undergrounds | A Midnight Ride [Closed]

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A Midnight Ride [Closed]

Daryl stood outside the pub, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back heavily against the brick just to the right of the door. The place was pretty busy and would be for at least two more hours. He was familiar with The Duchess because it was on his way home every night and he often stopped in for a beer. He'd suggested it thinking a familiar place would calm his nerves. Which he needed even more after Natasha had referred to the whole thing as a 'date'.

Maybe he should just cancel the whole thing. Get her that drink he'd offered when she got there and then call it off. He'd had a long day it could be excused if he played that up. Of course he was so keyed up over his nerves that probably wouldn't work.

Maybe he should just leave before she even got there. Except that would be rude and he didn't actually want to be rude to her. He just wasn't sure he could do this anymore. It'd taken a lot to even send her that text.

"Fuck I need a drink," he muttered to himself, rubbing his face with both hands before crossing them again.

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"I learned how to navigate by them," she looks up, tracking a few familiar stars. "Not a skill I have to use often, though."

She walks with him, still keeping away from the squishiest stretches of the bank. "And that is exactly the extent of my knowledge on the subject. You?"

"So none of the stories about them?" He gestured upwards, "You probably know some of the Roman ones. Most people do even if they don't realize it. Take that one, Corona Borealis. Greek and Romans would have you believe Dionysus took his wife's wedding crown and set it among the stars as a gift."

He let his eyes trace it's curving shape, looking much like a broad, close-lipped smile from their current angle, "Shawnee Tribe says different. Says it's related to twelve maidens that came down from the heavens during the day to dance intricate crop circles in the long grass of the summer. They were discovered by White Hawk, a hunter, while tracking game. He was curious about the path worn through the prairie grass because there were no trails leading to it or from it. It was just there. His attention was captivated by the strange mystery of it and he stood watching for a long time. As the night came to an end, a silver basket fell from the sky and the when it touched the earth, the maidens it carried started to dance along the path they'd created in previous days."

Daryl looked over his shoulder at her, smiling softly, almost wistfully, "White Hawk fell in love with the fairest of them almost immediately and did his level best to catch her so he could make her his wife. But the maidens were too fast for him. They lept back into their basket, their dance cut short, and went back to the sky. White Hawk tried again the next day, disguising himself as a rabbit so he'd have the speed to follow them. It didn't work, though. They changed the pattern of their dance, the one he'd memorized from the day before no longer the one he needed to follow. Again, they rose into the sky, away from him."

His attention went back to where he was walking and he spread his arms, "But the third day, White Hawk became a mouse. He was so small they couldn't see him. They didn't know he was there and they went back to the dance they'd been dancing on the first day. It was the pattern he knew and when they were so frenzied and wild and enraptured with their tribute to life, he pounced on the fairest of them. Dragged her back home and married her on the spot. But she was a star, meant to grace the sky with her beauty, not be trapped on earth. Even though White Hawk was a fine warrior and hunter, could provide for her in every way, his home was not hers."

At this point Daryl's voice got quieter, like there was something about the story -beyond the Shapeshifter- that resonated with him. And there was. The wife had been trapped in her house, held against her will, she may not have been beaten, but she wasn't happy and it wasn't a good marriage. Daryl lifted his eyes to the sky, smiling despite the thoughts, the reminders it brought, "One day, when White Hawk was gone hunting, she wove herself a silver basket and chanted her song so it would raise her back into the heavens where she belonged. But she didn't go back to her sisters, the ones that came down in Corona. She knew she couldn't, because they danced every day on the earth and if she went back there, she'd have to come back down to where White Hawk could find her. Instead she settled in the sky, never to dance in the prairie again."

"She's there now. She's moved on with her life, shining brightly from Bootes. The biggest, brightest star there. Arcturus," Daryl pointed towards the constellation before glancing at Natasha again, smiling softly, "I think it's a better story than some asshole showing off a crown for all eternity. Lot more interesting than just another star to follow, too."

Natasha listens quietly. It wasn't just the most she'd heard Daryl speak at one time, it was probably more than he'd talked the entire rest of the evening combined. If she couldn't repay that by being a good audience, she didn't deserve to hear the story. She looks from him to the sky, with occasional glances at the park around them, enjoying his engagement.

She's smiling faintly as he finishes. She's not sure she could call it a happy story, but in some ways that makes it more familiar to her than fairy that ended without a little bit of sorrow or sacrifice. The few stories she remembered from her childhood tended to sound more like that.

"A lot more interesting than just another star to follow," she agrees. "That is definitely not a story I've heard before. I like it though."

She catches his eyes briefly, gauging his confidence. "Where did you learn it?"

He was in a pretty good place by that point, feeling very confident and more in control of the situation. Half the time he told stories, it was for himself as much as it was for anyone listening. But at her question, he just shrugged, "Here and there. Wasn't exactly any First Nations folks around my neck of the woods, but there were books I found sometimes. Things I heard from others who'd traveled further afield than me."

A guilty pleasure of his, one his father and brother hadn't known about. Daryl's fascination with stories and fables, particularly the ones dealing with shapeshifters, had led to a general fascination with folk lore that might explain what he was and what he could do. He found most of those stories not in European Myth, but in what stories were recorded and attributed to the First Nations Tribes. Their struggles weren't his, but he held sympathy for what had happened to them. Had learned as much as he could about them and would avidly read any non-fiction written by a Native American if the opportunity presented itself. And he didn't consider their fables and folk lore fictional. They were real to the tribes, and with his soul shared with that of a bobcat, they were real to him.

"That's a surprise," she says, then smoothly explains. "It seems like a lot of us don't pay much attention to stories. Or if we do, it's to throw shade. We're already supernatural, why pay attention to stories."

She shrugs then. Maybe that was just her experience. Vampires liked looking down on humans a lot considering that every single one of them once was one.

"But the stories aren't really about that, are they?"

"The stories are about us," Daryl countered. "The folk tales and legends, they're the history those who aren't quite human have left for us to learn from. Oral traditions that became written ones, passed down as much by the humans who couldn't explain what they saw as they were by those of us hiding within their numbers. There's a quote, goes something like 'those who don't pay attention to history are doomed to repeat it'. If the only histories we have are in the stories, then it's worth paying attention to."

"You think so?" Her brows go up a little at his reading of it. She doesn't pretend not to be a little skeptical of his explanation, but she doesn't dismiss it outright.

"It always seems to me more like humans telling the stories they need, and they use monsters and magic to fill the gaps. A vampire or a werewolf is a pretty powerful symbol. But stories about children being born with a caul being more likely to be vampires or people who had lived immoral lives didn't tell vampires much about themselves.

"On the other hand, I suppose we usually have a nest and elders around for that."

She inclines her head a little at the end of her statement, accepting the fact that shapeshifters and vampires might not have a lot in common other than being supernatural.

"Humans had to get the monsters from somewhere," he said, not at all offended by her skepticism. He was used to that. "I'm not saying all of them are about us, but I'm not saying they ain't, neither. They old stories hold more truth in 'em than fiction if you listen right. The newer ones are inspired by those ones and the lessons in 'em can be just as meaningful, hopeful, cautionary, to us as they can be to the humans that use 'em as metaphors. More so, because they teach us how humans see us. And from that, we can learn to walk among them by being what they don't expect."

That gets a surprised laugh out of Natasha. At this point, that might just mean not sparkling, or working as a brooding private investigator. Perceptions could change so much in a few decades.

"I wouldn't say there's nothing there for us to learn from. Like you said, it's good to know how we're seen... and we're not that far from human in most ways."

To Daryl's credit, he'd been so far out of the loop on current popular media, he had no idea people were writing about daywalkers glimmering in the sun like some Fae Lord or whatever other strange twists humans with too much time on their hands liked to write about. He was more familiar with pop culture from the 90's, having started to phase out a lot of public outings or trips anywhere large enough to care about the changing media landscape in his late twenties. Was just easier to keep to himself than to have people get close enough to start questioning shit.

"Most of us started as human," Daryl said in way of agreement, "Those that didn't... well, blood still got mixed along the way."

"Most of us," she agrees a little wryly. "If there's one thing we all do well, it's that."

"Most of us," he repeated under his breath as he slowed to a stop. They'd reached about as far upstream as they could without completely going under the cover of trees. The ground was still too flooded, even with all the roots helping direct the stream on it's way.

But they what they didn't have in dry ground they made up for in perfectly good branches. Daryl moved over to one in a less-muddy area and started to climb, "This'un's got a decent view about half-way up. Lightning probably struck it a few years ago, tore open a hole in the boughs and left a couple large broken branches we can sit on. Not as comfortable as the ground, but not bad, neither."

About ten feet up he turned and looked down at her, suddenly remembering she wasn't part cat, even if she was damn near as graceful as one, "You need any help climbing?"

"Don't worry about me. I can handle this much." There's something sweet about the fact he worried, and at the same time something that makes her feel her age and experience. It's the humor that comes through in her voice, though.

Then she's jumping up to catch one of the lower branches, and if she's not quite as graceful as a cat or doesn't take quite as naturally to climbing as he does, she still pulls herself up with the strength and confidence of a gymnast or a rock climber. Once she's pulled herself up to one sturdy branch, it's not much of a challenge to find another, moving higher until she finds a seat she likes and straddles the bough just above the lightning fork.

"Getting down is the really easy part though."

For all that he could have pulled claws out to make the climb easier, Daryl kept himself mostly human. It'd be too tempting to just go all the way and settle into his usual sleeping spot. The spot which... she... took... It was the larger of the branches and the most comfortable. And he'd moved to the side so she had room to get comfortable before he settled himself, so it was his own fault, really.

He gets himself into another a little higher up. It wasn't quite as nice, but it would do. Let him relax back, one knee propped up where he could rest his arm across it. The other leg hanging down next to her.

Daryl chuffed at her humor, giving his own light chuckle in his throat, "That mean you always land on your feet, too?"

Natasha leans forward, her hands braced on a gall in the branch. She smiles, snorting faintly. "You could say that. At least better than most people do."

It has kept her alive this long. It had landed her in London.

"I think you have to be in this world, if you want to keep going. The falls are going to happen. Either you figure out how to take them or eventually you don't get back up." She doesn't sound particularly cynical saying it. She doesn't consider it pessimistic. That's just life.

He'd been speaking a lot less metaphorically than she was, but he could roll with it. Daryl let out a soft 'mmm' of agreement, letting his eyes wander across the star-lit field, the lights of London a glow on the horizon.

"We got about 45 minutes to enjoy the sights before we gotta hoof it back," he murmured, relaxing into his perch and otherwise falling silent. Content to let the quiet of the night surround them for now.

"Forty-five minutes, huh?" She shifts her seat a little, making herself a little more comfortable as she looks up at the sky, framed by branches and leaves. She nods. She doesn't mind if he doesn't want to force more conversation. She's kind of impressed by how much she's got out of him as it is.

She's willing to see if they can be comfortably silent together. Plus, it's nice to really get to listen to the sounds of the night. This kind of deep night, there's not too much moving around, but there's still soft, quiet sounds of life that you don't get in the city.

For his part, Daryl found the silence very comfortable once she stopped moving around too much. The crickets and other insects that had gone quiet with their shuffling started their decidedly not soft singing. In the distance there was the occasional quiet hum of an engine on an unseen but nearby road. Next to his ear, though, was some grasshopper playing it's legs nice and loud to a chorus of echoing chirps from further afield. It wasn't the kind of noise one found in the city, the difference he'd tried to explain at the dating event.

But it was also a noise Daryl could easily tune out or shift to the back of his thoughts. Something to worry about only if it ended or changed.

Normally he'd let himself fall asleep, but with her there, he needed to stay awake. He was going to have a hell of a day come morning. Left him wondering if it'd be okay to ask for someone else to cover his shift so he could catch up on a few hours of sleep.

It might not be as good as a nap, but for a good half an hour or so, Natasha sits quietly and watches the stars, letting her mind wander—or not. For the first time in at least two months, she stops planning and running angles in the back of her head.

Who knew crickets were the secret to that?

It's only when her internal clock starts to say they should get moving back to the city that she swings her leg over the branch and turns her attention from the sky to the ground. She puts on a casual face, but she'd really prefer not have to spend the day at Daryl's place or in a hotel closet.

"You didn't even get a nap, did you?"

He leaned forward with a simple, "Nope." Then, using his hands as leverage, hopped into a squatting position, his human body doing it's best to imitate a cat pulling itself up before getting ready to pounce. It might not look that graceful in his current state, but he was more than ready for the jump.

Daryl landed on his feet, as all good cats should, not even a grunt given for the effort. When he straightened himself, he turned to look back up and call out, "You good?"

Natasha pushes herself off the branch, dropping rather than jumping and landing with a different kind of grace than an animal would show. Something a little less natural. She catches herself, almost immediately walking a step or two in his direction.

"I'm good. You don't have to worry about me."

Daryl has to resist the urge to extend his hand towards her, but he doesn't quite manage to keep his arm from lifting. He cuts the action short by lifting it towards his head to make a quick run through his hair before leading the way back to the bike.

"So uh... hope it was okay," he said, nerves coming back now that the night was 'over'. The ride back to the bar didn't really count as an ending and he figured as close as they were cutting it to sunrise - even if she should have close to an hour to get wherever she was going - she wouldn't want to linger once he did drop her off. "I mean, that you had fun."

Natasha notices the abortive gesture and her lips twitch toward a smile. She won't draw attention to it if he's uncomfortable though. She slips her hands in her pockets again, following him with an easy gate.

"I did. It was fun," she tells him reassuringly. "It's nice to just get out for a while. Clear my head."

After a pause then, she adds, "I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime, if you can afford to miss the sleep."

The way his head lifted was just like a cat perking up with interest. All he needed was the ears, really. Though he did press his lips together, it was very much with a suddenly pleased air and not at all with apprehension. He gave a nod, "I can that. This."

Only a couple years ago he'd had a much more aggressively strange sleep cycle. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with lack of proper sleep here and there, it was that he no longer had to. But it was nice of her to ask.

"You want me to call you again, or you wanna pick the day?"

Edited 2016-04-27 16:26 (UTC)

"How about you give me a call again?" she says. Somehow, it seems fitting to let a cat come to her, at least at this point. He still strikes her as pretty skittish, and she doesn't lose much by letting him have that much control.

Besides, she can always change her mind if he never gets back to her.

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dirtyredneck - 2016-04-29 03:13 (UTC) - Expand

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