route_1065 | You can't dance and stay uptight

Entry tags:

You can't dance and stay uptight

Who: Dale Cooper (

tapestodiane) and Carmen Sandiego (

doitrockapella)
Where: Mahogany Town and Route 44
When: The night of August 31, into September 1
Summary: Amid the Clefairy swarm, a couple of dorks sneak out to look at the moon, eat takeout, and make Attempt #6001 at finding out why Dale Cooper is afraid of birds.
Rating: PG
Log:

[The best part about Agent Cooper's assigned room in the Mahogany Inn, as far as Carmen Sandiego is concerned, is not the simple but pleasant furnishings, the bathroom's water pressure, or the relative proximity to the various amenities the little hostelry in their current town of choice has to offer — it's the fact that there's a rather nice, sturdy tree with low wide branches almost directly outside his bedroom window.

One that she happens to be sitting in, at the moment.

(Granted, she doesn't actually need the help of the tree, of course; if she were really determined to get in his window, there are any number of creative ways she might go about it. The tree just happens to make things convenient, both in terms of support and providing cover, and if it's already there just waiting to accommodate her, well, she might as well put it to good use.)

It's certainly not the first time she's ever spent time lingering in the branches of a tree, and it probably won't be the last, but there is a certain method to her apparent madness tonight. It's the night going into September 1st; in her opinion, that means it's also a fine choice of night for a late-night rendezvous, for a wide variety of reasons. It's a blue moon out, for one thing, and if the sudden appearance of Clefairy bouncing around is any indication, she's not the only one with the thought of dancing in the moonlight on her mind. For another thing, September 1st is four months from May 1st, one-third of a year from the day she first met Special Agent Dale Cooper in person at the Beltane festival in Goldenrod City.

For a third thing, it's her half-birthday. Not that she usually goes out of her way to observe that particular half-holiday, but it's something to think about, nonetheless.

But regardless of which reason she's relying on, the fact remains that she's still sitting rather contentedly on one of the low-hanging branches of the tree, feet (encased in sensible black boots) dangling over the side as she double-checks her count of the inn windows to ensure she's got the right one. It's a little strange to be without her usual red coat and hat tonight; she hasn't worn her charcoal turtleneck and black slacks since Beltane, and there's an odd feeling of exposure that comes with having her hair tied off in a neat side ponytail and the distinct absence of her hat's brim framing her vision. But it's the sort of night that seems to warrant a change of pace, and so for the moment, she's chosen to indulge it.

Her mental count finished and her accuracy confirmed, she gazes thoughtfully at the warm glow of yellow light from behind the closed curtains before reaching for her Gear to send off a message.]

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

[While she waits for her response — be it electronic or in person — she tips her head back to search for stray beams of moonlight that have managed to filter their way down through the crisscrossing canopy of the tree's branches, and thinks of how close she once came to making it into space, herself.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Stealing the moon as well?

_{[He jokes - it clicked in his mind, the memory of that conversation. A rabbit and a raven, then. Maybe an unlikely pair ... then again, maybe not.]

[He'd been watching the trees as well, although for different reasons, but as he remembers something else from the very same talk, he looks over again and leans slightly towards her, making his next words almost conspiratory.]}

I believe you owe me a moon story.

_{[No just watching here, apparently.]}

[She can't help but smile at the overtly conspiratorial gesture he throws in — the lean, the slightly hushed quality of his voice — because there's something charmingly absurd about making a show of secrecy when there's no one out here but the two of them, and the remark wouldn't make sense to anyone eavesdropping anyway.]

I've told you one moon story already. Now you want another?

[She knows exactly what he means, of course, but she remembers that late-night conversation, too, and the banter that inevitably ensued on those nights when he was still simply an intriguing voice through a speaker to her, and the idea of reenacting those moments in some small, adapted way here is proving too tempting to resist.

She turns her eyes back to the silvery light in the sky, keeping her tone light and gentle.]

I don't know if having even the sun and moon both would be worth it, though, if it meant you'd be afraid of me.

_{[Of course he wants another - or rather, the one intended, the one she mentioned back then. But he doesn't make it known, at least not in any words, and lets the slight tug to his smile speak for itself.]

[It turns into something smaller though, when she carries on and he nods in reaction. It's not really a sad or remorseful smile, it's the kind of ah, yeah you'd hear from anyone who'd realized something forgotten.]

[And he summarizes it neatly, softly, open to let her ask the question he figures she wants an answer to.]}

I suppose I never did tell you about that.

Trade me.

[She says it simply, as though the tenor of her remark will somehow color his response in return — that this doesn't have to be difficult, that it can be simple, that it's just one among any other number of questions they've asked each other in the long time they've known each other, and that it can be just as easy to answer as any of the others. Just tell me, it suggests, like it's as easy as that.

She already knows it's not, that it can't possibly be. But this isn't the first time she's maneuvered information out of him before, either.]

Tell me what it is that makes you so afraid, and I'll tell you how I almost joined the rabbit on the moon.

_{[It's surprising how easy it is in his mind, the idea of telling her what's up with the birds. He really has learned a lot in his time here and the importance of sharing and reaching out is one of them. Besides, she already knows he's afraid. And out here, beneath the moon, it really does seem like a story that's easy to tell. Private. But because of the space above, not all that heavy.]}

Alright.

After we find a place to roost.

_{[They're just by the trees. Getting settled seems like a good idea.]}

[Glancing up at the tall, sturdy branches and following the lines they draw to the moon hanging in the sky overhead, a flicker of a grin crosses her face.]

You know where I like to roost.

[Teasingly, she raises her arm and waggles it slightly, drawing attention to the fact that tonight, for once, it's bare save for her sleeve; without a coat to conceal it, she's opted not to wear her grappling hook (for once in her life), and that means if they're doing any ascending tonight, it'll be the old-fashioned way.]

I promised the next time I'd bring you up with me, but it looks like you might have to handle getting there yourself this time.

_{[He hadn't meant to roost in the trees, of course. Coop's a grounded guy, perhaps a bit too much, but when she makes that comment he lights up in a grin of his own. He's climbed a few trees in Johto but not for this reason.]

[It'll be fun and a good view. He approves.]}

I don't think that'll be a problem.

_{[Lightly, as he looks up at the several set of branches once they walk past the tree line. Not that there are all too many, but that only means that the ones that are there are all the more sturdy. He lays a hand on a tree that seems extra worthy of consideration, then looks over at Carmen with a raised pair of eyebrows in question.]}

[It's a good tree he's picked — tall, but not too tall, with a few branches low enough to get a good perch up into the taller ones and (perhaps most attractive) with a cluster of wide branches about fifteen feet up that brings back memories of the forest on Route 30, and the one she sat in during the very first of their late-night chats.

And so, with a sudden flash of mischief, she passes him the plastic bag in her hand and takes a few steps back, giving herself a brief running start before swinging herself easily up into the branches — an encore of the same grace she'd exhibited at the beginning of their evening out, getting herself into the tree outside his window in the first place.

Once she's made it to the first low branch, though, she pauses long enough to reach back down, motioning for the bag once again.]

Then, as A told B and B told C, "I'll race you to the top of the coconut tree."

_{[He hands the bag back with a laugh that acknowledges the rhyme - not one he's familiar with but it certainly fit the occasion.]}

To gain new and wider views, huh?

_{[A bit distracted, as he reaches up to one of the lower branches himself. He's getting a feel for it, at first, judging the angle of the tree trunk itself and the distance to the branch before he rather smoothly jumps up, grips the branch, kicks off the tree trunk and is up in the branches himself.]

[He looks at her for a moment with a playful grin and then looks up to find the best path onwards.]}

There's plenty to view on a night like tonight.

[And some of it happens to be attractive and following her up a tree, hello.

The place she chooses to settle is a perch about fifteen feet up, and she tucks herself comfortably into a nook created where the base of the branch meets the trunk of the tree, the bag in her lap and her feet dangling easily over the side as she waits for him to catch up.]

Add in a midnight snack and the sound of your voice, and I'd have a hard time dreaming up a better evening.

_{[He finds a good place on the other side of the trunk and a small distance beneath her, where two branches close together make something akin to a seat: one of them comfortable to sit on and the other by his back, making it possible for him to recline some without any danger of falling.]

[The moon is a little bit closer like this and with that and the idle chatter of another group of Clefairy close by, he looks at her warmly as he settles in.]}

With your company it's already shaping up to be one of my favorites.

_{[Meaning that he's glad it's all of her, now. He fondly remembers that time when she was just a voice, but he's even happier to know the person behind it.]}

[Digging into her bag, she unearths a glossy takeout carton with the lid folded shut and a cheery logo emblazoned on the side — Chinese, to an eye born and raised on Earth, though that's not what the Johto residents would call it, obviously — and hands it down to him, along with a pair of chopsticks in paper wrapping.

(He'll find the Johto equivalent of Peking duck inside when he opens it, too; she'll let him have first crack at it for the sake of significance, but she'll reclaim it before long for the sake of dinner.)

She's not picky about her own choice, though, and plucks a box at random, unearthing her own set of chopsticks before finding a smaller, stubby branch nearby to hang the bag on as she settles in for a long chat.]

Here. Flatterers first.

[She's teasing, naturally.]

And then my story, please.

_{[He actually winks at her after accepting the items in response to that remark, because she's not so bad at the whole flattering business herself.]}

It's not a happy one.

_{[It's not exactly a warning, because she's figured that much out already, but it's stalling for the sake of unwrapping the chopsticks and opening the carton he's been handed. It smells absolutely great and he has to smile when he sees what it is. He doesn't remember that conversation as much as he would have liked, to be honest, but he does recall the bit about dinner with Diane.]

[Dinner with Carmen will probably be different.]

[He pokes around with the chopsticks for a moment (the paper wrapping tucked into a pocket) before he takes a bite of the duck and mm, that's just about excellent. He closes his eyes for a moment to savour the flavor, then looks absolutely content. Because food.]

[Food and a night sky and Carmen.]

[It's really not so bad, even if he does have a sad story to tell.]}

Edited 2012-09-24 04:04 (UTC)

[It's chillier up here in the tree, higher up off the ground with less of a windbreak from her surroundings, and she opted to go without a coat tonight. That's what she tells herself. It was an evening breeze that caused that hint of a shiver, not anything else. Certainly not that wink or the smile that followed.]

I didn't ask for it to be.

[It'd defeat the purpose, really, to only want to hear the happy stories. She wants those too, of course, but it's the ones that aren't that she's truly interested in pursuing, because those are the ones he locks tightly away and she is a thief at heart, and there's no one better in all the world — any world — at sneaking in and making off with things others have tried to lock away.

That is, when she's not otherwise occupied with memorizing every minute detail of his enjoyment of the food, because hello.]

Be careful, or I might have to make sure you're not enjoying that duck more than you are my company.

You wouldn't have asked if it wasn't.

_{[At least not in this case, as the topic of birds wouldn't have been nearly as interesting if it didn't have to do with his maybe-irrational fear for them.]

[He's just finished another piece of duck, for the record (and just as thoroughly enjoyed it as the last one), when he has to look up at her with that boyish tweak to his smile that's more or less reserved for her.]}

Can't I enjoy both equally?

Not if it means I have to share the title of "best".

[And now at last she gets her own container open, letting him watch as she works her chopsticks with artful ease and ferries a bite of noodles up to her mouth.

And then, as another flurry of Clefairy goes by, her gentle nudging resumes.]

Tell me. "Once upon a time..."

_{[He watches her for a moment just like she watched him, but shifts back to look at the sky when she urges him on. It's with a small smile, a bit rueful. Once upon a time, hm ... Well, this isn't a fairytale. And he's not going to treat it like one.]

[He swallows another bite of food, then starts the story. Soft but articulate.]}

My mother used to have very vivid dreams. There were several that distressed her a great deal, but one in particular stands out to me.

In it, she was standing alone on a field. Then thousands of birds filled the sky without warning, blocking out all light. I've had the same dream more than once.

_{[He's giving her the real story, because there's absolutely no reason to only give her half of it. He's done that before - talked about the bird that was chopped up into very fine pieces right in front of him rather than the dreams, because the dream birds trouble him more. Even if the real one didn't help matters, nor his sudden urge to shoot a crow ... it just seems that birds, in general, have always been a bit of an omen in his life.]

[The owls are not what they seem, after all.]}

It's not just a dream, I'm sure of this. It's a message I have yet to decipher.

_{[A small pause, then,]}

Mom - she grew increasingly troubled because of these dreams, even if she wouldn't tell me much other than to be careful. She died when I was fifteen. And I have always felt her death had more to do with the birds than what the doctors told me.

[She listens to the story in still silence, the tension of anticipation quivering inside her, and to say that it's not what she was expecting — well. He'd told her once that it was an irrational fear, and she hadn't understood. Now, she thinks she knows better.

The weight of her locket against her chest, tucked securely beneath the collar of her shirt, seems abruptly heavy — not when he mentions his mother, but when he simply calls her "Mom".

That's not a word she can ever remember having the opportunity to say as sincerely as he does here. And that's one experience all the thieving prowess in the world can't steal away for her very own.]

I'm sorry.

[She's quiet a long moment, turning over thoughts in her head; the idea of dreams as messages isn't an unfamiliar one to her, and the concept isn't the same as a superstition she'd be much more inclined to instantly decry. She thinks of dreamcatchers with carefully-woven threads to catch the nightmares and tangle them up before they could reach the dreamer below, and make them disappear with the light of sunrise. It's not unheard of, what he's suggesting. More importantly, it's something he believes, and that means it's one more key to unraveling just who he is inside, this man who's somehow managed to creep his way into her affections.

She carefully sets her carton aside, balanced against her leg, and reaches under the folds of her turtleneck collar to draw out — not her locket, but a charm on a leather cord with a Y-shaped rune set in it. And before he can protest, she opens the loop of cord wide enough to fit over his head and lets it fall securely down around his neck, leaning forward precariously from her perch to make sure it meets its mark.]

But I still have no intention of letting them hurt you.

_{[He's surprised by the new weight. The cord catches slightly on his features and catches him off guard, and he looks up to her with an expression to mirror it before he looks back down, frowning slightly as he picks the pendant up to investigate it. He recognises it as a rune - it seems the most likely option. But he doesn't know runes well at all, and so the significance of this one is something he'll have to ask about.]}

What's this?

_{[Contemplative, quiet and curious all at once when he runs his thumb over the indentation. He chooses to ignore the little voice in his head that tells him that the birds already did hurt him, at least for the time being. It's a suspicion he carries regardless, but this act of ... it's almost tenderness, isn't it, it's a good distraction and makes him kind of happy.]}

Kiki tells me it's Algiz. The shield. A rune to ward against evil.

[And she still remembers the night — exactly four months ago, now — when she'd first come into possession of that charm, not because she'd believed in any sort of power it might confer but because Kiki was selling them for a cause she'd wanted to support. But that wasn't the only charm she'd been given that night, and that one is still tucked away safely in the coat she's not wearing this evening, safe and sound with the few meager trinkets she has to call her own.

It's not that she believes in the rune's power, though she also doesn't necessarily doubt Kiki's conviction that it has it. It's not a gesture of belief that made her reach to drape it around his neck. But she also doesn't believe in any inherent evil in birds, and so maybe that goes both ways — that maybe if there is some to be found in the ones he encounters, then maybe there's likewise some protection to be found in that charm.

Either way, the power isn't the important part. The important part is that she's the one who put it there.]

I've kept it for four months. But I think it'll do more good with you than it would for me.

_{[He loops the cord shorter to leave the charm hanging at a comfortable place. He memorizes what she's telling him: Algiz, shield. And that it either comes from Kiki or she went to Kiki for identification of the rune.]

[And as she finishes like that he looks back up to her with a small smile, touched by the gesture and willing to let that show. Carmen isn't someone for superstition but there doesn't have to be any grand belief in this to mean anything. Meaning is what you make, and that goes for ancient legends as much as anything else. Symbols are infused with power because of the belief in them. And while he doesn't have to believe that the necklace will protect him from a mysterious hurt, he can believe that it means he'll have someone standing behind him when that happens.]

[And that's valuable too. Perhaps even moreso.]}

Thank you.

[There's more she wants to say to accompany that small gift — statements of certainty and promises, something more complete than just a talisman of protection and the implication that it'll be bolstered by her own capabilities. She wants to tell him that he can let go of the fear she knows he still holds deep down, and maybe that's why it ultimately feels incomplete; his fear doesn't stem from rational roots, and it's not something she can fight or outsmart or solve through anything in her own power. Letting go is a choice he has to make for himself, and the most she can do is push him toward it.

And it bothers her immensely, because he shouldn't have to fear. He shouldn't have to be afraid of anything, least of all birds and dreams.]

It's not quite as secure as putting you in the night sky, Rabbit. But I'd miss you if I had to wait for every full moon to see you, so it'll have to do.

_{[He laughs voicelessly at the momentary nickname and drops his gaze back to where he'd set aside the carton of food when he'd started telling her about the birds. He picks it up again and picks around with the copsticks a little, thinking about it some more, really; letting it settle in his mind, the idea that he really would be the Rabbit in that story.]}

It's more than enough.

_{[More thoughtful when he does look up, first to her momentarily and then up towards the moon. He does like his feet on the ground, especially since that's where he finds company, but-]}

But I'm sure we've all wondered what it'd be like up there.

[She watches him pick at his food a bit more, then retrieves her own carton and leans down again, dangling it in his line of sight with a vaguely insistent wiggle.]

Here. Trade me.

[And while she waits for him to complete the handoff, she'll quietly contemplate that latter remark — because she's more than wondered what it'd be like to walk on the moon. She's yearned for it, and once she almost made it.]

I had a dream, once, of walking on it. It was one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had — surrounded by the inky black of space with the earth hanging in its midst, like I could reach out my hand and just...take it with me. I remember how real it all was — the surface, the footprints I left behind...

[She shakes her head a little, accompanied by a faint sigh.]

I was so close. So close. But I've never yet made it.

[Yet.]

_{[He trades gladly and starts investigating what kind of food there is in this new carton when he listens to her. It doesn't take him long to be satisfied with that little investigation though, and with the way she's describing her dream he has to look up at her before long. Watching her silently and with great attention.]

[There's a short silence following that as he studies her.]}

I have no doubt you will, when the time is right.

You can't dance and stay uptight

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)