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evilbeej08/16/2003
11:12 PM
Logfile from Sandbox.
Ryan Logan:
Green. First word that comes to mind when you look at this guy. Lots and lots of green. Six foot four inches of it, or thereabouts. Lithely muscled, he's got an effortless glide to his step and a cocksure strut in his stride. His face is round and boyish, with a slow, friendly grin that appears effortlessly. Only, when you get behind those wire-rim sunglasses perched on his nose and take a look at his eyes, which are solid green through-and-through... that smile doesn't look so friendly anymore. Actually, the way he takes in his surroundings, it looks a whole lot more sinister. All the metal embedded in his head doesn't help much, either. Six hoop earrings in each ear, one nose ring, a lip ring, and a tongue stud. Might make a person wonder what else he's got pierced. His hair's a shade of flaming orange, and has been styled into three-inch spikes that jut straight out from his scalp at even intervals. His hands and arms are scrawled with colorful tattoos - Dragons wreathed in flames crawl upwards from his hands to his elbows, their coils wreathed in flame as they swirl and wrap around his forearms.
He's wearing a white cotton tank-top, snug against the muscles of his chest and back, along with loose-fitting cargo pants with holes worn at the knees and frayed hems, and a pair of red tennis-shoes that have definately seen better days. A shiny watch with a metal band and what looks to be a glowing red face is clasped around his left wrist.
Merry Terrill:
http://iago.nac.net/~gina/MERRYNEW.JPG
http://surl.linuxrus.org/~gina/titansb/merry3.jpg
And the one Cobi did of her: http://surl.linuxrus.org/~gina/titansb/nitelite2.jpg"
It was a dark and...starry night, actually.
It's dark and starry and the air is lovely and cool in the City, and the traffic noise is at a minimum, and you can see the brighter stars from the middle of Central Park. Especially if you're on the grass, depowered. But the problem with lying on the grass at night in the summer is that it doesn't take long before mosquitos discover you, and so it is that the silouhette of a girl with un-silouhetted really skimpy bright orange clothes rockets out of Central Park in a sharp-edged nimbus of glowing fire with Kirbydots in. "AUUUUUGH!" she yells, way up there, really loud.
In the city, no one can hear you... stalk. How many times has he done this? Gone out and just spent the night roaming? Anywhere, anyplace he wants? Dark sewer tunnels as a rat. The rooftops as an owl or a pigeon. The dark alleys as a stray cat... or any nameless hood. Or sometimes just as himself? And anyone who gives him trouble? Gets one -heck- of a fright.
This time, Ryan's standing at the entrance to the park - Well, sitting. In the form of a homeless panhandler. Hey, it's an easy way to pick up a few bucks.
The homeless man with the dirty mangy clothes and the dirty mangy hair looks up, and then around. Nobody here- Prime money-gathering hours have passed. He stands up, and slowly his form shifts- He becomes taller... broader shoulders. Trimmer waist. Orange, spiky hair. Ah... much better.
He didn't get some of mom's best stuff - The starbolts, the immense super-strength. But he did get... her ability to fly. So up he goes, leaving a trail of fire behind him- Following the nimbus... that screamed like a really -cute- girl.
Flight is nothing to sneeze at. It's something that the really cute girl silouhetted in the energy signature is very grateful for as she hovers above the park, frantically brushing at her skin with yellow-gloved hands, scratching at a bugbite on her exposed-to-the-air side. The closer Ryan gets, the easier it gets to hear her cursing under her breath. "...-ing *mosquitos*! Didn't have my fucking /bug-repellant/! Teach /me/ to enjoy the fucking park. I wanna see the stars I can fucking well come up /here/! Dammit dammit dammit...augh...dammit!"
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Says the Green-Skinned one, as he soars up next to the... well, he can't really say -what- she is. "You alright? I saw you come screaming out of the park like a bat out of hell? What's wrong?"
She's a hot girl. Well -- a funny-lookin' hot girl, but definitely a hot girl. And it's really tough to get an idea of her expression, mostly because her skin is a non-reflective black, all over. The only patch of her skin that has any color at all is the golden sun tattoo on her thigh - but when she talks, one /can/ see the inside of her mouth, and her eyes are visible, but as a blank white. Her voice does all the expressing her face can't, though: anguished, she answers, "I *HATE* mosquito bites! They itch! And itch and itch and itch and iiiiitch. I hate 'em. And I gotta twist all half around to /scratch/ this one! It's so not fair at /all/. The damn thing bit my /side/!"
This makes the green-skinned punk do a double-take. "You're all worked up... over Mosquito bites?" He can't help himself. That's just -too- good. He rubs the back of his neck, and then bursts out laughing. "Oh, man! The weird ones only come out at night!" He looks down at himself, and then grins. "Hey, I didn't exclude myself from that list." He pauses. "You need someone to itch for you?" A slow, roguish smile crosses his face. "Well... this is your lucky day. I happen to be an -expert- itch-scratcher."
"It's frustration displacement," explains the girl, anguish gone from her voice, matter-of-fact tone having taken its place. "If I get all worked up over mosquito bites, I don't have to get upset about real thingssaaaaagh ITCHY!!" Anguish back. "Oh god yes please dear /god/ itch it, I can't /get/ at it!" She points hurriedly to a spot just between her back and her side, arm twisting in order to do even /that/. Whimper. "Iiiiitchy. Itchy itchy itchy."
He laughs again. "Hey, now - If I sit here scratching your back in the middle of the sky, won't we be a little conspicuous?" He pauses. "A little -more- conspicuous? C'mon back down to the ground. We'll find someplace where nobody'll bother us and there aren't any mosqutoes and I'll scratch your back to your heart's content."
"Pft," says the girl, eyeing him. "They can look all they want. They look anyway, so I never bother trying to hide." Then she grins, and her mouth is a Cheshire line of perfect pearly-whites in her solid-black face. "Unless you're insinuating something, mister..."
His grin widens, just a touch. "I'm always insinuating something. And I don't bother hiding anyway, usually. I'm still really good at it, though." He begins to drop down towards the ground. "Are you coming?"
"Not yet," quips the girl, though she's clearly following him down. Grinning, she calls after him, "What's your name, anyway? I'm Merry." Pause. "As in Merry is my /name/ so no smartass remarks."
"From me?" The young man says, his grin getting even wider, if that's possible? "Never. You can... you can call me Ryan, Merry." He leads her down into a copse of trees- One -away- from the water. "So.. tell me? What's a cute girl like you doing alone at night?"
"Ryan," repeats Merry with a decisive nod, landing with a light thump as she depowers just before hitting - don't wanna scorch the grass /again/. "Aw, I was looking at the stars from Sheep's Meadow." Without the power lighting her up, she's /still/ a nonreflective black silouhette - except for hair, eyes, teeth, clothes, and tattoo. The power signature is, in fact, just like the Ray's -- except when he was depowered, he looked normal. She doesn't. "What I could see of 'em for all the lights, anyway."
Stars. Ryan doesn't really like to look at the stars. For good reason. "...So," He says, "You had some itches that needed scratching?" He flexes his hands. "Well, like I said, I'm your man."
Bigeyes! Big white eyes in a field of solid black shadow. "Yeeeees! Oh /man/ you reminded me and it itches all /over/ again!" Merry turns around, her back to Ryan, and points agitatedly at the itchy spot again, then goes a little handflappy while bouncing a little on her toes. "Quick quick I'm gonna go /crazy/!"
Ryan Logan laughs again, and puts his hands on Merry's shoulders. "Calm down, cutie. I'll take care of it. Just relax." He runs his right hand down between her shoulderblades, and then holding onto her left for support, he begins to itch. Right where she pointed. "How's that?"
And /that's/ when she can relax. "Mmmm. /Perfect/," she sighs happily, practically melting under the scratching of the bugbite. Well, partially melting even before he got there; not often she gets touched. For some odd reason, when people can't see a surface, they're afraid their hands are gonna hit nothing and keep right on going. But for all her skin's aversion to light, it feels perfectly normal - warm soft human girl skin. "Right there. Just - yeah. Just right."
If there's ever been an appreciator of warm, soft human girl skin, it's the Doppelganger. But... hey. Sometimes it pays to be a gentleman. He gently kneads Merry's shoulder with one hand, as he continues to scratch. "So," He says, "You from around here? Out of town?"
"Grew up mostly in Boston, actually, but I've got a place here, and I travel a lot," answers Merry, head tilting back when he starts kneading her shoulder - yes, her muscles are wound as tight as her hyperkinetic reaction to getting a bug bite. And he is so very making her relax. "...keep doing that?" she asks in a tiny little voice.
Ryan moves both hands up to knead at Mary's shoulders - Strong hands. "You got it." He pauses. "I'm always wandering from place to place," He says. "I guess you could call me a drifter... though.. not really."
He pauses in his massaging, and then murmurs, "You mind if I try something? I promise it won't hurt."
"...as long as it doesn't hurt and doesn't involve sticking a hand up my skirt, go for it," says Merry very softly back, leaning quite happily into Ryan's massage. She's either very trusting or very powerful. Possibly both. Never know with these weirdies.
"I never do that without getting permission first. The first time," Ryan mumbles, before spinning Merry around and moving to seal his lips over hers - Well, that and stick his tongue in her mouth. Whoa!
The girl's white eyes go wide with shock and her hands fly up -- but not to push him away, just a surprise-reflex. Once she's assessed that hey, it's just a kiss -- well, a French kiss -- she relaxes again, gloved hands winding around his back and up, settling on his shoulders. She's a lot shorter than he is, but tries to make up some of the difference by standing on her tiptoes. And by tiptoes I mean like a pointe ballerina. Love flight, love it.
After awhile - He certainly does take his time... of course, this is because he's savoring the white-hot rush of her memories, her experiences... her essence of -being- as it washes into him and is safely locked away in his mind. He pulls away, careful not to catch his tongue-stud on her teeth, and then grins. "...Aren't you an interesting girl," He says, quietly. "...Nice. Too nice for me, I think." He lets her go, and turns to walk away. "Nice meeting you, Merry - Hope you find what you're looking for; You sure deserve it."
