2165/Fly, My Pretties!

Fly, My Pretties!
Date of Scene:	25 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Terra, Miss America

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Atlee (1034) has posed:
    It's a pleasant, if late evening in New York, the city that really never sleeps. Most people are off the streets, and many shops have closed for the day, though a few here and there are still open, along with some pedestrians, some of which are heading home early from the bars.

    On the other hand, there's Mutant Town, which is an oddity in that the nocturnal mutants come out as night falls, so it's an entirely different culture. This is mostly relevant because, in asking around, America was pointed to what is the -best- rave club in town, that caters to mutant and metahuman teens. It moves around, is the problem...though thus far it's managed to escape being shut down at least three times. But the girl with the bright pink hair you spoke to told you it was -definitely- at this warehouse just on the edge of Mutant Town currently, and that she'd know it by the biohazard signs sprayed by the door.

    No one has really tried to hastle you, despite being a lone, pretty woman walking by herself. Really, the area is suprisingly quiet, like people are keeping off the streets a bit, after the recent burst of gang violence that ended up with the Evos, the local mutant gang, being all but destroyed in the course of a week.

Miss America has posed:
Mutant Town. It isn't the first time America Chavez has been to this area of New York. It is, however, the first time she's been -here-. They come in different names, different flavors. Mutant Town. District X. Freak City. But no matter what label they stuck on it, it always ended up the same: a slice of a politely segregated culture that still manages to thrive despite those stacked odds.

She simultaneously likes and hates these places. When they're not being trod upon. When things don't fall past that point of no return. Here... it seems to be teetering, like they always do, and that's part of what brings the young Latina down here. She lands at the southern end of town with a casual little stomp of sneakers against concrete mid-flight, wearing her blue t-shirt, black shorts, denim jacket and red hoodie and a calm, almost detached sort of stare. She takes her time to look around. See the people, the state their in -- and take in that troubling quiet with an expression that falls more and more into thought.

But work isn't the only reason why she's here. Sometimes, after all, even she needs to unwind. And a place like this? Well -- to her, it's the best location to do it in. She asks around. She gets that information, slowly but surely. A rave at the edge of mutant town. Look for the biohazard signs. A curt nod, a simple "thanks," and a departing wave and America starts to make her way over, on foot. It might be easier to fly, but... it defeats the purpose, in the end.

And so, she treks to the edge of town, intense dark eyes looking this way and that and frowning all the more at the quiet here. "Tch," she grunts under her breath... but for now, she carries on, towards that warehouse, eyes fixed comfortably forward. Time to worry about that, later. Now? Now is the time to just work out that stress in a more fun way.

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    Up ahead, you can see what does seem to be a warehouse...and there does seem to be a lot of kids your age, many obvious mutants, hanging around out front. Interestingly, there's no sound of music or even bass that you can detect from here. But definitely, there's biohazard signs sprayed on either side of the door, in glow-in-the-dark orange, no less.

    But as you're starting to head that way, that's when something comes flying over the low fence of a construction area to your left, screeching as it zooms past you. You only get a brief look, but...that was...a flying monkey? It sure looked like one!

    Said monkey appears to be fleeing the dark haired girl who comes zooming over the fence, riding what looks like a wide, flat paving stone. Or she was, as the first creature grabs a mailbox, then heaves it at said girl with a screech, as it slams into the stone and shatters it, the girl letting out a yelp as she abruptly gets dumped back to the ground with a solid-sounding *Thud*

    "...ow." the girl groans a bit, then pushes herself up, a determined look in her violet eyes.

Miss America has posed:
There it is. Rubber heels dig into the street beneath her as America rounds up on the warehouse just beyond. Hands in her jacket pockets, she turns that neutral stare of hers to the group of kids, and then to the biohazard signs... but doesn't quite move yet. The lack of music makes her not so much hesitate as pause in some muted consideration. Her brows knit inward into small knot. Her head cocks to the right.

"Eh. Not gonna find out shit from over he--" she begins, mid-step...

... when a monkey flies past her. Wait. A monkey?

"--what the fuck?"

This is America's eloquent summation of the events that bring that gibbering, flying, monkey-bat hybrid soaring swiftly past her field of vision. Dark eyes track it to where it sweeps away, looking like it's trying to -escape- something. She doesn't wonder what.

After all, her money's on the reason blasting past her right about--

Whoosh!

--now.

That would be the sound of a stone gushing wind wildly through America's mane of curly, dark hair as a strange girl rushes past. On a stone. A stone that swiftly is blown out by a mailbox, leaving her stranded on the ground. America stares for a long moment. A brow lifts.

"... Sure."

And then she just does what comes naturally to her: makes her way calmly towards that sprawled figure, stops, and turns around.

America's shadow cast over you might be the first thing you notice before she leans in. And while her gaze is not focused on you -- instead tracking just where that monkey is going -- her hand stretched your way in offering is proof enough where her focus really is right now. She doesn't ask questions. Or look for explanations. She just cocks her head in the direction of the flying monkey, cool as can be.

"You need help, chica." That's not a question, either.

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    The other girl is picking herself up, shaking herself a bit as the dirt and dust on her promptly puffs off her, then blinks at you. "...yes!" she says after a moment, perking up. "Um, do you have any experience in catching vicious proto-simian scouts whose bite carries a really, really, nasty variety of diseases, that will bring down ALL its budies if it gets back to its nest?" Yes, she got that out all in one breath, and pauses to take a deep one. She looks very hopeful that that doesn't immediately cause you to stride away from the situation.

    "Um, here, step over next to me, I can carry both of us after it! We just need to corral it so it can't fly away, it's a male so it more glides than flies, so it's gonna find something tall to climb up on again..."

    She taps her foot on the ground as the surface peels back, a more sturdy disk of stone pushes up through the ground smoothly. "Climb on! Don't worry, it's pretty safe!" Not completely safe, but...you're riding a rock at that point, really.

Miss America has posed:
Does she have any experience chasing proto-simian scouts whose bite carries a really, really, nasty variety of diseases, that--

"No," is America's first, blunt response, one shoulder rolling after the other. Her neck turns with a slight crack.

"Last time, it was giant amoebas. But I got this."

She says this as simply as if she were just tackling another chore in the day, and seems about ready to just rush off after it without another word to be spared -- but when you speak to her, she pauses, and blinks. She looks back your way, her expression questioning, before she looks to the ground beneath your feet. That sharp gaze swiftly seems to put two and two together, seconds before that disk is shorn from the earth. A half smile cocks at the corner of her lip. "Sure."

She doesn't hesitate. She just hops up onto that disk, positioning herself behind you. One hand, surprisingly strong, taps comfortably on your shoulder; the other points towards the east. "That way," she instructs. "I'll keep an eye out, you make sure this thing stays together." A small, intense little smile follows. "Let's kick some Wizard of Oz-looking ass."

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    The other girl grins. "Well of course!" she says simply, then looks slightly unsure as you tap her on the shoulder. "...what's an Oz?" she says after moment of thought. "And I'm pretty sure it's not a wizard...because it hasn't thrown fireballs at me yet."

    Once you're aboard, the rock smoothly lifts off, before accelerating after the direction the creature went, floating up to about three stories up. It's suprisingly stable, not budging from the angle its at, other than to shift slightly forward or backwards to brace you when she takes a turn, leaning automatically. Bit like a really large skateboard.

    "I'm Terra, nice to meet you." the dark haired girl says cheerfully, her yes flicking around as she slows to make it easier for you to scan for the monkey thing, floating slowly down the street amid darkened, rusted out warehouses and boarded up storefronts.

    This no-man's land seem more or less abandoned save for occasionally street people you see scurrying down alleys when they see the two of you coming. One actually seems to melt bonelessly and just flow down into the storm sewer and out of sight, in fact. "Oh, and be careful if you get close to it, ahools bite and their teeth have all sorts of nastiness on them." she says, with a frown, glancing over her shoulder at you.

Miss America has posed:
... what's an Oz? It's a question that causes America to pause for exactly two seconds, which is in itself an impressive feat, before that follow up just makes her purse her lips. Really, it's an accomplishment. As is that wry look of amusement that decorates her expression moments later.

"Don't worry about it, chica," she assures, seconds before that disk of stone accelerates off. She could just fly herself, but... this has its advantages in hunting the thing down, too, and honestly? To America, it's just a good opportunity to try something different. And so, she centers herself on your flying rock, dark eyes sweeping the city streets and buildings -- looking for taller buildings, specifically, places where that creature could get the vertical height it required to take off.

"America," she greets, almost as an afterthought to your more pleasant introduction. But even as her eyes stay down upon the sprawl of Mutant Town before her, she pauses, and adds, "Like the name," to the end of that thought in simple, sincere compliment.

It's still so empty. She remembers nightlife in these towns always being more vibrant. It makes her lips once more crease into a frown, her free hand clenching a little more into a fist as the right rests comfortably upon your shoulder in a steadying, secure grip.

"Punch it before it can sink its teeth in," she summarizes of your words of warning, sparing a little glance back up to you. "Got it." Really. "You just go around chasing monkeys all day?"

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    The rock swoops carefully up over an old power cable then down again, the light of the moon overhead mixing with the occasional sign that provides some relief from the darkness. "America?" She laughs, but in a delighted way. "That's a great name!" She peers back. "...my real name is Atlee, when I'm not being Terra. So we're both A names!" She flashes a grin. Yes, she....really sucks at the whole secret identity thing.

    "And no, not ahools normally." So at least you have a name to go with it then. "They're actually a bit rare this far north, especially in a city. But that construction yard must have broken into a cave they're nesting in. So, maybe 30-40 of them down there...." she says with a frown.

    "And there are much better and worse creatures to be find! Though I must prefer the ones that are just lost and need to get home." She mmphs. "AT least it's not Empathosaur again. That guy is a JERK." she says firmly.

    As your eyes run over a water tank atop a tenement nearby, you catch a flash of motion..a set of wings, sliding over the rim of the roof, and something scuttling towards the water tank itself, specifially the ladder up the side.

Miss America has posed:
"Damn right it is." At least America has a wealth of self-confidence, if nothing else. The look she shoots you is more entertained in a subdued way though, before that intense gaze returns to the buildings and structures dotting that mutant ghetto nestled in the city. You offer your real name, and she just snorts once in response. "Guess we are," she agrees easily enough. She doesn't chide about the name, even if she knows it's meant to be a secret identity you just casually revealed. No -- in fact, she gives your shoulder a brief little squeeze of approval.

"I like your style, Atlee," is the easy praise that follows. She and that whole secret identity thing? Don't really get along that well, either.

She considers the information provided, though, eyes narrowing in thought. "The rest of 'em gonna be a problem without the scout?" she asks simply, weighing her options before she spots something from the corner of her eyes. She blinks, squints... a smiles the ghost of a smile.

"Yeah, met something like that before," she mentions off-handedly, of the Empathosaur. "It's a big bag of dicks." Eloquent to the last, she caps it all off by tapping her index finger on your shoulder, before cocking her head in the ahool's direction.

"To the right, the water tower," she instructs. "Bring it in high. I'll get the drop on him."

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    "Well, as long as the scout doesn't get back, they won't flock, and if they don't flock, I can probably seal the cave and redirect them to leave the city underground, someplace where there aren't people around." Atlee answers, then smiles a bit at the praise. "Thank you." she says cheerfully, though she flushes slightly at the language. "Hmm?"

    She turns her head, the rock moving with the movement almost as it accelerates, flying upwards towards the tower. This close, you can see the ahool is scrambling up the ladder with a particular gibbon-like grace. And the benefit of a flying rock, apparently, is that it doesn't make any noise, as Atlee circles around and floats it up, turning to look at you with a bit of concern. "Please be careful. They tend to claw and bite, and they have very large talons." She frowns. "It will try to disembowel you if it can. So don't let it do that?" Now that you're about to jump into the fray, it's starting to occur to Atlee that while you're quite helpful, she really has no idea if you'll be okay.

    But you can see the ahool starting to turn arond 3/4s of the way up the latter, gettin ready to leap clear and spread its wings as it does a few experimental flaps.

Miss America has posed:
"Good. Let's get this done quick," Chavez decides simply, her mind set. She knows exactly what to do, now. But then... it's probably what she was going to do from the beginning, anyway, given that look of understated intensity in that stare of hers as they ascend over the clamoring, bat-winged monkey. She judges just where they are. Where the ahool is. The distance from it to the street below. She gives a simple nod, half to herself, as the disk silently hovers above... and that hand slips away from your shoulder.

"Appreciate it, but you don't gotta worry about me," she says, sounding no less than absolutely certain as her hands clench into a fist and her head rolls slowly. She waits there on the platform. Watching as the gibbering gibbon flaps those wings. Watching as it prepares to leap. Legs tensing, muscles cording along streamlined calves and fists curling tight at the ready.

"Not really the disemboweling type."

And the very -second- that ahool leaps, America just... drops. Drops straight off that disk into a freefall in a path that will take her right over the ahool right as it begins to glide, when it - hopefully - is less able to maneuver itself. One fist cocks back.

Yep. She's going to punch that thing in freefall right back to the Land of Oz.

Not literally.

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    Atlee's lips part in suprise as you just...jump off. She thought you were going for the ladder!. And, well, it's perhaps not suprising that after a moment of shock she lets the rock under her drop, following you down as she accelerates down, moving to where she can catch you before you hit the ground!

    The ahool, meanwhile, is not expecting a airborne free-falling America...though something seems to warn it enough that it turns its head, baring its fang. You can practically see the stunned animal suprise as the fist comes down and the ahool just...explodes like an airborne paintbomb with a final shriek that's abruptly cut off.

    Fortunately, you got it! And there's no one around to be harmed by it...except for you. And it's not so much harmed as, well, sprayed with blood and bits, mostly because you then fall through the expanding fine mist left behind.

    Atlee's eyes widen a bit as she shoots past you, falling a bit faster as you disintegrate the critter, then smoothly curls underneath you. And since she doesn't know anything about this possible flying nonsense (because who flies besides -everyone-), the petite girl promptly holds out her arms and spreads her feet to brace in a 'I'm totally going to catch the blood-covered Latina' stance.

Miss America has posed:
About the only thing that America Chavez can say is a new experience for her in any of this moment (literally any of it) is that this is the very first time she's exploded a flying monkey. But really, that's saying something. She feels relatively accomplished today.

That's how she feels, anyway, when that ahool just kind of... converts to a grainy mist of blood and other assorted viscera as she just kind of casually plows though the poor thing; the blood splatters all over her in wild patterns across her skin and clothes, but she doesn't really pay it much mind. It's not the first time -- it probably won't be the last, either.

No, the Latina adventurer is currently just completing the arc of that punch and preparing herself to provide the countermomentum she needs to stop before she hits pavement and causes property damage that the people here frankly just don't need, when, well... You interrupt whatever carefully laid plans she had.

She's honestly not expecting it. She's been doing this so long on her own that she takes certain things for granted, and it shows in a rare moment of surprise when you suddenly swing up from underneath her. "Wait, wh--" Body twisting so that her legs are curling towards her stomach, she's in a pitch perfect position to be swept up within your arms in that ever-so-heroic catch. The taller girl falls into your grasp before she can summon up the will to fly. Saved (or not) and covered in gibbon giblets.

And for a long, sublimely rare moment, America just stares, dumbfounded, before reality settles in and she realizes her situation. She blinks, wide-eyed. Shakes her head. And then she just laughs, wry but genuinely amused at a joke likely only she gets, lifting a hand to tap you once, appreciatively, just above your heart.

"Thanks, chica," she says, simply, "You're a lifesaver." Maybe not necessarily in her case. But in the end -- it's the sentiment that counts.

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    She takes the impact with a suprising amount of strength, her arms shifting as your weight lands in them as she automatically hugs you to her to keep you stable, the rock bobbing slightly before it steadies. There's almost immediately a splatter that follows, but the other girl ignores it other than a faint sigh, then beams at you. "Gotcha!" she says, grinning , then gently sets you back on your feet.

    "Well, that was a bit messy, but...good job!" she says, eaching up to delicately pick some of the larger bits she can see off your outfit with a faint frown of concentration. "I mean, I really didn't expect you'd just jump! I should really ask these things." She does look you over, just to check "You're alright though? I mean..other than the mess." she adds, wrinkling her nose.

Miss America has posed:
Hugged close, America does what she can to ease the process for you, one hand steadying itself around your shoulders as the stony platform settles beneath the two of you. She seems fairly content like that for the brief span of time it lasts -- but as soon as you're stable, she's slipping that arm from around you again to help swing herself comfortably back onto her feet with a simple stretch. She seems not to notice much of the gore. Or care. Maybe she's just used to it.

Which makes your efforts to clean it off her inspire the arch of one fine brow as she looks your way. She lifts a hand -- but rather than stop you, she just stretches it out to pluck a bit of that ahool remains from your top and frown at it, chucking it over her shoulder. "Sorry about that," she says, nodding to the blood staining your costume now. "Wasn't planning on getting you messy, too. It's a nice costume."

With that, she looks over her shoulder, towards the ground below, as you check her over. Her arms stretch over her head, her expression wry. "Smell a bit like shit now, but I'm fine," she assures you, dark eyes glancing back your way from the corner of her gaze. "Had a plan, I wasn't ever gonna hit the ground." She pauses, looking aside and considering before she glances back your way once more. "Appreciate it, though. Really. We good now?"

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    The other girl blinks her violet eyes at you uncertainly. "...were we not good before?" she asks curiously. "I think we are good, yes." That purple gaze stays on you as you explain, then makes a face at the reference to smelling, saying apologetically. "I'm very sorry. They're not the cleanest of animals to begin with..." She looks unsure, before she seems to make a decision, the rock starting to float back towards the construction yard.

    "It's okay! Mine won't stain. I just need to wash it, but..." She smiles a bit. "I have clothes you can have!" She looks you over, biting her lower lip. "...I mean...the shirt will...fit? I think? And the skirt will, but..."

    She chews her lip thoughfully, then shrugs. "Well you can try them on, and maybe we can find a sink or something where you can wash off here?" The stone descends, brushing the ground, then slowing as it sinks into it, until it disappears under the arth again, with Atlee hopping and heading over by one of the cement mixers, snagging a bright yellow duffel bag, then bringing it over as she unzips it, before tugging out a fairly plain looking dark green shirt and a black skirt. The former at least looks to be fairly loose, though it might be short. The skirt...eh. Atlee looks around, then perks as she walks over to a nearby hose. "...maybe this is...hm...ahah!" Thre's a faint gurgle as the water comes on, then Atlee promptly dunks her head under it, rinsing off the mess, then just doing the same for her costume. It at least gets the worst of the muck (and smell) off.

Miss America has posed:
That innocent, uncertain, and very literal question manages to take the Utopian girl off guard; she blinks, before looking aside and snorting once, dismissively but not derisively. She can't help herself; she reaches out with her (unbloodied) hand and gently tousles that dark, short cut head of hair. "We're good, pixie," she promises, before pausing and amending that with a very quick, illuminating, "Not an actual pixie. Nickname," as if to cut off any potential confusion at the pass.

Still, your apology is met with the simple shake of America's head as she shoves her hands back into the pockets of her jacket. "You're cute, but you don't have to apologize. It's my mess. I'll take care of it." She seems relatively certain of this fact, apparently intent to go off and do just that. Is she going to jump off the platform again? It certainly looks like it, at least -- until your offer makes her pause. She looks back, tilts her head, and rubs the back of her neck, silent for a long moment as if weighing her options.

"... Sure," she ultimately says, just as that stone hits the street it came from and melds in with it anew. "Thanks, pixie."

And with that, she makes her way over to meet you halfway, taking a look at the attire. It'll be a little small on her, it seems (probably more than a little), but well, "I can make it work," she decides simply. Not one to stand on ceremony or sweat the small stuff. "You've got good taste." For now, though, she'll slip those clothes into the duffel back anew, walking calmly over to that hose as you turn it on. She'll wait, patiently, for you to get off the brunt of the mess from your costume before she dips in next to you under that steady, bubbling stream of water, letting it wash over her hair and drench her clothes and bloodied, tanned skin with a small, lopsided smile offered your way as she lets the remains of that poor creature wash off her.

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    The other girl lets out a soft giggle. "Pixie. I don't have the wings though, America." she says goodnaturedly, smiling at you., then looks a bit suprised as you dunk yourself under the water completely, the cool water splattering and soaking you throughly after a few seconds.

    "Oh! But you'll be cold!" she protests...as it's really too late to unsoak the clothes at this point. Instead, she frowns a little, then sighs and starts to help get what she can off, moving the hose back and forth a bit until she can't see any obvious bits and the worst of the blood is, at least, off your skin.

    Still, the other girl frets a bit. "I should start bringing a towel for these sorts of things...aren't you going to be cold now?" she says, a tinge of worry coming to her voice as the water running over you finally runs clear, before she shuts it off, tilting her head. "Um, I can fly you home quickly, so you don't catch a chill..."

Miss America has posed:
She hears your concern, but it's already too late for that; the water douses her through, making a dripping mess of her shirt and clinging beads of it to tanned skin and her soaked mop of wavy hair. Her bangs smear messily over her forehead as she looks back up to you, frowning; her gaze softens, just a little -- but it doesn't stop her from waiting until most of that gunk is good and off her.

"It's fine," is her first response when the water turns off. "Takes a lot more than this to get me cold." She looks down at herself, shirt clinging wetly and dripping water from her fingertips as she raises her hands. She shakes off a few stray droplets, feeling the cool night air wash over her as she scans the general area as if looking for people, or places, to possibly go.

"Home's kinda a work in progress," she explains succinctly, her own little way of saying she doesn't actually have a permanent place of residence yet. "I can find a place to dry off and change, pixie. Already been giving you enough trouble."

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    Atlee blinks a bit, looking unsure as you drip, then then shakes her head at the suggestion. "No, it's not trouble. I'm happy to help." she says, earnestly, setting the hose down. She stops in front of you, then reaches up to fuss at your bangs, standing up on her tiptoes to reach. "There, now you can see." she says witha quick smile as she brushes the bangs to either side, where they're at least not falling over your face., before turning a little more serious.

    "Do you mean you don't have a place to stay?" she says, putting her hands on her hips, as she tilts her head. "I am -not- going to let someone as nice as you not have a place to dry off and sleep, if that's the case! That is not what you do for people who are kind enough to help you." It's just that simple to her, apparently.

    She frowns a little bit again, looking a bit fierce about it.

Miss America has posed:
There's a simple earnestness in those words that still takes America some time to adjust to. That guileless desire to help -- right down to the way you part her bangs for her, drawing that hair away from the darkly-colored intensity of that blinking stare -- just makes her peer at you for a moment as you stand upon the very tips of your toes to help her. Fret over her living situation, even. "I mean it's a work in progress," she insists, in that stubborn need to handle her own problems herself. Her head tilts slightly into the swipe of your fingers, until the wet mat of her bangs part easily away.

"Just gotta help, don't you," she utters, almost to herself, before a small smile tugs at the right corner of her lips. Her own hand lifts to frame your face for a moment -- so she can offer you the same courtesy in return, using her thumb to lightly brush that wet mop of hair past your gaze.

"Guess I'd have to be an asshole to argue with you now," she declares bluntly, but far from unpleasantly, as her hand slowly falls away from your face. "You're cute when you get all fierce, chica. Fine. Got something in mind?"

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    An impish grin promptly crosses Atlee's face as you straighten her hair...shorter than yours, it's easy to at least make it look a bit more presentable, if mussed. "That's right, you would be! So don't do that."' she says mock sternly, not afraid apparently to push the advantage while she can. She hmmms, folding her arms as she considers. "Well...hmm...I have a friend that's closer to your height, I think? she says, looking you up and down as she mentally compares you...then comes up about ten centimeters short, in her mind. "No, well...um."

    She considers, then just shrugs and smiles at you. "Well, you can stay at mine then? I don't go there a lot, just to sleep, and I don't have many things, so there's plenty of room? But it has warm water. And fluffy towels!" She grins. "They're purple!" Apparently quite proud of this. "I even have a shirt that will fit you!" It's sort of a night dress for Atlee currently, which means it's about the right size for America, she figures.

    She pauses, then says hesistantly. "I mean, if you want...?"

Miss America has posed:
Content that she's gotten your hair into a workable state in whatever most basic way she can manage, America lets her hands rest on her hips, peering at you with lifted eyebrows as you carefully assess her height. She remains in that easy silence as you work through your thought process, just watching with that ever-cool, ever-calm air of hers before her head tilts. "Your place, huh."

She looks aside, in the direction of that warehouse she had been heading towards. The rave is mostly out of sight at this point, given where they ended up. Her brows furrow just a bit, a thoughtful frown creasing her lips. Those plans are probably shot for now, all things considered. "... Sure," she finally says, voice tinged with a certain dryness as she lifts her hands to lock against the back of her head. Brows hitched upward, her next words, though tinged with that deadpan teasing of hers, are still sincere. "I want." A single foot taps against the ground, as if to indicate the earth beneath them.

"Lead the way. You can show me those purple towels you're so proud of."

Atlee (1034) has posed:
    The shorter girl clasps her hands behind her back, bouncing very slighty on her toes, her violet eyes never leaving you as she waits as you work through to your decision. The moment you say sure, however, she perk, getting a satisfied, even happy smile. A faint coloring of pink runs across her cheeks as you tease her about the towels."Well they're -really- fluffy towels. Super fluffy. Mega fluffy!" she notes a little sheepishly, as she steps over close to you, her hands dropping back to her sides as her fingers curl slightly as she focuses.

    The ground shudders under your tapping foot, before the dirt seem to roll away as a new flattened rock pushes out of the ground under you, then lifts smoothly into the air, carrying both of you skywards. The flight seems effortless on Atlee's part, or at least she's showing no signs of straining still. "It's not too far! I live a little away from the middle of the city...more rock and earth where I am." she explains, as the two rise into the air, then the rock platform arrows to the northest. "But it's nice! You can get a good sleep there." she says cheerfully, then smiles a bit up at the taller girl. "And in the morning, there are waffles!"

    The rock arrows off into the night, disappearing from view, with only a faint question trailing behind it.

    "So...exactly how tall -are- you?"