A Visit [ Open]

[gwen]

Ah, the Statue Of Liberty. Gwen had been here countless times before, but she just needed some away time from home and everyone else. Sure her life could be nerve racking, but she didn't care. Why would she care about anything? She usually kept to herself most of the time since well she didn't know anyone with her kind of weird self that happened to change every full moon. Sure she could transform whenever she wished, but still she didn't know what others would do if she told anyone about it.

Looking up at the big giant, Gwen just stared on while others passed by to get a tour of the statue. She didn't need to see the tour again, but it was always fun touring things again just to refresh your memory after a lot of things have gone by. She needed a job. Something that didn't involve having to wear a uniform, but then again almost everything required a uniform. Maybe she could just go around selling newspapers or something. That would work. Yet again that seemed kind of cheesy. Gwen was stumped on what to do now.

[Lord Xavier]

A silk white handkerchief covered the coughing arch of the man, his heavy lids coming down over his radiant green eyes as his chest heaved, those that moved around him with so little as a passing glance noticed the erratic bouncing of his back as he shuffled forwards. Coughing over, a groan crawled its way out of his throat as he moved further onward with the herd, not bothering to pass a glance to the damn ferry he was leaving behind.
Curling his handkerchief into his fist, careful as he imploded the snotty mess within, Sylvester Freeman stuffed it deep into the innards of his navy blue jacket. A small tilt of his neck, the embarrassing eternal burden disguised by an orange and green scarf, he glanced up, squinting under the light, at the monolith.
'Oh, Statue de la Liberté, what the fuck am I doing here?' he exclaimed, provoking a mother of two to usher them away and tut loudly at him. Licking his lips as he pushed his way deeper into the crowd, Sylvester had nothing more on his mind than to break away from the flock, the fun of irritating the shepherd pressing itself upon his mind. Damn goblins.
It was all rather odd. Gracing the city with his presence simply so that he could stand, frown, wave a little, drink a lot as his artwork was held for the group of pompous peacocks who lacked beauty entirely, so much vanity, stupid bastards. Not meaning to dwell. He felt as if he was back at school, or at least on the journey to school, with his eyes averted downwards he began mapping out his journey and noting each crack in the floor, smiling absently at his polished shoes.
It took him a few seconds to realise that his analyses had drawn him to a complete stand still, a hand tried to merge with his shoulder but instead sent him hurling to the right. Wobbling unevenly upon his legs, hands extending in fear of a tumble, Sylvester's head snapped round in search of the git. But it had disappeared cleanly into the tumult of tourists.
Sticking his tongue out a little, he turned swiftly away from that which he had come to hate and loathe and hate so much. Advancing purposefully across the grass, although he could see no little placards of warning and distaste at his moving over the greenly green grass. No stampede of broom wielding keepers of grass, all was well.
Finally, good god, finally, after a couple of pants, a shoulder was supported against the starry shaped base of the thing of liberty. His eyes wandered around languidly, noticing a girl, a young woman at best shot, standing aimlessly; he considered at why she too had the need to be distant from the herd, as he pulled out his pipe and began thumbing his tobacco into its open mouth.

[gwen]

Standing there seemed boring. Just looking at a statue you've seen a million times before. Why look at it again? Those thoughts kept roaming through Gwen's mind as she stood there looking around her and up at the Statue of Liberty. It was boring really. She had seen it all before even when she was away from this island and on the mainland.

She was so distracted that she didn't even feel someone bumping into her until she looked down to see what was clinging to her. A small child. Toddler maybe? She wasn't very good with children and they just seemed to bug her all the time. She hissed like a cat at the child watching as they ran off crying for their mother. Cat instincts were kicking in and Gwen could care far less if her tail happened to pop out either. But she took control and just stood where she was watching as every child walked by with their family looking all bored or excited. One of the two.

Turning around so her back was to the statue she gave off a moody smile as she saw more tourtists come toward her for the tour of the statue. Rolling her eyes she looked at a family as they came up to her. She was hardly confused, but then again what did this family want. With her? "Are you the tour guide?" Gwen gave her a look as if to say. 'Are you crazy or something?'

"No. I'm not a tour guide. You can get a tour by going over to the damn building. That says Office. Maybe if you learned to read you could see it."

[/b]

Yes Gwen was perhaps a bit rude, but it got the point across to the group as they all scowled at her. She gave them a dirty look back as if to say. Don't let the door hit you on your way out. But then again, Gwen was always sour to people who seemed to think she was a higher being. She wasn't. She just knew how to dress and earn a living. Not that she did have a job. She was living off her parents' money til she found a job and then return the money to her parents back in California.

Watching a group of friends walk by, Gwen felt a sharp pain remembering her friends she had back in California. This was before she was rude and a bitch to others. She had a group of friends. Very good friends, but they were killed when all of them went out past curfew to play a game of hide and seek. She was the only to live out of them, but she had been kidnapped and stayed with her captors for more than a month before they had let her go unscathed, but a changed girl. Damn fools. She hated her captors. It killed her to go to her friends graves and place flowers on them when she knew she'd never see them again in this life.

Gwen stood where she was looking down at her feet as she placed her hands in her coat pockets rocking back and forth thinking of what she should do. Get off the island. Or take a tour. Hard Choice. Too Many Choices. [/blockquote]

[Lord Xavier]

An amused smile seemed to slither over Sylvester's mouth as he watched this curious case. Often in the past, he adopted what he regarded as cases which revolved around the theme of analysing others who could prove to be worthy candidates for a few of his experiments, such experiments usually leading to shame and public disgrace, the evaluations of such cases was always fun.
Losing interest as she began to speak to a small group of tourist folk, Sylvester Freeman finished squashing the delectable tobacco into his pipe, wiping his thumb clean by rubbing it methodically against his index finger that once jabbed at secondary school books, pointing out and explaining errors in English classes when he had been a teacher, oh so long ago. A groan clawed its way out of his mouth, he had been remembering the past far too frequently of late, all of it was utterly depressing to him.
With his thumb clean, but far from fresh, he raised the black clay pipe through the air until he could grip it solidly between his atrocious teeth, a clear sign of his passion for sweets as a child. Pipe safe in the clutches of his nashers, Sylvester plunged his hands into the outer pockets of his navy blue jacket. Nothing in the bottom two but handfuls of Wether's Original wrappers. Nothing in the breast pocket save an out of date bus pass and a scrap of paper to inform him that his bus pass had expired.
'Pants,' cursed he, now moving his hands to the innards of his jacket. The right contained pen and paper, oh and his iPhone that was fresh off the press . . . but it was not what he was looking for . . . hmm . . . aha! The left pocket turned out that which he had been searching for. Holding out his hand in triumph he refrained from exalting the yellow packet of matches, a picture of a swan gleaming on the front, to which he had added a top hat and monocle, such is his fashion, one might say.
Sliding out the tray, Sylvester picked out one of the many sticks and struck it against the side of the box as he closed it. Fire leapt excitedly about and around the top of the match, having stuffed the box back into his jacket, he was careful to cup his hand about the flame so that it was given enough time to come into contact and ignite the tobacco lurking within his pipe. Once the process had been complete, Sylvester Freeman flicked the match into a nearby bin with the trained hand of a master.
Now resting his entire weight against the base of the monolith, crossing his ankles, one hand in pocket, the other supporting his pipe as he puffed on it lightly. Eyelids came down over his eyes as he enjoyed the first moments of his addiction before it became as tasteless and unsatisfying as ever. Resuming his watching of the case that interested him, perhaps it was time to stop being the playwright and become the practitioner. Sylvester winced, arseing memories.
'Excuse me?' questioned he, the usual initiator used when approaching strangers, that need to exclaim that you are not invading their privacy without just cause. 'But you wouldn't be able to help me would you? I just wandered off to light my pipe and, by Dios, my tourist party just buggered off and left me standing here like a lemon. Forgive me if this sounds unjust, but your wanderings suggested that you too might be disbanded and . . . I was curious if you wouldn't mind teaming up with me.' He smiled pathetically as most do when they are facing someone that shall squish them happily. 'There's a cigarette in it for your trouble. That is . . . if you do smoke.' Perhaps this half-cock attempt would work, but it probably wouldn't, it shouldn't by all sense and logic. Blast.

[gwen]

Gwen looked at that man who was speaking to her now. Got lost from his tour group, eh? How sad. Maybe he shouldn't have been litting his pipe then. Or he wouldn't have lost them or maybe they were just too stupid to wait for his sweet ass to finish with his pipe. Who knows, Gwen clearly didn't care and if that group that talked to her about being the tour was his group, she would just storm off and find something else to do besides stand here looking like an idiot. Did she really look like she was lost? Hmmm. She didn't really think of it as that, but then again who knows she was always one place or another without a buddy to hang with unless you count the sly bastards she kept meeting at one of the many Wereleopard clubs who she saw everynight and that they slept during the day to preserve their strength for the night fun they had.

"I would really hate to disappoint you, but I'm not in any tours. I've just came back for another site seeing trip. I've been here way to much and it just seems like a habit to spend the day away from home wandering around keeping busy."

[/b]

That was easy. She thought she would bite his head off and give him a nasty reply, but then again those tourists did piss her off. Idiots they were. There were a bunch of signs that said Tours and then the times they were at. She had nearly laughed at their faces for being stupid, but she held her laughter as to not upset though she knew they were probably already upset as it was with her rude big mouth, but did she care? Not really. It wasn't her fault some people couldn't read or look for things on their own. And that's where the idiots come into play. Not knowing how to look for shit when they need it.

She merely laughed at idiots like that, sure she was one of them, but if they had known her past then they would know how grouchy and bitchy she would get. She used to be a nice girl always friendly to people, but after being turned all that changed. She didn't have her best friends she used to hang out with after curfew or during the school hours. So of course she was going to be a rude to people in groups. She wasn't a fan of them because they reminded her too much of her late friends that were killed by a bunch of were-leopards looking for a bit of fun and food. Bastards she always thought of them.[/blockquote]

[Lord Xavier]

Sylvester Freeman drew the pipe up once more, slipping it between his lips as he watched the back of the woman's head, studying the grace to which she turned, perhaps that was the trick of this unearthly light that Britannia could never catch a mere glimpse of. Speaking of light, his hope was diminishing as he was finally able to study her face, his green eyes shone as he drew in each detail, from the lines of apathy stretching from the corners of her eyes to the cruel twist in her lips that suggested all things hated and feared.
Evacuating the smoke from the side of his mouth, keeping the pipe in place upon his lips, careful as not to shower too much of the god awful stuff upon this venomous little creature. Nostrils twitched a fraction, something caught their attention as they filtered down through his second pair of nostrils and onto his tongue.
Closing his mouth around his pipe, his nostrils twitched again as he drew breath and with it the scent that lingered between he and what the Germans called 'Gift'. He had spent many years indulging in perfumes during his decade of deviation, he sniffed again, but taking a deeper cluster of smell with it.
He felt he could put his finger upon the scent, he smiled a little, half at his ability to recognise it and the other half at the cold words that had been thrust from the tongue contained within the cruel mouth and such gifted guff. Perhaps he would tempt her through some means of trickery and mist and bunnies.
'Ah, I must admit that I am rather disappointed, but in fear of protesting too much, I shall not press such matters further. But for two who seem distant from packs it would not be so terrible a thought as to creating our own, now would it?' By this time had plucked the pipe from his mouth and was waving it mystically, stabbing it at the disappearing groups every so often.
'If fate be it that we are to part in the here and the now, then would you grace me with a small sum of knowledge?' He sniffed again a little, confirming his thoughts. 'Would I be correct in observing your perfume as being that new Dutch brand . . . what was it now? . . . Luipaard is it? Yes, I do believe that is it. I must say you smell utterly divine with it on, or am I speaking utter tummy rubbish?'