound experienced." He pulls out a fifty dollar bill and holds it forward as potential payment for services, along with a card and number printed on it.

As it is, Eliana's notebook is open on her lap, the single sentence she had penned emblazoned across the top of the page: The city's full of kooks; you and I are chief among them. "Good, I guess," Eliana says, her fingers fumbling in the grass beside her to try and edge the emulsified Polaroid under her thigh so that it is out of sight. "Are you still recording stuff?"

"Yeah, I'm a trainer." Any /normal/ person with any sense of business would see this as an opportunity to push his expertise and hand over a card. Lachlan doesn't seem to pick up on this. Then he wonders why his business is floundering. "An' I dunna use whistles either." /Grunt/.

Nothing of Eliana's concealment is noticed, Jane glances up at her after reading the single line and chuckles. She definitely doesn't feel normal, so the phrase strikes her as humorous. "We are, soon. Contract signing is tomorrow, I suppose I'll trot out the lawyer garb and look the part for that." She flashes a grin of triumph, elation. "How's the scribing going?"

The dog owner, seeing his hand still holding the fifty dollars and the card, blinks. "Would you like some work, then, sir? Here's payment in advance, call the number on the card and we can set up times to work with Erin." Erin would be the dog he's now holding with a secure grip on her leash.

Hmmf. Lachlan grudgingly accepts the money and the card, glances over the latter, then pockets both. "A'righ', then." Righteous fury thusly /ruined/, he turns and stalks off, sending a few pleasant signals to Erin's brain. When he reaches Eliana and Jane again, he slumps down onto the grass next to Bonnie once more and grumbles, "Bloody morons." Then: "Hey." This is directed at Jane.

Eliana merely shrugs. "It goes. I don't have anything new for you, though. Sorry." When Lachlan nears again, Eliana tries to look apathetic. "Did you punch him in the face?"

The dog owner departs with a happy and complacent Erin, thinking that came out well. Didn't get his ass kicked all over the park and found a trainer too. All's well that ends fifty dollars poorer!

Jane answers Eliana first. She nods as a preface to it, not seeming troubled at the not existing of new songs. "Good stuff takes time, sometimes the inspiration isn't there." And on to the returning, slumping Scot. "Yeah," she offers in a sigh. "I hate dog whistles too. Damned things fucking hurt."

"Nah." Lachlan ruffles Bonnie's head absently, sending the dog into a tail-wagging frenzy. "He gave me money, tol' me ta call 'im an' set up an appointment fer dog-trainin'." Something went right, apparently. He pauses and peers up at Jane, squinting curiously. "Wha'?" They hurt, sure, but why would they hurt /her/?

The guitarist watches Lachlan with the dog for a moment, and only partly registers the question at first. When it does fully sink in, Jane answers "Oh. Yeah. It's part of my thing. I can make it, but I hear it too." She sets down her gear and sinks to sit in the grass, relaxing and taking advantage of the warm weather that's set in today. "Spring," she murmurs. In her mind, it's a good day to not be dead. And she's privately glad not to be, given the earlier experience.

Make … what? Lachlan either doesn't recall ever learning Jane's abilities, or he just never did. Whatever the case, he continues to stare at her in a confused manner until the subject seems to shift, and then he just shrugs and goes silent. Hmm.

Jane raises an eyebrow at the reaction, seemingly confused herself. She told Lachlan, or at least thinks she did, didn't she? Well, in any case she at least partly did, just now, so… she elects to fill in the blanks. "I make and hear sound above the range of human hearing, Lachlan. Ultrasound. So those dog whistles, they hurt. I worked out a way to jam them, but it doesn't always work."

"… oh." Small words: they work wonders on Lachlan's brain and understanding. Then, he figures he'd better return the favor, just in case he hadn't before: "Dogs talk inta m'head. The whistles hurt 'em, so s'no' 'zactly nice fer me neither." He ruffles Bonnie's head again, then grunts softly and lays back in the grass, tucking his hands behind his head. "So. Guess we're all diff'rent."

Tilting her head to regard the Scot, Jane seems curious about something, and gives it voice. "Is it just dogs, Lachlan, or all animals?" Is she curious, or did she maybe meet someone else who hears animals in the mind. Other than that, she's content to enjoy lassitude for a time here in the park on this warm day, and hopefully not be vexed by any other whistles, killed by blonde Electroscorchies, or down in the dumps software CEOs.

Three odd ducks, all in a row. Unlike Lachlan, Eliana stays seated, though she does give Bonnie's leash back to the Scot. As the other two talk, she sits idly by and listens, occasionally laughing or adding something to the conversation. But for the most part, she simply listens. It's not a bad way to spend a late, spring afternoon in New York.

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