14104/A Wintry Offering

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A Wintry Offering
Date of Scene: 03 February 2022
Location: Coney Island
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Wonder Woman, Poseidon




Wonder Woman has posed:
It is somewhere around the middle of the afternoon. The sun is out and shining, making the surface of the water glitter as though it has gems hidden within it. There are wintry wisps of clouds but nothing that seems threatening any ill weather in the moment. It's brisk but not terribly cold, not that the temperature happens to bother Diana in the slightest. She's dressed comfortably, for today -- a pair of black boots with a fur lining to them, a pair of blue jeans, and a creamy coloured sweater with a pattern akin to watery waves knit into it.

She sits cross-legged at the end of a dock, facing the water. Her black hair falls over her shoulders and down her back, and her breath fogs the air. Next to her, on the dock, sits a steamy hot pan of baklava. A promise is a promise, after all. As she looks out over the water, she reaches her right hand into a somewhat worn leather pouch from which she takes a handful of barley to lightly strew across the water. "Poseidon, I call to thee, to come from the sea," she says softly, speaking in Greek, her voice both respectful and polite.

Poseidon has posed:
The calling is met with silence. Minutes pass by, a long enough span of time to seem like there will be no answer to that call. And then? The crunch of shoes on gravel. The hollow sound of someone moving from that gravel and onto the dock comes ten minutes after the call.

"Traffic across Manhatten was terrible." Poseidon's voice, surely enough. He's dressed as he tends to be when in human guise. Plaid jacket in red and black. Blue jeans. Black work boots. "You have my number, you know." He sounds cheerful and amused as he comes to a stop behind Diana. He carties in his right hand a fishing tackle box, and in the left, a cooler. "Is that baklava I smell?"

Wonder Woman has posed:
Silence is always an option when one offers an offering to a god or goddess. They do not always deign to pay attentioni to such things. Yet Diana is patient, and she remains seated there on the dock, her hands lightly resting in her lap with the pouch of barley held between them. And then she hears the foosteps from behind her, and one of her eyebrows quirks up a touch as she half turns her head to look towards him. A smile turns at the corners of her lips as she takes in the sight of him, and she pulls the leather pouch closed before reaching out to pick up the pan of baklava.

"It often is, around this time of day," Diana says, a touch of amusement to her voice. "I avoided the traffic, this time," she comments. By which she means that she had flown to get here, no doubt in order to keep the baklava as warm as possible from the oven. "I know, yes," she affirms, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. "Though sometimes, I still prefer the traditional ways," she adds, a touch of amusement to her voice. "It is baklava, and fresh from the oven as well. At least, as fresh as I can have it be for you," she says with a smile.

Poseidon has posed:
Poseidon has given silence as an answer his fair share of times in the past. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. "I should have teleported. But I wanted to pick up bait. The mortal way." Ah. He's playing at being a mortal again, it would seem.

The pair of portable boxes are sat on the dock, and with a wave of his hand, Poseidon brings the sea to his beckoning. It forms into a pair of nice chairs sitting there on the end, positioned to fish. "Fish with me. Share your wondrous baklava," he says.

Wonder Woman has posed:
"You could have, if you wished. There was no rush to arrive here, and I was unlikely to venture to elsewhere for some time," Diana says, a smile touching at the corners of her lips. When silence is the answer that she receives, she always waits for a significant period of time before taking her leave, just in case he simply needed time to arrive. She is a patient sort of person. "It is never a bad thing to do things the mortal way. Slower, perhaps, but worth it," she says softly. She's not divine like he is, but she's not mortal either.

Diana's attention shifts to the sea as he calls it forth to create the chairs, and a smile turns at the corners of her lips as she looks back to him. "I would be both honoured and glad to," she says in a warm tone, giving a small nod to him. "You are welcome to eat as much of the baklava as you wish, and to take the remainder with you when we part company," she comments, a smile easily returning to her features.

Poseidon has posed:
Sometimes, Poseidon has to come from the other side of the planet. Sometimes, the other side of the bay. Sometimes, from Olympus. It pays to be patient. He nods his agreement. "Alow does not always mean bad," he says.

As he settles into the right chair, he pulls the cooler between them and the tacke box in front of himself. Poseidon opens the tackle box and pulls out a pair of broken down rods. One is offered to Diana. It's the rich dee blue of an arctic sea. The one he keeps is paler, topaz blue bright. "I fully plan on glutting myself," he admits.