You can't dance and stay uptight

[doitrockapella]

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.]

Comments

[tapestodiane]

<sub>[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.]</sub>

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.

<sub>[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.]</sub>

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.

[doitrockapella]

[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.

[tapestodiane]

_{[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.]}

[doitrockapella]

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.

[tapestodiane]

<sub>[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.]</sub>

Thank you.

[doitrockapella]

[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.

[tapestodiane]

_{[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.

[doitrockapella]

[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.]

[tapestodiane]

<sub>[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.]</sub>

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

[doitrockapella]

[Sufficiently swapped, she digs in to the Peking duck herself and takes a moment to savor it herself — albeit less enthusiastically than he did on his first bite — before closing her eyes and leaning her head against the trunk of the tree, recalling the images of the dream. It was one she'd had a while back even before she arrived in Johto, and she's added on another six months since then, but there's still something about it that's so clear, and she can see it almost instantly when she tries.

Of course, with her eyes closed, she does miss some of his careful attention toward her, and it isn't until he speaks that her eyes slide open again, halfway and heavy with a certain dreaminess to them.]

No doubt I'll get away with it, you mean. We might as well be honest about how I'd be getting there, and how I've already tried.

[She's still a thief at heart, Cooper. She hasn't changed that much. Don't forget.]

[tapestodiane]

<sub>[That dreaminess is something he recognises and he smiles slightly, both at the tone and the words. And nods, because no. He hasn't forgotten.]

[He swallows the shrimp and rice in his mouth. Delicious too, of course.]</sub>

You sound awfully confident for someone who praises the detectives who chase her.

_{[He keeps the tone a bit light, not to play it off, but ... well, he's largely reconciled with the idea that he's fallen for a thief. And while he's very aware that that's not exactly a super compatible thing between them, he doesn't want to make it into more of a problem than it is. What point would that be?]}

[doitrockapella]

What fun would it be if there were no challenge? One of the true measures of a victory is the magnitude of the adversity you overcame to achieve it. And I wouldn't be the best if it weren't the best I was outsmarting.

[He's taking it well — something she's glad for, frankly, because her remark could've taken this conversation in a number of ways but the direction it's gone in is light and not burdened with too much conflict — and she's not about to press it any more than he is. Accepting what's there doesn't have to involve making it an issue. At least, not tonight.]

And I am the best.

[And he's the one who chases her, these days.]