3304/Sometimes, it's okay to just be normal.

Sometimes, it's okay to just be normal.
Date of Scene:	04 December 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Miss America, Raven

---

Miss America has posed:
    There's no such thing as the perfect date. Or at least, there's no real, one standard. Really, it's just a matter of people, and how well they connect. What might be the perfect setting for someone might be horrendous for someone else. The people involved -- that's what matters.

    It's with that in mind that America Chavez made her return to Titans Tower after getting ahold of Rachel ahead of time -- the message was simple, and direct. An offer for a date. When she arrived, there's no fanfare, nor pomp or ceremony. She just waited for Raven, and when the hoodie-wearing goth girl showed up, America just took the girl's hand, punched a hole in space and time, and led them both to--

    --Apenzell, Switzerland. Night time. The rolling hill of Apenzell are some of the most beautiful sights in the world, stretching on for miles of serene greenery and clear, star-studded skies. Winter has not quite yet brought its soft blankets of snow to the area, but the signs of snowflakes have begun to drift lazily down from the dark skies by the time they arrive in a flurry of blue light and star-shaped portals. There's a blanket already laid out, with an assortment of foods that look like they were bought from any variety of food trucks -- nothing fancy, nothing expensive, but a tasty selection nonetheless. But most importantly...

    ... This place is miles from so much as any sign of another human being. Somewhere comfortable. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere where they can just have their privacy, out in nature.

    "This work?" asks America, that voice of hers ever-calm and easygoing -- as if, even as she settles down onto the blanket nearby them, she could leave this place just as easily if it wasn't comfortable for the other girl.

Raven has posed:
    Raven is about eighty-percent into this. That is, frankly, about as close as Raven ever gets to being completely okay with everything that's going on. Truth be told, to get that close on the first shot is something of a miracle. It's one of the reasons she can't really express how surprised she is. Can't have America feeling -that- good with herself.

    She had been languishing over the idea for... Days. Whether it was America's message that put her in that state, or the simple prospect that they were dating and that to -be- dating one must actually -date,- was unclear. Raven has layers upon layers of calm, defenses from her innermost regions of emotion that in almost -every- social situation, hold up so well that one might wonder whether she has an emotion other than Mean.

    The idea of a date punched right to the center of that. Will it be okay? Will she be terrible to be around? Will she hurt the person she's with, or worse, everyone around them? Raven has never even come close to answering these questions. To her, the idea that a single emotional event will turn into some apocalyptic scenario is very real.

    She almost said No.

    Still, regardless of the way she felt at first, Raven knew that she couldn't not try. Now, here she is in a foreign country, overlooking an area as beautiful as she could ever imagine something ever being. Raven brings her hands up, and actually slips the hood off of her head- something she doesn't really -do.- She's worn other things, but the hood being down is a sincere rarity if she's wearing the sweater at all.

    "Yes, it works very well." Raven is a secluded person- but she would rather be secluded around her things- such as her books or her computer- than simply secluded... But, by any standard, taking Raven somewhere that other people aren't is genuinely the best move. Raven might not be a nature buff, but the serenity and seclusion are still things she enjoys. It's also hard to argue with the company, or the accommodations.

    She floats down, having never learned to -sit- like a normal person, she just sort of tucks her legs under herself in this slow-motion fall that belies the fact that she's -always- had powers. She's as at home with them as other people might be with their sight, or their hearing.

    "You've been shopping. Are these your favorites?" It's small talk, but it's -genuine- small talk. She actually wants to know.

Miss America has posed:
    It's to her credit that America, fearless and straightforward though she might be, takes all of this with a relative slowness, as if to ease Raven into the process of 'an actual date' slowly but surely. For as blunt as she is, the Utopian girl didn't get where she is by being oblivious, and it's been obvious just from the other girl's reactions around her just how out of her element all of this is for her.

    So. Slow. America acts like she has all the time in the world, even as the rare sight of Raven-sans-hood draws a curious, perhaps even pleased, lift of one of her dark brows. And, perhaps just as rare, the sight draws the corners of America's lips up just a bit, in the vaguest hint of a smile before she settles in to the blanket laid out beneath them.

    "Good," she answers, honestly, as she makes herself comfortable, one leg stretching out and the left bending at the knee, one hand planting behind her for support as she turns that dark, inscrutable gaze on Raven. If Raven's natural usage of those powers seems as instinctual as a duck to water, so too does America's nonchalant reaction -- like one who's been around such things for most, if not all, of her life. Birds of a feather, perhaps.

    "Yeah," she says after a moment, as she plucks up a pupusa from the plates of food, holding that tortilla-wrapped treat with her free hand as she turns her attention towards the sky. "A few of 'em, at least. From what I've found so far. Can find a lotta nice stuff if you got looking for it." Her head tilts, thoughtfully, as she brings that pupusa to her lips, turning that curious brown gaze back towards Raven to ask, sincerely, "What's your preferences, chica?" before she takes a bite out of her food.

Raven has posed:
    Raven is silent for a bit. She isn't as reclined or relaxed as America, though... Well, at least she isn't as on guard as she usually is. Most of the time, to call Raven guarded is akin to calling Troy moderately sturdy. Raven notes the way that America's mouth shifts, and for her, that's just as good a thing as gold.

    She was worried that part of it might not be genuine, but at the same time, part of her knew that was incorrect. That a lie of that magnitude would have been so easy to spot that she wouldn't have even been here. Raven is probably pretty hard to prank.

    "There aren't... I don't have that many. I enjoy pizza, I guess. I just haven't made much of a tour. I haven't been trying to find out all the things I enjoy. Back... Back on Azarath there was not a great selection."

    She plucks up the Pupusa, if only because America's doing has basically prompted her, but the reaction of enjoyment as she bites- not wholesale, but somewhat tepidly- is genuine.

    There is a pause, though. The two women know next to nothing about each other save for the fact that they're attracted to one another and that they both have powers. Once she's finished chewing, Raven speaks. "Sorry, I- I'm not really from... From -here-, I guess, in the traditional sense."

Miss America has posed:
    Between Raven's superpowered skepticism and America's unfalteringly blunt personality, there probably isn't much room for lies or pranks between them. Secrets, maybe. But those are a beast of a different breed, as much as one might beget the other.

    But there's a relaxation in America, too, that isn't quite normally there; for as indifferent and even bored as she might always present herself, she always has a guard up -- a little, subtle sensation in her body language and way she talks that very gently suggests that one not try to get to close. Here, at least, as the winter breeze rolls through the hills, brushes at her cheeks, as she enjoys chewing on that filling-filled tortilla -- she does not look nearly as on guard. Just... enjoying herself. For whatever that might mean.

    "Good, yeah?" she asks, even as she mulls over Raven's words, as the other girl takes a bite of that pupusa. Her gaze shifts out towards the plentiful, night-tinted fields and hills surrounding them, head tilting as she considers Raven's words.

    "S'okay," she says, after a moment, casual as can be despite Raven's revelation. Like someone used to such things. Like someone... "Not really from around here, either." And here, she gestures, as if to indicate the world. "Any kinda around here." Her brown eyes roll Raven's way, as if to offer a small look of camaraderie.

    "Can take a while, yeah? Adjusting." She bites that pupusa, chewing thoughtfully. "And you're not really the type to go out that often, I'm guessing. So how about we get used to this place together?"

Raven has posed:
    "I've noticed." she responds. Could she have known? Definitely not -where- America came from, but -that- America wasn't from this dimension? Is it some sort of filler line, that is meant to acknowledge that America had said something. It's unclear which, but if anyone could feel or see that someone is from somewhere -else-, it's probably Raven.

    She looks for a few moments at the foreign foodstuff in her hand. "And it's good, yeah. Not what I'm used to, I think a little... Spicier, than I like? But it's not bad. Is there anything to drink?"

    She let that question rest for a while, before offering this small nod. She may be responding out of order, but some things said she feels are more important than others. "I don't... I don't really go out much. It's better that way, and I don't really feel compelled to. When I'm near people, there's always this chance that I'll feel what they're feeling. Sometimes I feel it weaker, or stronger, than they do. It can be... Hard to deal with. Maybe dangerous."

Miss America has posed:
    She noticed, says Raven, and America's response is to snort once, a wry expression etching itself across her tanned features as she finishes off that pupusa. "Yeah," she says simply. "Kinda figured you would've."

    It's like a little compliment and a wry tease all wrapped into one, delivered with that gloriously deadpan tone of America's as she pushes her freshly-freed hand through her mane of curly brown hair. Her gaze slides back Raven's way at her assessment of the food, a little, wordless nod offered to her assessment before she reaches back to pop open a simple cooler -- one filled, mostly, with water. "Decided to keep it simple this time," she explains, one brow arched. "Figured you weren't really the alcohol type."

    With that, though, she listens; brows furrow mildly in thought, gaze turning towards the moon above them. "You gotta do you," she says after a moment, her voice laced with an easy acceptance. "I'll just bring the food to you. We'll figure out all the shit you love and hate." Her voice is wry -- but at some point as she speaks, her hand has fallen from her hair to layer itself on one of Raven's own. "It'll be a great pain in the ass."

    She doesn't press, doesn't pry. And even when she asks that simple, one word question of, "Dangerous?," it seems to come with a subtly implied message -- that it is fine if Raven doesn't feel like answering. That she can take any of this at the pace she wants to.

Raven has posed:
    Raven nods a bit. She doesn't address much for a moment, before offering this little shrug. "I haven't tried anything alcoholic. I realize that I can just -go- somewhere that it'd be legal, but it feels like cheating. I also don't necessarily know if it would end well." There's another pause, then, as America lays out the game plan. To that, Raven shakes her head. Other people? They might have laughed, but you've got to crack a lot more layers of the onion before you can get Raven to do something so jovial.

    And some harmless but amusing, if perhaps even a -little- painful, misfortune befalling someone aids immensely. She's been known to make laugh-adjacent noises every now and then when kids fall off bikes. She could watch that all day.

    Her eyes slip down to where America's hand is resting on hers. For half a moment- and only half a moment- she wonders if she should move her hand. If it's a good idea to keep it there. Not because she has some weird misconception that she's in the way- but rather because she -wants- to leave it there, and worries that what she wants is, inherently, a bad thing. As well, her hands are where she shows the most flesh. Almost luminescent in how pallid her skintone is, nonetheless there is an inherent softness there. She's never -worked- with them. They lack callouses, the skin is flaweless, the nails perfect. One must wonder what the rest of her looks like- but she only ever reveals about a square inch or two at a time. Face. Hands. That's really it.

    "I apologize, I'm being... A downer. You don't have to do that. I can- WE can find places. I order from some restaurants, maybe we could... Go to them?" That is basically the most direct invitation that Raven manages. "Not tonight, but maybe... Later on?" Date two, it seems, is a genuine possibility- but Raven doesn't even know if America's enjoying herself enough to warrant it.

    Her eyes shift, then, and she nods a bit. "I... There are some indulgences that I don't really know how to deal with. I mean, if I passed by a homeless person and got... Got -really- hungry, that'd be... Basically harmless. But if I'm out on the street and someone inside their apartment is beating their spouse, I don't- I don't know if I'd be able to wash that off. I'd... I'd -feel- that, if I wasn't careful, or on guard. And that's just what's dangerous to other people, before they built the tower... There were incidents where people nearby would be, you know- taking people -home?- That I was unprepared for, and it was really... Intense. Almost as bad as rage, but maybe a little inward, I guess."

Miss America has posed:
    Soft. It's a sharp contrast to the rougher feel of America's hand as her fingers brush over Raven's. The callouses of a lifetime of work finding purchase amidst their counterparts. But America's touch is confident, self-assured. Strong fingers, when that other hand doesn't turn away, wrap around Raven's like it was the most natural thing in the world, her thumb brushing and exploring the back of her hand with light, steady strokes.

    It's an almost sweet touch that contrasts with the incredulous arch of America's brow when Raven apologizes. Dark eyes squint and lips purse before she gives Raven's hand a simple squeeze as if to try to drag her back to the real world. "Not something you gotta apologize for, chica," she says at first. "You've got your reasons, yeah? That's enough for me." She shakes her head, scoffing softly. "Not much of a people person myself, anyway." To a certain degree, maybe, but certainly not to Raven's. She seems to take to all of this much more naturally. But Raven offers her compromise, and America tilts her head the other woman's way. A moment passes in which the latina seems to scrutinize her date quietly.

    And then, as if to dispel any doubts or worries about whether or not she might even be interested in what Raven's offering, she leans to her side. Just enough to press a small kiss to the corner of Raven's lips.

    "Yeah, sure. It's a date, goth girl."

    With that, she'll lean back again. Hand still in hand, the young Utopian considers her fellow, displaced companion's words, lips pulling into a thoughtful line. She doesn't say anything. Not at first. Not one for many words, she responds once more in action, shifting her hand to quietly thread her rough fingers into Raven's softer counterparts. "Must be pretty damn rough, to have to live with that," she finally says, after a long moment. "You're strong, Rae."

Raven has posed:
    Raven sits there for a moment, sort of soft-stunned as America's lean-in finds purchase upon her cheek. She didn't really know it, but she'd been really sincerely wondering if America's hand was going to leave hers- sorely dreading, quietly, unable to admit such a thing to even herself, that it would only be there for a time less than eternity. To feel the other woman's face so near her own? They had kissed once, but this was still something more. The heat of the moment had not been there- which made this all the more impactful.

    It's hard for her to speak at all. At least for the first half-minute. "It's not- I mean I guess it isn't so bad. I'm not- Eh- Sorry, I'm trying to explain but, on the one hand, I can, you know, feel what other people feel and I have to protect myself against that, and it's sometimes really difficult, but at the same time, I... It's like a refridgerator keeping things cold. It might be tough, and there's risk but... But I think I'm -made- to deal with that." She's trying to play it down a bit, that might be obvious, but she's not really lying. "And, you know, sometimes I just... Wonder what it'd be like to feel some of those things the way other people do. Part of me wants to know what it's really like."

    There's obviously more to it, but it's sort of at that point that both of them receive the usual intrusion- Raven's pocket vibrates, and a small notification has lit up.

    "I need to get back to the tower, there's a riot. I'm... Really good at riots." If at any moment America doubted that Raven did not want to leave, two details stand out- first, she has to get the phone out of her sweater's right pocket with her -left- hand, unwilling to remove her partner's from it... And two, America is likely to get the same notification. It seems assassinating the president apparently causes -some- upheaval.