Alexandra - Starting Early

From Masq
Date: Setting:

IC:  09/11/2008
RL: 03/25/2011

Highland Park -- Main Quad -- Albuquerque

 Highland Park is a lush, well-maintained neighborhood park. Trees such as cottonwoods, pinon, Russian olives, elms, and willows are scattered freely along the west side of the area, in a copse which covers about half the park's territory. A paved sidewalk meanders into the trees, dotted with old-fashioned aged wood and black wrought-iron benches, never quite hidden from general view, but providing some small measure of privacy.

 The park's east side is dominated by a children's playground, complete with slides, a jungle gym, and a swing set. Soft native grasses and flowers have been in carefully arranged strips of greenery. All through the area, shadowed by smaller trees, are picnic tables surrounded by simple wooden benches. A fitness parcourse trail, approximately a mile in length, runs the perimeter of the park.

~*~places are available here~*~

Obvious exits:
Parking Lot <PL>

It's night (not morning). Fairy late on, probably approaching midnight and the park is more or less deserted. There are two people here at the moment, over by the children's play area in a clear patch of grass. One is male, the other female. Trace (the more female of the pair) has a frisbee and she's talking as she demonstrated with it. "...and it's like the skimming stones, you have to throw it flat..."

Deacon, the taller, maler of the pair stands with his arms down at his sides watching Trace. His head is turned over on it's side as she demonstrates with a few unreleased tosses of the frisbee. There's a mimicing of the gesture by the taller of the two, a small grin on his weathered face, "Okay, so.. just like the stones." The leather jacket he's wearing is slid off and tossed down onto the grass, leaving him in just the clean white tee-shirt and jeans. "Let us give this a shot."

And into this moment of relative quite wanders someone who probably doesn't know any better. With a faux-leather jacket added to her usual ensemble, Alexandra seems to just be out for a bit of a late-night wander, hands in her pockets as she follows the paths through the park. Though she does pause as she hears voices, looking around for the source... and grinning when she sees the frisbee. Without just wandering right up and intruding, she finds a nearby bench to prop her hip against and watch for a moment.

"Okay," Trace says, with a grin. "So you bring it back, like so..." She turns her wrist, "And then..." She flicks her hand out, sending the plastic disc spinning through the air towards Deacon.

Deacon brings his hand up instinctively to catch the whirling plastic disc, snatching it out of the air. It's reversed and sent back, sailing smoothly through the air towards Trace. While he's not likely in league for the Olympic Frisbee games... it's pretty good for a first timer! Push ups, that's the only explanation. "Huh.. it is like throwing skipping stones."

After the first back-and-forth is completed without incident, Alexandra stands away from the bench she was leaning against and heads over at a leisurely stroll, keeping an eye out for any stray frisbees along the way. But again, she seems content to watch, though this time making sure to stand where the pair can see her, even raising a hand in a casual wave if one looks her way. Not like she's trying to gesture them over, just saying hi.

Trace snatches the frisbee out of the air, smoothly. The pair of them must be in pretty good condition, they both seem to have great hand-eye co-ordination. She grins, "That's it! You're a natural." The wave from the new arrival catches her attention and she looks over. "Hey there," says the small woman, with a wave of her hand.

Deacon looks onto Trace with a strength of affection in his thin frame. Until there's a wave and he's all corded tension rising up his spine. No narrowing of his eyes and nothing really 'obvious', just that shift in demeanor. A cool sort of expression settling in where a bright smile previously rested, and his eyes are a little harder than would strictly be necessary. One long fingered hand comes up to give the approaching woman a wave, as he's stepping over towards the other of the frisbee throwing pair. He stops only long enough to grab his hoodie and then tosses it back on the grass once he's closer to the smaller of the two of them.

Alexandra smiles at the greeting from Trace, though when she speaks it's mostly to Deacon, more a thing of where she's looking and posture than anything else. "Evening. I didn't mean to interrupt, was just out for a walk and spotted you." She gestures vaguely at the frisbee, "I haven't played with one of those since I was little. You're pretty good with it."

"Yeah... My Dad taught me when I was little," Trace says. She moves close to her companion for a moment, reaching out and lightly running her hand down his arm. She gives Alexandra a searching look, eyes focusing just above her head, before they return to her eyes. She lifts a hand and scratches just behind her ear. "I'm Trace and this is my husband, Deacon."

Deacon also searches over Alexandra as she approaches them, but it's with slightly narrowed eyes. Not harsh, not intrusive, just inspective. Like a person who knows where to look for particular indications about a person, sizing them up. Almost predatory, but only slightly so. When Trace touches his arm, he turns down to look at her, and there's that bright look again. An awakening in his eyes that is complete, for only a couple seconds. Then he nods and looks back to the woman. "Heh-low." His accent is very thick, Germanic and Russian all blended together.. and quiet, soft spoken.

Alexandra's smile pulls a little wider at the introduction, and she offers a hand out to shake, letting the pair decide who's going to step forward and take it, "Good to meet you both. My name's Alexandra." She doesn't move like some dangerous urban predator or anything, not even really appearing all that athletic. Just your average maybe-30 American female. "I've been running about getting things set up at the store, thought I'd take some time for a walk, clear my head."

Trace is the one to step forward first (and not just because she poses before he does!) and she takes Alexandra's hand. The handshake is brief and friendly, hand cool and dry. "Nice to meet you," she says. "Store?" A glance at Deacon and then back to the woman. "Do you have a store?"

Deacon does step forward, but that extended hand is given a critical eye before he ever slides his into it. Nothing said from the tall stubble jawed fellow beside Trace. Once he's joined the handshake, with his equally dry and cold hand, it's slide across the small of the small woman beside him's back, turning to look at her almost precisely when she looks up, then together at Alexandra when the question is posed.

Alexandra's handshake is like the rest of her: normal and without frills, though warmer than the pair she's greeting apparently. Probably due to keeping her hands in her pockets up to now. "Yes, I just recently took over the Old Friends Antique Dealership." A thought seems to strike her then, and she rummages in a pocket before coming up with a business card, which she offers, "It's been closed recently, transition in management. But feel free to drop by! We don't have things like crown jewels, but you never know, might find something nice."

Trace takes the business card and looks at it, then holds it out to the side of her. "We own a store too," she says. "A pawn shop, over on Central. Lost and Found. It's no antique shop but we get some interesting things coming in... you might want to take a look sometime, if you're interested."

"Da, perhaps will find something there you are having been looking for." Deacon states, accepting one of the business cards offered out to them. It's held between both hands and looked over, then slid into the back pocket of his jeans, returning to his 'apparently' usual quiet, hand again laying against the small of Trace's back. Dark eyes look all around them, back over his shoulder, to either side of where they're standing. Always with as little motion as possible, he stares in any direction he turns for an unnecessary length of time.

The business card's fairly simply, all told, having the name of the business, an address and a phone number, with hours listed on the back. About the only thing of note is a colorful flower design in one corner on the front, apparently in an attempt to make the whole works less boring. "A pawn shop? I might drop by sometime, yeah." Her grin breaks back out, "We're almost on the same spectrum. Buying and selling things people don't want anymore." A glance is turned to Deacon, then the blond takes a look around as well, perhaps thinking him nervous or wary of something. Beasties in the night?

"Kinda, yep," Trace agrees, nodding her head. "Ours tend to be less fussy rich people and more desperate junkies, though. But you'd be amazed what some of them had hanging around their houses."

"Da. Junkies are having link to all manner of strangenesses." Deacon states with a nod, attention shifting back to Alexandra. Most would discribe him as a difficult person to read. Like a statue, but alive. Alive in the sense that he's moving, anyways. "You are, perhaps, appraiser? Or know one?"

Alexandra grimaces at the description of clientele, dropping her eyes along with her smile. Her voice is more subdued when she resumes speaking, but she doesn't seem in any great hurry to go running off, "I'm not the sort of antiquarian you see on TV, really. No million-dollar paintings or whatnot. Just old things, interesting things." Deacon's question brings a little of her smile back, a quirk at one corner of her mouth, "I'm a passable appraiser. And if something's out of my league, I've got a few people I can talk to for help. Kind of comes with the business."

"We just took over our business recently... there are a few things we've been keeping in the back. Thought they might be worth something.. maybe you could come and take a look?" Trace slides her hands into the pockets of her jeans, looking up at Alexandra with an interested expression.

Deacon nods with Trace's statement, going back to his earlier quiet as the question is posed. With a bend, he takes up his hoodie and slides it over his shoulders and tugs up the zipper. Once it's back in place, both hands go into the big front pocket of the garment, but his attention remains interestedly on Alexandra.

Alexandra's eyebrows perk up at Trace's offer, interest showing without reservation, "Well, I can certainly see what you've got, if nothing else. Certainly could give you a ballpark figure of some sort." A hand lifts to scratch at her cheek with a fingertip, a thinking gesture that she hardly seems aware of, "Might need to do a little research to get you anything closer than a rough estimate, though, depending."

"Well, it'd be more than we have now," Trace says, flashing a grin. She dangles the frisbee from her hand, letting it rock backwards and forwards with a loose grip.

Deacon seems content in the quiet, seems comfortable as the unmoving object beside Trace. Periodically, he'll look off into the park, but as the conversation continues, it's like his conscious mind is circling a drain. Coming closer to where the three of them are standing, until it might appear as if he's finally showed up. "Also would pay for your time."

Alexandra grins at Deacon's little addition, "Well, that's a nice bit of incentive." A glance is taken at her watch, then "But probably not tonight, I'm out rather late as it is." An inquisitive look is aimed to the pair as a unit, "Should I come by at some point, have a look? Or you could drop by my shop with the items, might be simpler, as I'd have some references on hand."

"Sure... come by tomorrow evening?" Trace asks. "We tend to do our shifts at night, so the employees don't have to deal with the worst of the customers."

Deacon's hand slips from his pocket and slides around Trace's shoulders, "Or we can come by tomorrow evening. Are you open late? For obvious reasons we are keeping late nights.. Circadian rhythm being what it is, da?" No smile, just his cool expression. Always the same, never changing.

Alexandra shifts a bit nervously, glancing around a bit as though worried the 'worst of the customers' might show up even here. Deacon's suggestion has her brightening right back up, though, "I can certainly stay on-site later than usual, if you'd like to bring something by. I can largely set my own hours." Then that nervousness comes back, and a bit of embarrassment, "I'm... not entirely sure I'd be comfortable out your way at that hour, given what you've said about your customers." Eep.

"Well, we could always come and get you and then take you back," Trace offers. "If you wanted. You'd be safe with one of us." She produces a pencil out of her pocket and scrawls a number on the back of the business card, then hands it to Alexandra. "That's my cell."

Deacon agrees with a nod to what Trace says, "Da, nobody would mess with you if one of us is with you. We would stop buying their goods.. and nobody likes that, right?" Of course it's all business. Isn't it always? Certainly neither of them looks very physically intimidating or impressive. "Either way, give Tracey a call and I am usually with her. So should not be difficult to find us."

Alexandra accepts the card back with a nod, "I'll think about it, certainly. Likewise, feel free to drop me a line, the shop's in the directory." Another glance at her watch, and then the woman turns a little away, "Sadly, I really should get going. It was nice meeting you!"

"You too," Trace says with a smile. "Hope you have a good evening!"