Aug 26 22:17:05 105 PA

From Chronicles

The current game time is: Wed Aug 26 22:17:05 105 PA.

The Kingsdale Plaza Park stretches out to the west approximately sixteen-hundred feet until it meets with a residential area. The ground is covered with sporadic grass and wild flowers. Deep craters from some long-ago weapons fire cover this area of the park making the ground uneven and in some places difficult to walk. Nonetheless, this area has seen extensive use by the people of Kingsdale. Bike trails criss-cross the area and one of the craters has been filled with water where duck and other water birds come. These waterfoul seem to have quite a good living too, with people almost always present to feed them. Here and there are stands of conifer trees that people often sit beneath to read and otherwise forget the trials and tribulations of city life. The exception to this is during the night though, and nobody comes to the park after dark unless they are either foolhardy in the extreme or looking for trouble. The wind blows through the area unhampered and on good days it carries with it the laughter of children feeding ducks and the sweet scent of pine and wild flowers. Benches and places to sit are also scattered through the park area, and to the south is a Pavillion of five statues -- all previous dictators and people of note to Kingsdale's past.

It is late into the evening. The sound of crickets chirping in autumn provide a chorus against an otherwise deafening silence. The path through the park has it's occupants-- couples, the occasional athlete, and then there is Rag. He can be seen at a sprinter's pace making laps through the park-- working up a sweat and passing the unenhanced by.

A figure appears on the path, making her way to the side of the water filled crater. Obviously not a jogger, and since she is alone, not a romantic trip, but she is casually dressed, in a Moe's work shirt, and a pair of old jeans that hug her hips. Her hair is a chaotic mess of curls, untamed, and loose.

Ragnar buzzes by-- more of a blurr than an actual figure. He does slow down afterwards-- possibly even beforehand. Like a car that has the gas let up-- the man slows to a stop. He breathes heavy, but is by no means out of breath. Looking back over his shoulder he looks towards the figure-- then fully turns around after a time, looking for her escort or escorts.

Recognisable in the dim light, Aimee settles herself on one of the fallen logs, resting her chin in her hands. She stares into the water, her face thoughtful, her teeth catching at her lower lip. The blurr does draw her attention and she turns her head with a small frown, tilting her head slightly.

Ragnar tches after a moment, looking off towards the water. He takes the towel from around his neck to dap against his face and soak up the sweat-- heading towards the log but stopping at a tree and leaning back against it.

Aimee tilts her head back to look up at him, her mouth curving into a smile, one eyebrow arching. "Mon jumelee..." She greets him, moving up the log slightly to offer him a seat. "Have you stopped being so cross with me, or are you sulking?"

"I can't stay mad at you," the young man says as he slides over to sit down on the log. He ruffles the back of his hair before he continues, "Can't say the same about dad. He still isnt talking to me."

"For using the drugs? Oui, I can see that. Perhaps he doesn't wish to lose you, perhaps he loves you too much." She looks away, towards the water, her chin lifting slightly. "I think perhaps I am still mad with you." She admits softly before looking at him, green eyes narrowed. "And what do you mean, judge me? For what?"

Ragnar has a more relaxed approach. The night running has done some good for all that pent up energy. He looks over with just his eyes to his sister-- same eyes, the beauty of genetics. "Then still be mad at me, I'm still your brother," he says-- as if explaining some twist of fate to her. Leaning forward, the young man puts his hands on his knees-- looking out at the lake, "You're still on that, too. You don't have to be coy with me, you know. At least my flaws are right out there."

She shrugs, the movement gaelic and she tosses her head, her curls bobbing. "And mine are hidden I suppose, oui?" That is almost a snap, irritation in her face. "You don't change from being my twin because you take the drugs and kill yourself with them..." She shakes her head again, then sighs. "Imbecile." Soft. Affectionate.

Ragnar laughs at that-- probably the most genuine laugh he has had in a few weeks. It ends with a sigh and the man straightening up-- looking over with an amused pair of eyes through the dark downplayed hair, "I'm a soldier. Dying is what we are good at. Some sooner than others-- with or without the drugs." He shakes his head, "Not everyone can be like Dad." He gives his more fair twin a smirk, "Thankfully."

Her face relaxes into a smile, then a laugh and she shoulder nudges him, green eyes laughing up at him. "Oui, thankfully. I wouldn't want that, but...I would rather you not die too soon." She tilts her head slightly, giving him a considering look. "Did you like mon chat?"

"He seems sincere enough," Ragnar tells her with a casual tone-- voice still not as deep as one would expect from a soldier or a merc due to his age. "But thats doesnt mean I'm going to love him," he tells her with a squinted glare. It relaxes as he smirks, "He said something about having a similar story. That he came here lost, as well."

She gives him a sisterly look of exasperation before replying. "You would have to ask him, mon jumelee..." She shakes her head, biting at her lip. "It is a long story, I think..." She changes the topic, giving him a narrow eyed look. "And you still didn't answer what you are judging..."

Ragnar motions a red gloved hand idly, "Oh-- I didn't know that you became that oblivious to the way you look when you dress yourself. Sure, some perspective for you: You dress like a tease at best and a prostitute at worst," he tells her bluntly. "Not quite the image of a good upstanding young lady."

Temper sparks in her eyes, fire rising in the green. "Perhaps, mon jumelee, that would be because I was a prostitute." Her voice has a low purr in it, a sound he would remember from their teenage years, a dangerous noise. "Mon chat didn't like it so I work the bar, until we can buy one but ... oui, I was a whore." Her voice is offering a challenge, her chin up.

Ragnar isn't the judgemental type-- and perhaps thats all he ever wants in return. "My sister. The whore," he says-- a cheshire tone to her anger. "And her brother-- the drug addict." The man snickers at that-- having a sly tone to his voice, "Oui. The irony. Like we are bound together, attached to an ironcast ball, and thrown in the ocean."

For a second, the temper flares more, burning hotter, and then his sly tone gives her pause, realisation rising. "Oh you imbecile!" She laughs then, shaking her head. "And it will be your sister, the club owner, soon." She nudges him again, using her shoulder, giving him a sidelong look of affection. "Mon chat didn't like sharing. He beat up a customer."

Ragnar gives a sidelong smirk to his sister and scoots closer, "That explains his reaction when you sat on my lap." He nudges her back-- but considering he has all that subtle strength, does so gently, "And why you did it. No sharing-- hmmm."

"Well, sometimes, it is fun to tease him, just a little." She hesitates, a thought rising in her face, his knowledge of her making it easy to spot the brief change. "He does share with one." She confesses softly, giving him a small smile. "Kesslan. Mon minet."

Ragnar smiles lightly, "You have become so scandalious." He looks back to the lake, "So what is this one's story-- and makes him so special."

She rolls her eyes, the movement making her look the teenager she is for a moment. "Dad would blow his top..." She murmurs. "I did it because it is easy to make money, mon jumelee, and I am good at it." She shrugs lightly, "And mon chat? or mon minet? Kesslan is unique, honey, he is from another place, like a cat but not..."

"I am noticing quite a bit of that," the young soldier says as he stands up-- unable to just sit around for long periods of time. Ragnar begins to stretch against a tree. "You and cats.. D-bee cats at that. I certainly didnt expect any of this when I left Laramy." Of course he didnt expect anything. Or care to expect anything for that matter.

"Well...there is just something about knowing your lover can pull you apart..." She shivers lightly, giving him a laughing look. "I tried to settle with a doctor, a nice man, but non, he didn't do anything for me, and mon chat sooooo does." She twists, straddling the log to look at him, her hands resting on the log. "Did you know I was here?"

Ragnar is-- extremely flexible. Its hard to say if that was the drugs or if that is just how Ragnar is. He has always been an athletic sort-- focusing on balance arts like acrobatics and gymnastics. He his leg high up on the tree as he leans against it. "I knew you were in Kingsdale. I did not know where in Kingsdale. I figured I would find work sooner than I found you, but there is an idle irony that I found you first as a place I would go to look for work," he tells her, "I guess that goes into the whole 'can tear you apart' bit. Juicers are-- well-- I could probably bench you with one finger now."

She watches him stretch, leaning her weight into her hands, watching him through a curl that falls over her eyes. "It is..." She murmurs. "They need bouncers there, if you want work. Perhaps, when mon chat and mon minet and I, we get the money for the club, you can work with me, if you plan to stasy?"

Ragnar switches to the other leg. He holds the position there, "I don't know if I am staying, but I could use the work. Bouncer work really isnt suited for me-- but sitting around is worse." The young man goes on as the lean muscles stretch against the bark, "I'm just keeping my eyes open-- my mind open. I trust Felicia. Its hard to accept, I know I am stubborn, but I have to believe she is right. There is a reason. So my goal is to find that reason-- and that could take me anywhere."

She shrugs lightly, turning her face towards the water. "So, she fell?" She asks softly, carefully not looking at him. "She said there is a reason for her death and you not?" Her voice is soft, sympathetic. "What do you think... what did they say?" The they in this comment leans back to their childhood when they was always parents.

"No-- not that kind of reason," Ragnar explains as he straightens himself after the stretch. He looks out to the lake-- resting a hand onto the tree. "She fell because I could not support our weight-- she knew that. The earth-- it was so fresh after the ledge collapsed." The young man closes his emerald eyes where the moonlight can no longer hit them, "But why then-- why at all? Why survive? Why forget me-- and remember me? There are so many questions-- and so much pain. All you can do is-- have faith. Not in God. Not in love. But-- something. A reason." He opens his eyes-- falling back into a soldier-hard stance on this, "It doesnt do me well to think about it, so I don't. I have to do /something/-- my profession isn't to think or theorize-- its to do."

She rises from her perch, going to him at the first sound of pain in his voice, her face reflecting the pain back at him. "Then come and guard me at work, mon jumelee..." Softly spoken as she reaches out to touch him, the feelings reflecting in her eyes. "There is a reason for everything, honey, God'll show us in his own good time." The first sign that she does still believe.

Ragnar has an empty look on his face. It is like looking at a soul encased in a beautiful crystal sheen of ice. When he gets rigid-- he looks like this. "I'll guard you-- until something else come up or you find someone better," he says-- voice direct. A hand runs up his chest and over the silver cross that is on his choker, "God... You still believe in god, soeur? I can't say I do-- I have a conflicted relationship with him. I believe in her. She believes in him. So I look to him-- despite myself. Its the least I could do for her." Then he looks to his dark haired twin, "And you as well-- if you still believe. It'll ease the tension between me and 'God' that way."

She shrugs, a tiny movement, "I believe." She comments softly, "I wouldn't live with mon chat until we were engaged, because of sin. Contradiction, non?" Soft amusement runs beneath her words, mocking herself. She touches his arm, running her hand down it. "Stay with us, here, until you know a little better what you will do. You can live with us, if you wish...Desmond already offered, so."

Ragnar smiles softly, "I know it was offered-- but I have a place." He has that matter-of-factly look on his face and in his voice, "Us Juicers get paid pretty damned well. Its almost as if the whole world knows that we are an expensive commodity." He moves over to ruffle his sister's hair, "I need space and-- living with a couple would just wrench my heart, sis."

Aimee gives him a smile, small but warm, and lets him ruffle her hair, the movement causing a curl to fall over her forehead. Once, there was a girl, who had a little curl... "Three, not a couple." She comments softly, "Mon minet will live with us once we find a way to stop his radiation..." She shrugs lightly, "But it might be a little while."

"You get the idea, though. If I need a haven-- I know where to go," Ragnar says with a nod of his head-- causing some of the downplayed hair to shake. "For now, the best you can do for me is to keep your eyes open. I'll stand a better chance at getting my goals accomplished with friends and family. Like Dad used to say 'Dont be a hero. Rely on your team. A true hero's strength would lie in the hearts of his friends.' Paraphrased, mind."

"And I'll cook for you." She offers softly, her smile warming her eyes. "Mum used to say, don't be a hero, they are always dead." She comments quickly, the memory showing in her eyes. "You have me, and mon chat, and my friends here, and I'm sure Desmond can find you something." She hesitates, "There is a mysterious fight he talks about sometimes, perhaps he can use you for that. Saving the world."

Ragnar laughs darkly. He used to talk about that. One day he would 'Change the world, save the girl.' Right now he is batting 0. "Saving the world, eh? One helluva thing to put on the resume. I'll have to look into that. Good career move, non?"

"Perhaps it will look pretty on your cv, non?" She tilts her head, giving him a look that holds consideration. "A good career move, so long as you both don't die in the process. I think one of you would be bad, but both...all three. Mon minet goes too."

Ragnar smirks, having a dark sense of humor, "Ah don't worry. Im sure at least one of us will come back. Good odds of it at least."

The sense of humour doesn't appeal to her and she turns on her heel to face him, her temper flaring, the green eyes burning. "That isn't funny!" The turn is used to carry the lift of her hand, aiming a slap towards his cheek.

Ragnar could probably move out of the way of that. From his eyes-- its like watching someone attempt to slap him through water. He doesnt stop it. "Haha-- ow. Sure it is. You see there are three of us and..." he grins.

She is clearly furious, and it doesn't stop with the slap, however little it touches him. She lifts both hands to slap down on his chest, facing up to him, her chin lifted. "Non, it isn't. I wouldn't joke about Felicia. It isn't funny."

Ragnar smirks a bit and stops-- because that smile is forced. "Alright-- I get it. You have no sense of humor. Fine fine," he says.

"I have a sense of humour, you just don't know when to let go." She snaps, and then stops, horror rising in her eyes, her hand rising to cover her mouth, to take back that phrase before it got out, but too late.

Ouch. He was already expending a bit trying to play it off-- and it looks like he did a good job of it until the line got pushed-- over a cliff. Ragnar's face drops as he stares at Aimee, his voice grows cold, "No. I think I do. Maybe one day you'll be equally fortunate enough to experience it, too." He steps forward and past her. "Goodbye, Aimee," he says-- funny how they always seem to end it on a note of dischord.

"Rag, wait!" Her voice holds all the urgency reflected in her face. "I didn't mean that, I meant the topic. You have to push the damn topic until you make me mad." She turns, following, "You joke about me losing them and you, and you think that is alright?"

Ragnar stops on a dime and turns to Aimee as she goes to follow. His hands move like minor blurrs as he grabs the hem of her pants in one hand and lifts her effortlessly a foot off of the ground. "Because /they/ are still alive and /you/ dont have to deal with the constant reminder that /you/ are responsible for the death of someone who cared about you and understood you in a world where everyone /hates/ you. No one hates you, they adore you, and they," he drops her, letting her fall on her feet or her ass, "are still alive. Don't try to compare the two because you have a cronic foot-in-mouth disease."

She wiggles, kicking out, a wordless yell coming from her mouth. "Ragnar! Stop! Put me down, imbecile!" His words penetrate the struggling girl's head and she stops, squirming to give him a look, "Oui, it isn't the same, and I'm sorry." She replies, her voice dropping a few decibels. "But I have to worry that they will die and I won't know..."

Ragnar huffs-- exhaling a breath. He can't fault her for that. "Well I'm not dying anytime soon. Im more human than human. Yeah-- one day I will die-- but one day we all die-- and I promise you I'm not going to die and leave you wondering if I died or not." He puts a hand to his head, "Thats a mouthful-- and I doubt they will either."

She stares up at him, resting her hands on her hips. "Desmond is hardly a weak man, mon jumelee..." She speaks softly, the temper leaving her as quickly as it came. "He says there is a ship. That they all have to go there and fight some robots and that they might all die." The words come out flatly, emotionless. "What, you will send me a note?"

"Yes," Ragnar says matter-of-factly, "I'll send you a fucking note. I will fight death and discomfort, claw my way out of hell, nirvana, or what-ever just so I can get to the post office in time to let you know that I died." He snorts, "I'll make it a fucking post card."

Aimee stares at him for a long moment, silent for once, her lips tightening, her face pale except for two red spots on her cheeks where her temper shows. She doesn't speak before she turns on her heel, walking away, her back straight.

Ragnar shouts out, "What do you /want/, Aimee? You've got my word. Even Death knows better to fuck with that!"

She turns on her heel, her voice carrying well across the distance between them. "I don't want you to die!" She turns, the same movement used to angrily brush at her cheeks, pushing tears away as she starts to walk away again.

Ragnar sighs lightly. He walks hastily-- being in front of her before she knows it. He moves his hand around her waist to give her a hug, explaining, "I wont die. Not just yet. I have things to do, remember? And I'm pretty stubborn-- I'm not going anywhere til I get it done."

She stops, letting him hug her, a hesitation before she leans into the embrace. "Promise?" She asks, knowing it is an impossible promise, the tears making her green eyes shine. "I don't want to lose mon chat, jumelee..." She sniff, inelegant.

Ragnar places a hand on his sister's head and an arm around her waist to give her a hug. "You won't. I know what it feels like-- do you think I want to put anyone through that?"

She shakes her head slowly, "I don't think you have so much of a choice, not if they are there trying to kill you all." She shrugs lightly, before returning the hug. "No more jokes about it, non?"

Ragnar lets go of the hug afterwards and does seem to agree, "Alright-- less jokes on the topic. Or rather, none."

Aimee nods, giving him a watery smile, using her fingertips to brush the tears away. "No jokes on it, and perhaps you can go with him and look after him for me." She reaches for his hand, aiming to squeeze it. "Come and eat tonight?"

Ragnar lets the hand be squeezed-- it laden in metal studs and red leather. "Its a date," he says with a light smile. Another hair ruffle, "Alright-- I'll see you then."

Aimee grins up at him, the tears washed away with that. "Alright. Tonight." She turns, walking towards the exit of the park. Location:Kingsdale - Plaza Park Tags:aimee, ragnar