2010-08-09 - War of the Seasons

Log Info

Title: The War of the Seasons
Emitter: None
Characters: Summer Sinclair, Winter Storm, Ian, Miles Glendower, Amy Beauchamp
NPCs: None
Place: Steranko Quad
Time: Evening, August 9th, 2010
Summary: Is it really any surprise that Summer and Winter know one another, and do not get along? And good God, do they /ever/ not get along.

Summer Sinclair in summer school. The irony abounds; she's been a decent enough student through her life, but specifically neohuman classes? Yeah, no, her high school didn't exactly offer those — and thus, she's been here since normal school ended, trying to catch up.

That brings us to today. She's just finished dinner, having been studying while eating, and discussing the Ethics material with one of her classmates— "So, failing to intervene when you have the ability to act is unethical, by these standards?" she says, sounding dubious indeed. "That kind of implies a whole… messy bunch of guilt if something goes wrong." The blonde's dressed casually — no Thunderdome practice today, it'd seem — in a blue shirt and denim capris, her hat stashed somewhere in the messenger bag she's hauling along.

/Winter/ in summer school. It pisses him off. Christ, didn't he get a /scholarship/? He's been trudging hither and yon, all a clever ploy to get him to learn the lay of the land, but mostly he gets lost. Even with his map. Since it's the map's fault he exacts revenge by crumpling it up. Take that, map. He chucks it away, jams hands in pockets, and wanders.

Miles doesn't have summer courses of any kind, but he -does- have his grandmother's training regimen. Which is why, not far from the others, there's a sound like someone running part way up a wall and backflipping off of it, without any visual cues to indicate that someone is actually doing that. It's kind of an odd noise as a result. This is accompanied by the occasional mutter on landing of 'damned crazy old bat'

Cove City isn't exactly known for it's sun, and though one Ian Stoker would never admit it - He kinda missed Florida. Oh, Tallahasse might not have been Miami or Daytona, but it was pretty temperate year round and the sun seemed to be shining at most any time. So any chance that this little city got some, and it was a sure bet that Ian would be finding himself outside. Today's no exception as the young man finds himself trudging along, acoustic guitar in tow as he looks for a semi decent spot to park his butt in the grass. The Quad, after all, seemed to be the hub of the school. As for summer school work? While most now knew about the Bite-Heard-Round-The-Burb, ol' Stoker seemed to have a secondary neohuman power of being able to fly through classes with a straight-C average without ever seeming to do any work. Maybe they liked his sad eyes.

Those sounds? All too familiar from the Baldwin common room and Miles' tendency to practice there. There is probably a wall with shoe-marks there as a result. As it is, Summer just quirks a skeptical brow towards the sounds. "I'll catch you tomorrow," she asides to her classmate, then turns to head towards the sounds, but it's Ian's presence that catches her attention. Fellow Floridian and all. "Hey!" she calls, lifting a hand to wave at her fellow senior-and-warm-weather-devotee.
The wind catches the map and brings it bumping against her feet, giving her a moment's pause before she bends to pick it up and un-crumple it on her way over towards Ian. "I didn't know you played guitar," she notes absently, glancing down at the map. "Huh. Someone must've lost it."

Half-expecting someone to call him on littering — he's heard seniors, juniors, are somehow in charge of underclassmen? — Winter alters course just a bit. He doesn't mean to pick up the map, but he can turn it into a game of kicking it. And as he kicks it, he can continue to wander, legitimately get lost, and waste time. Summers are for wasting time. Not work. He snorts.
He snorts again when he finds the wadded-up paper isn't where he expects it to be. He thinks back to how the breeze was playing, looks in the direction it traveled, and sees that someone is picking it up. Some gir—

He stares, shoulders jerking him upright.

Another run at the wall, and it doesn't actually stop until Miles is on the roof of the building and looking down over the side with a faintly baffled, "Shit."

Ian tilts his head to the side at the sudden prouncement of 'Hey'. A moment later though, there's a wan smile and a salute with a free hand as he closes again. "Ms. Summer," he intones giving the lightest of headnods. Psuedo formality: That was Ian in a nutshell. "Piano's really my poison of choice, but it's a bit harder to lug'em around. Well, there's the mini types but then I'd just get laughed at and that leads to all sorts of self esteem issues." By the tone, Ian didn't believe that one bit, but hey. "So, enjoyin' what the North proclaims Summer to be? All temperate and hot humid like?" There's a hitch to his voice at the very end, as he turns his head enough to notice someone familiar. Well, sort of familiar in the: 'Didn't we stop a robbery together' type way? And then there's 'shit'. "…Did anybody hear that?"

"Oh, like home isn't hot and humid. We just get our five o'clock thunderstorms," Summer replies with an amused sort of smirk. "I miss them, though. Totally going home over Labour Day weekend." She finishes uncrumpling the map, noting absently, "That's Miles working on wall-climbing again. It's apparently something he's got to master before the end'f summer." Yes, she's met his grandmother, and thus can't really blame him for cursing at her, or her training regimen.

She glances up from the map in the direction it came from, pauses, and stares. No. Can't be. She looks at Ian, then back at Winter. Yep. Still there. "/You/."

A quick glance goes aside, and a frown flickers. Winter /did/ hear something. But Summer regains his attention, and he outright glares, his hands inadvertantly curling to fists.

"/You/," he says — echoes — as he bristles.

"Great, -now- I've got to figure out how to get back down before the fight music starts." Miles looks between Summer and Winter from his rooftop vantage point, and starts to lower himself over the side, hanging carefully by his fingertips from the ledge. Surely this cannot ever go wrong.

"Ah the thunderstorms. Wasn't as bad in ole' Tallahassee but I remember them fondly. At some point I need to go back and—" Ian is a beat later than the rest as the 'Yous' go flying. Stoker looks from Summer behind to Winter, to the building where he sees.. nothing, but presumably where Miles is. And then back again. 0 to Awkward in less than 3 seconds. New record? Nah. "I… suppose that either I'm supposed to say 'Donkey' right now, or get the hell out of the way." There's a light side step, but Ian does make it a point of still staying mildly between the two. Just in case.

"What the hell are /you/ doin— no, I know what you're doing here. God/dammit/." Summer's cheeks are flushed with irritation now. She asides to Ian, "Someone I knew once upon a time. We don't… get along very well." To understate the case, judging by the slight gleam of lightning-blue in her eyes — her temper's quicker than it once was, apparently, or just backed by more than words. As for Miles, the descent might be a little more difficult due to the winds picking up just a wee bit. She doesn't look away from Winter, though. "Are /you/ going to start something?" Oh yeah, she's noticed Ian's interposition there.

Winter's posture alters: it's more aggressive, something like a fighting stance, with the profile of his body presented. To be sure, his muscles are tense. He's still standing a good way off, though. And he glares. If looks could kill, Summer would be sporting — sprouting — some icy daggers just now.
"You always said I'd wind up going nowhere," he all but growls. "Guess I made it, if I'm stuck here with /you/."

"Gosh, there's an awful lot of love out here this evening." Amy comments sarcastically as she strolls out of the dining hall and takes in the scene of Summer and Winter nearly at each other's throats. "So, is this a private party, or can anybody drop in?" she asks, strolling up to stand next to Ian. "Hey Ian. How's it going?" she asks him, keeping her eyes on Winter and Summer.

Miles scrambles back up on to the relative safety of the roof for now, before the wind blows him loose, with more muttered swearing, followed by calling down, "I don't think it's any kind of party, actually. Or else you go to way freakier parties than I do."

"Hey now there, let's all simmer down. Perhaps relax over a brew or something similar. Y'know the whole Beatle mentality of making love and not war, right?" There's a quick peace-sign flash given out, though Ian's own body subtly shifts. It's not agressive, but he is now alert, as if ready for hell to break loose at any point. But to his credit, he doesn't move from his position. At least not quite yet. Still, there is the lightest of wry looks. A moment later: "So let me guess. Exes?" No, he wasn't prying. Not at all.

Amy's voice brings a light breath of relief from Stoker, who breaks his vigil enough to murmur out: "Yo Amy. And y'know, it goes. Homework, music. Potential War War III. The normal." As for freaky parties Miles? "I'm her SA, Miles. You should see her room. Two Words: Leather Masks." Was he kidding? The world may never know.

"Planning on throwing another temper tantrum?" Summer asks of Winter, placing her hands on her hips rather than let the faint sparks dancing between her fingers show more obviously. The warmth overhead? Not so sunny anymore. Ian mentioned thunderstorms: well, he's getting one. "So you can get shuffled off somewhere else? Feel /free/." Her gaze flicks towards Miles' voice, a brief flash of some unnamed emotion — guilt? Worry? God only knows — before she glances sidelong at Ian and Amy. "Something like that," she says coolly. "Before I came to my senses." While Amy's comment does register, she doesn't reply just yet.
Really, is it any surprise that Summer and Winter are not exactly friends?

Winter growls a little under his breath at the distractions and interruptions. But then, maybe he shouldn't have staged what amounts to something like a pistol duel. His gaze jerks toward Amy and his greeting for her is a frown; he then eyes Ian assessingly, doubtless wondering what might happen if he /did/ take a step toward Summer. As for Miles, well… that disembodied voice puzzles him, and his confusion makes him even more agitated. So he /will/ start moving forward.

"None of your Goddamn business," he snaps Ianwards. Except, of course, he just /made/ it folks' business, and he silently curses himself for it. So he directs his next words to Summer. This, at least, is someone he's familiar with. "What if I did?" he says, countering question with question. And he'll 'ask' another: "Let me guess. You came here because mere mortal guys were too boring in the sack."

"You _swore_ not to tell anyone that!" Amy growls, giving Ian a playful punch in the shoulder. "Now get back into your Gimp suit and back into your box!" she orders him. "I'll whip you when I get around to it." she adds, then laughs. "Eh, Miles, how'd you manage to get yourself up there?" she inquires, looking up slightly in the general direction she heard the boy's voice from. "Okay, okay…wait now…both of you." she says, stepping forward to stand between Winter and Summer. "I want a good clean fight. No hitting below the belt. No leaning. No ear biting."

"Practice," Miles drawls. At Winter's last remark, he notes to Amy, "I think it's a little too late for that below the belt bit. And dude? Whoever you are? Uncalled for." He braces himself, and…well, jumps down, possibly only making it -mostly- unharmed by the fact that his grandmother will hit him with her cane if he breaks a leg.

"Hey the gimp suit's for special holidays and senior citizen events," Ian quips back to Amy. He was keeping it easy, light even. But his posture never changes a once. In fact as Amy joins in between there's a nod of thankfulness if slight. As for his business? "You're right, ain't none. 'Cept for the fact you insiutated about one's sex life and are makin' a scene. I'm all for spats, but not so much for the ugly—violent side of things. And things tend'a get tha' way when powers are involved. So just take a breath, boy." A beat later, he adds in: "And girl." And though his voice is casual, hints of the southern drawl return to it, belaying his youth at the Georgia border. "Tell you what. We all sit down civil-like, and I'll treat all to a round of something nice. Coffee stand's only right around the corner. Sound good Summer. Ah…" It only then occurs. "I don't think I caught your name between here and that museum robbery, Mr. Not-Summer-Anymore."

Pistols at dawn! Summer snarls at that, the sparks of lightning now quite visible, and there's a patter of rain from above, followed by a threatening rumble of thunder. One hand swings upwards from her side to point at Winter, finger extended and shaking at him in anger. Well, if she didn't want others to be involved, she should've kept a better rein on her temper. But sadly, that /is/ a failing of hers. "As if /you/ ever…" she snarls, and then Amy's interceding, and she swings her hand away from the other girl lest the sparks — all unknown to her, harmless to Amy — turn into something more, like, say, the lightning that's threatening in the storm above. Well, if Winter didn't know before, he does /now/. Again, her gaze flicks towards where Miles is, lips compressing into a thin line for a moment. then she visibly twitches at Ian's suggestion. "He doesn't know /how/ to do civil. His name is Winter."
Yes, seriously.

Well, if Amy is going to put herself before Winter — it must be his name; he doesn't correct his nemesis(?) — he'll halt, staring down at She Who Has Leather Masks (Or Maybe Not) for a moment. Still frowning. His nostrils flare. "Uncalled for, maybe," he acknowledges Miles. Whoever that is, dammit. "But damn, the truth must hurt."

Winter glances aside to Ian next. "'Insinuated,' /ha/!" the new guy crows. It's not a /nice/ laugh, but it's a laugh. And since he laughed, he actually relaxes just so — wonder of wonders. Instead of the slight hunch like he might lunge, he straightens, smirking down." His gaze does carefully remain on those false(?)-sparking hands, and he wipes some precipitation from his face. "I'm not going anywhere, to drink anything, with her. Some fucking welcome party."

"What? You're not going to beat the living snot out of each other for my amusement?" Amy asks, looking back and forth between the two would-be combatants. "Well, hell." she sighs, dropping her hands to her sides. "That's …that's just disappointing as hell. " she says, shaking her head sadly. "Y'see, that's the trouble these days, boys." she says looking towards Miles and then over to Ian. "Ever since the gladiators went away, you can't hardly find good bloodsport anymore. It's a lost art."

Miles cuts a glance to Amy. Not that this is at all visible. "Uh, hey, if you -really- want to watch beatings they do record Thunderdome sessions, you know, so there's no need to go encouraging random throwdowns."

"Shut /up/," Summer asides to Amy, now distracted by the other girl's words. "He decided to throw a temper tantrum that pretty much destroyed the school greenhouse; I'm not likely to trust him with a /butter knife/ much less what he actually /can/ do." No, she's /not/ helpful for Winter's self-esteem, but such is old enmity. "Thank you, Miles," she notes dryly, "But there's hardly any encouragement needed here; you wondered what my crazy was, well, meet the goddamn incarnation of it." She flushes again at the laugh, eyes narrowing, but there's no other sign of embarrassment over that particular comment. Just anger. It's not false sparks there, oh no; her eyes are positively snapping-blue with anger at her nemesis. "Go on then, sulk off in a huff. Like I said, you don't /do/ civil."

"Bloodsports ain't nearly so fun for me as they used to be," Ian murmurs softly, though after a moment he allows himself to relax ever so slightly. At least until he hears the name Winter. Summer, Winter? "Irony thy name is Steranko." No, Stoker couldn't help it one bit. He rounds for a moment on Winter, looking the boy up and down. "I'm tryin' a little bit of tact. I know I'm a bit of a southern boy still, but no matter the agretions laid between your two, Summer here's still a lady. Treat that well, and Karma has a way of smiling down upon you." And then Summer gives a little bit of back story to pair, and Ian's lips round in an 'Oh'. Slight understanding, maybe, but still some what. "At least if we all can't be civil, let's agree to lower the arms. It's a nice day, and I rather not see my guitar singed, or to have cause to get Noir all 'riled."

Winter's eyebrows creep upward as Amy talks; he can't help but look back to her. She's closer — closest — anyway. He might have addressed her, but Summer's story earns another glare; it eclipses even his curiosity about the Thunderdome.
"This is no lady," he manages to flatly tell Ian. When he addresses Summer it's in a snarl, though: "Bitch." A curious crackling accompanies it, but it's not his voice; it's a rime of ice forming, then thickening, about his fists. It begins to creep over his arms as well. Ian, of course, has seen him throw ice around; could this be telegraphing a round of it? And if he'd curbstomp a man already defeated, what might he do to an ex that has somehow royally pissed him off in the past?
"Get her out of here before I do something she'll regret."

"Thank you, Miles and Summer for taking that joke far too seriously." Amy sighs, shaking her head a little. "Nobody ever gets my sense of humor." she sighs. "But, since it looks like we're secured from general quarters….Well, _some_ of us." she adds, looking over to Winter. "Dude, relax already, will ya? You got a problem with Summer, he's a thought…._get away_ from her." she says firmly. "Jeez…"

"In comedy, ma'am, timing is everything. Yours is off." Miles eyes Winter- again, to no real effect. Except, perhaps, for a slight loosening of the reigns keeping the envelope of fear around him in check. It's less overt and more, say, someone playing a church organ in the very bottom registers- subsonics. "Actually, sorry dude, I like her more than I like you, so how about you're the one to get out of here instead?"

Ian has reconnected.

"Oh, god, get new insults," Summer shoots back, seemingly completely unintimidated by the crackling of ice. She regards the boy for a moment, then takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she releases it. The storm eases slightly above, the rain slacking off as she wrestles her temper under control. But then he says that last, and her eyes fly open again. "Oh, he isn't going anywhere. He never /will/," she says flatly. There's a *crack* of lightning, the sharp tang of ozone, and when the flash clears— no Summer.

Somewhere out over the water, there's a lovely little thunderstorm no-one exactly predicted.

And the cold war suddenly gets way hotter. And then there's the small pinpricks of ice that climb along Ian's back. He registered it, even if they didn't effect him as much as it once would have. Credit the monster inside. But it did make him all the more cognizant of the situation. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the situation resolves itself as Summer suddenly… dissapears. "…Didn't rightly know she could do that. Note to self, don't piss 'er off none." And then there's a slow, long exhale of breath as Ian turns to look at the other participant in the Seasonal Showoff. "Look Winter, you got spunk. I like that. But boy, your way with words makes ol' Stoker seem like a Casanova on Valentines. And that ain't no easy feat there. Welcome into the school and all of that, but airing out laundry like that is likely gonna get everybody in the heap of pain. Rules change when everybody in the mental house has the power to knock out a city block." His voice is quieter now, more restrained. He wasn't angry. Or well, yes, yes he was. But it was feeding in on itself, with Noir stirring from the conflict. It enjoyed that, Noir did. Made it speak in tongues, wishing for more.

A nostril flairs for a moment, as Ian tries to take in more than just OZone. A scent perhaps. Something. "Do you want me to find her Miles, or should we let her be for now? The girls got a right to a bit of anger."

Winter takes a step back despite himself, the ice-sheathed arm protecting his face from the flash. In realizing Summer has gone, he throws the ice free, where it stands up from the ground in a row of glistening quills, subject to the weather. They won't last long. Still, Winter considers them, imagines their manipulation to take out these strangers, adversaries — he can't think of them as otherwise — before him. "Fuck this," he announces, turning to leave.

"I'd flip him the bird, but what the fuck good would it do?" Miles sighs, longsufferingly, and shakes his head to Ian. "Nah. She'll be back, and 'sides, you may be good, but not even bloodhounds can't track over the ocean, which I suspect is where she went, way the clouds are rolling in."

Miles' Lon Cheney impersonation's enough to quash the worst of Amy's usually sarcastically sunny disposition and Summer's lightning-flash departure manages to take care of the rest. Thankfully, Winter departs before anything else goes wrong. "Jesus….what the hell was all that about, anyhow?" she asks either of the two boys who care to answer the question. "Who is that dude?"

"Little known fact, I'm a Were-Wolfish," Ian murmurs in Miles' general direction. He was starting to get used to that. But it was odd, even more so than normal people. Since the Bite, he had become accustomed to knowing absolutely where someone was, equally upon sound, smell and sight. With Miles… well. He could only hear him. And his hearing wasn't quite the same as his other two senses. Stoker's hand finds pocket as he watches Winter stalk off, tongue lightly chewed upon as he thinks of words. "The boy's got a lotta rage in 'em. I know that feeling." God did he know. "Not that it makes an excuse for the words he put out." It's then that Ian looks to Amy a moment. "He seems to do tricks with the ice, and in ways Blondie can't. So I'm gonna take a gander and think his name ain't just about his sunny disposition at life. We met before once. We stopped a robbery over the weekend. He's got the rage in 'em." For a moment Ian let himself remember Winter curb stomping an already down villain. "I think, all things considered. This school got a little more insane." Almost idly Ian lifts up his guitar, strumming a few notes of 'Virtual Insanity'.

Indeed, the clouds are rolling in from seaward, blotting out what remained of the sun; no sunsets, not now, but a nice lightshow out over the water, should people be interested. And Summer? Well, she's in the middle of it. And will probably show back up at Baldwin soaked to the skin, wiped out, and horribly embarrassed about five minutes before curfew. Indeed, the school's gotten more insane.

"He's got a lot of _something_ in him." Amy remarks acidly, watching Winter's back until he disappears from view. "We'll be nice and call it rage." she smirks. "Heh, virtual insanity? No this is more of the traditional, rubber room and straightjacket kind of insanity."

"For the record, my dorm has padding so I resemble that comment," Ian adds in idly. "But keen ear, Amy. Keen ear indeed." His eyes though remain distant, to the storm.

Amy smiles a little and chuckles softly. "Heh, call it accidental payback for the leather comment." she replies. "Though, all in all, I gotta say, you'd fill out a Gimp suit nicely." she winks teasingly before turning to watch the storm. "You think that's Summer out there?"

"If I had a dime for every time a gal said that. I'd have approximetly, a dime." There's a brief friendly smile, but it's a brief one as he considers. "Like Miles said, if it looks like a spontaneous storm out of nowhere, and quacks like a sponatneous storm out of nowhere. It's probably a woman scorned." A hand comes under the scruff of Ian's chin as he scratches idly, looking between the horizon and Amy.

"Heh, Miles is probably right." Amy chuckles softly. "Especially with the lightening bit." she grins ferally. "Ask my ex. He sucked up about fifty thousand volts the night we broke up." she notes. "But, he was trying to kill someone, so he did kind of have it coming to him."

"Remind me, breaking things off with super powered lasses ain't the most healthy thing in the world, is it?" He shakes his head. "At least he sounds like he deserved a shocking." Almost subtly he reaches into his pocket to pull out a crumpled cigarette - The same one he had pulled out that day with Winter at the museum. He didn't smoke any more. It did little good when his lungs would just re-pink in a flash. But he found just the motions helped when he was ill at ease. And he had been that a lot lately. "I think I need to rightly talk to them two on their own though. Ain't my business, I know you're gonna say. Ain't my hall 'neither. But gotta make the effort. If not for the sake of my poor git-ar, and the sanity of this school than for their own. I'm way too Scooby for my own good."

"Actually, I was going to say that that sounded like a not very bad idea." Amy replies, nodding a little. "If things get wonky around here, with all the kidnappings and whatnot going on." she begins. "Having two people as strong as those two at dagger's drawings with each other sounds like kind of a really _bad_ idea." she says. "Be way too easy for someone who's out to do us harm to step in and manipulate things." she notes. "I mean, if I were big bubberai badass supervillain, having a rivalry like that would be catnip for me."

"Honestly," Ian replies wryly enough. "Half the time I wonder if coming in scantily clad is enough to get the entire boy-pop to be rendered powerless. But I hadn't even considered that angle. Let's just hope the Admin there already got that considered and this place is full of Psi dampners to prevent mind controllers from doing their thing here."

"Heh, I'll have to make a note of that." Amy chuckles softly. "Though, there are a few females around here I could stand to see scantily clad." she admits with a sigh. "I know, I know…I'm horrible." she adds. "But, as to what I was saying, forget about mind-controllers. All it'd take to make Summer and Winter go to full on battle mode's a little brains and a little manipulation."

"Horrible? Shit. One'nna my best friend's Jerry. And I play rock music at dirty clubs. You're still ratin' PG-13, girl." Ian's grin is brief though, as his hands resume their spot in their pockets, old cigarette rolled between lips. "I'm hoping to chalk this first meetin' as a first meetin', and that next time there'll be more of a cold war again. That said, I'm worried more for their inside state so to speak. Well, 'least in Summer's case. I like the gal. In Winter's case. Well, I need to find out more about him. And figger if what we see is all of 'em, or just the bad parts. Or the good."

Amy laughs softly at Ian's assessment. "Huh…well, guess I'll have to try a little harder at my 'shock and provocation' tactics, then." she notes. "Can't start letting people think I'm a good girl, after all. The horror!" she winks. "Well, if there's anything I can do to help out with that, lemme know. Summer seems like good people, don't really know her that well. Winter…eh….sorry, but my gut instinct where he's concerned is 'asshole'. And I'm pretty good at reading people. Lots of experience in the field." she sighs.

"You do pretty well with the shock and provcation thing. I was there when you stumbled in and mentioned the whole 'runnin a train thing. I just ain't one to be easily swayed. I'm afraid of my poor virgin ears if you try any harder." The mention of good girl makes Ian actually chuckle softly, quietly. "I appreciate the offer of help though. I think a one-on-one is in order first. After that though, just makin' sure things don't get weird. I've been there, that's the worst part of these… things. When things get weird. Especially when you want more than anything a piece of normalcy."

"Thank you, Ian." Amy replies to his comments on shock and provocation. "The struggle is the glory." she grins wolfishly. "Heh, Ian, I dunno how to tell you this, but I wouldn't know 'normal' if it walked up to me in a Gimp suit and smashed me in the knee with a baseball bat." she snerks. "I'd just wonder who the hell that was and why they did that to me."

"De Nada. And…" THere's a pause, and a moment where Stoker has to stop himself from putting his palm onto face. Always back to the gimp suit. "Fair point. Normal ain't exactly our walk in life. But I mean more. When you walk away from something, and you think it's dead and gone, ain't exactly the most pleasant and settling feeling when it comes back. Even without normal there's a certain balance you get to. Something like that throws shit out of wack."

Amy notes the near facepalm and chuckles throatily. "Heh, sorry, can't help myself." Amy replies, her tone making it clear that remorse is the last thing she's feeling. "True enough." she nods, expression saddening for a fraction of a second before she bounces back ."There's controlled chaos and complete chaos." she adds. "The former can be a lot of fun, depending on how good you are at getting away with it. The latter pretty much tends to suck for everybody." she says sagely.

"We may make a philospher of you yet, Amy. Y'know if we can turn your crass into something that sounds a bit more ageless and vague sounding. Not that I mind crass mind. Just." He shrugs before making a tilt of his head to Rider. "Want an escort back to the dorms, or were you heading out to be a vagrant somewhere. I figure from Miles' silence that he's long gone. S'problem with being invisible. Never know whether he's comin' or goin'…"

"Yeah, crass. that's me." Amy replies with a faint sniff even though it's evident that she's not taking offense. "Crass, brash, boorish and something of a bitch." she says simply. "And a whore, depending on who you talk to." she adds, ticking off her flaws on her fingers. "Trust me, I've heard it all before." she sighs. "Ad infinitum." she adds. "But…fuck it." she says, brightening a little, or at least letting bravado take over. "I'm still _here_. Not a lot of other people I know can say that." she notes with an edge of raw defiance in her tone. "Planet Dirt may have given me a beating or two, but I'm not broken. Not yet…not _ever_." she says flatly, as if it were a foregone conclusion. "Thanks, but no. Think I'm gonna go back to my room and dig out my copy of Blade Runner."

"You should speak to my girlfriend, Maggie. I think most of the descriptors have been said of her as well. Y'know." Pause. "Minus the whore. And for the record, I doubt you're much of that. Other ones before, sure. Not that they're a bad thing." And there's a very low nod as the pair begins to walk towards Rider. Ian found that Amy's attitude was a good one, despite their less than sterling introductions to one another. "Have you ever heard of the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley? You should look it up. Reminds me of you." Pause. "Minus your scandelous whorish ways of course." As for Blade Runner? "Good Movie, though I prefer the Director's Cut. And the Complete Cut more than that."

"Never heard of it, I'll have to take a look." Amy replies, nodding a little both in acknowledgement and in thanks for the unexpected escort. "Final Cut? That's the only one I have." she notes. "The definitive version of the movie." she smiles. "Good eye, by the way. Most people don't think of that one."

"S'was in Seattle when it came out, saw it at this old theatre." Stoker went a lot of places during his Wanderlust. The time after he was first bitten and before he had found himself at Steranko. It lead for interesting stories, even if the reality had been a lot more lonely. "Just as good on screen now as it must'f been back in the day. But I'm a Dick fan, so makes me a bit jaded all and all." A door is held open to Rider before he gives one last look to the horizon and the storm a'brewin.

"I'd give my eyeteeth to see that on the big screen with the right stock and digital sound…." Amy notes, ducking into the Hall. "That'd be amazing." she smiles. "Glad you got to see that." she adds. "By the way, next time you're bored, try watching 'AI' and listening to 'Kid A by Radiohead….They synch up. Not like Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of the Moon….but that CD could've been the soundtrack to the movie easy."

"…Eyeteeth? Do I even want to know?" Stoker shakes his head slightly, as if trying to get the concept out of his head as he wades deeper in to the Red Hall. Sometimes he forgot about the irony of being the SA to a hall who's primary color was a blood red. "I'll have to give that a try. Then again, I've had one too many trips to feel comfortable with anything related to Pink Floyd. And Radiohead's acid of it's own variety. Maybe next time I feel too bored with sanity. Maybe."

Amy nods slowly. "Tried acid a few times….not a fan." Amy replies, shuddering a little as if for emphasis. "Out of control, I can handle, out of my _mind_..,not so much." she shrugs. "But, we all have our ways of escaping, don't we?" she asks. "And if you think Radiohead's acid, you oughta check out Voivod sometime." she smirks. "Nothingface will melt your brain."

"Voivod wasn't ever the same for me since Denis D'Amour died. Not exactly my stylings but interesting stuff nonetheless. I'm more of a Buckley/Every Time I Die, type myself. Sorta how I try to work my vocals." Now music. That's something that Stoker could always get behind. "I'm with you on the Acid thing. Once and ne'er again. Some things ain't worth going to the Dark Side of the Moon for. Or perhaps Fear and Loathin's the better term. Y'know, 'This is Bat Country' and all of that." Though talk of Hunter Thompson does bring a moment's pause. There was a very memorable line that always stuck with Ian to this day. Especially poignant now with his condition: 'He who makes a Beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.'

"Well, yeah, obviously." Amy replies, eyes widening as if Ian's very mention of D'amour's loss makes him seem silly to her. "There's only one Piggy. The guy from Martyr does a good job doing his parts, but he can't _write_ like Piggy could." she says. "Though, gotta say, bassist to bassist, it's killer to see Blacky back in the fold. Forrest was _okay_, though that's not my favorite records. Jason Newstead was a step up. But there's only one guy that sounds like Blacky." she grins. "It'd be like trying to replace Steve Harris with Flea. Yeah, Flea could pull the parts off, but it wouldn't be right somehow." she opines. "Yeah, acid just made me feel…..crazy-headed, if that makes any sense. Like, if I did enough of it, everything I was going through might make sense, but on the other hand, I could come out the other side like Syd Barret or something."

"Ah, so you play the fours then? Keen. Seems like this place attracts musicians as faithfully as it does neohumans." Stoker gives a light shrug and a headshake as they reach their rooms. "And yeah, I get what your sayin'. And don't. There was a reason why that stuff was being experimented with by the Armed Forces. And it ain't so nices. Anyhow, I think I'm gonna park the git, and then see about heading off the angry Storm-Weaver before she can lock herself in her room." Giving a salute to the electric manipulator, he adds: "S'was a good talk Amy. Look forward to the next one. Enjoy Olmos and Ford making the world safer one 'droid at a time."

"Yeah….and the CIA." Amy replies, nodding. "God only knows what they were gonna do with it." she smirks. "Give my best to Summer." she adds, moving to snag a bottle of grape soda from the fridge. "And yeah, it really was. Maybe we can do it again sometime." she says, not really asking, just saying. "Take care. And thanks for listening."

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