2019-09-01 - Twilight Hike

A sunset is the perfect time to be out in the forest, beyond the heat of the day, and particularly excellent to capture the play of shadows and colors through the trees. It's undoubtedly why Dylan has found a spot to sit almost directly in the middle of the walking path. He's dressed to fit his occupation, the epitome of the poor, starving student artist. His blue jeans are ripped on the knees and faded, and his grey t-shirt has splotches of green and orange paint that stained and he couldn't quite get out. A pair of black sneakers finishes off his attire, but the main focus? That's the sketchpad sitting in his lap, the pencil held in hand as he watches through the depths of the trees. A messenger bag rests next to him, it's flap closed for the moment, and the artist doesn't bother to hide the surreal image he is sketching. Letting his imagination get the better of him, each tree trunk he has traced in appearing to have its trunk in the shape of a face with a gasping, wide open mouth.

What do you do when you have a Sunday off and need to get away from your roommates? You take a walk through some questionable woods. There aren't many places to hike in New York, Chicago or Seattle so she's not really all that familiar with how it works. It's probably why she didn't wear long jeans, or a long sleeved shirt. No, she's in a pair of jean shorts and a plain white tank top, her long hair gathered on top of her head. She's covered from neck to her sneakers in ink, colors and blackwork streaming over her form. She is carrying a large, handled water bottle in one hand and her cellphone is in her offhand, thumb swiping over the screen. She spots Dylan just before she nearly tramples on his messenger bag, coming to a stop. "Hey." She glances around, is he out here with someone? "Are you out here on purpose?"

The sound of another has Dylan's head craning up, and up, to the standing form of Zoiya when her question comes rolling in. It draws out a brilliant, pearly white smile towards her as he affirms, "Best spot," A waggle of his pad is given, and then a exaggerated tug of his head down towards the sight lines he was watching. It's such a different angle of the woman than the one he'd had before in glimpses in the dimmer light of the club, but with her ink and features? It's impossible not to put two and two together. "Dancer! Mae," It has his whole mind shifting gears, his features scrunching up in a look of utter concentration as he reaches for his back, careful not to toss the thing onto her feet as he frees out another of those drawing books. "Drew something," Alone? Yes. Quite so, it seems, without another soul around him, he's just out on his own enjoying it. He pauses with that second pad in hand, and then those brilliant blue eyes shift to her phone, and then the forest, and then behind her to see if she's with someone else before he just dives right in. "Busy?"

Mae lets her hazel eyes shift around, taking in the trees, forest floor, some flowers and she just nods in Dylan's direction. "Best spot." It sounds like agreement, even if she might be slightly skeptical. She flashes a grin at Dylan when he recognizes her and takes a step closer, keeping back from the bag that is pulled out of her road. She gazes down to see if she can catch a glimpse of whatever was being done in the sketchbook. She shoves her cell phone in her back pocket, turns to follow his glance behind her and then quirks a brow at him. "Not busy, just getting away from the insanity that is where I live. You know, the usual, escaping into a dark forest because it's that or you throw food at your roommates." She shrugs, decides to stop looming, and kneels next to Dylan. "Why do you ask though? Need me to help you out of the forest or ..something?"

There isn't any attempt to hide what he is currently working on, the forest with its haunted, terrorized faces flashed to her, which only adds to the thought of the insanity of work and roommates she must be escaping. "Wise choice," He teases playful, complete with a wink, when she explains why she is out and about today, and a tug is given to get his messenger bag fully out of her way so she doesn't have to worry about it. Being helped out of the forest brings a warm, bubbling bit of laughter from him, his head offering a firm shake in denial as he muses, "Not yet." It's that other pad he had pulled out that he thumbs through, as he explains, "Inspired," Not that it is overly helpful, in his own quiet way, to explain just what it is he needs at first. Finally the right spot is picked out, and then? It's handed over to her, "Like sharing." He lifts up the paper just a bit, indicating she should look at both the first one and the one after it, at the least.

One might be disappointed for his choice of being inspired to draw after the dance of a naked woman up on stage and subsequent body shots. The first sketch is of Mae's torso, from just beneath breasts right to her hips, just above showing anything more intimate. What it does do? Is it captures the lines and sinuous grace of that dance quite well, and even her ink. Her arms - at least the elbows and parts around them - are at the top of the page. He's done well to recreate what he could remember of all those tattoos, but clearly he has no perfect memory, having to fill in some spots and details the best he could. And then there is the second one. It's the exact same pose, except this time? Mae is nothing but a skeleton, similar to the show of the dark lights, and her ink has taken on a more surreal, fantastical cast. It swirls around those bones, some further away, some closer, as if bouncing and vibrating in response to the music that had been chosen for her routine.

Mae gazes at the picture of the forest before her eyes move to take in the trees around them. When she lets herself wonder, she can almost see the faces in the trees. She shakes her head to dispel the images and responds to his teasing with a tilted smirk. "Freedom is important to me, so being tossed in jail for attempted murder would really harsh my calm." She eases down to sit beside him once he starts to laugh, obviously he's not moving anytime soon. She takes the second pad, her eyes on his face as she holds it, nodding as he says he was inspired. She turns to look down at the page, and for a moment she isn't quite clear what she's seeing.

Then everything jumps out at her, and in such detail. She reaches for the page, the pads of her fingertips brushing over it as she leans in to see the lines and grace that he made stand out on paper. Her tattoos are shown as well, and the ones that are done from memory almost take her breath away. "You.. did this?" She turns to look at him, asking the question before she flips the page. The skeleton makes her laugh and she takes a deep breath as she studies his work. She can almost feel the music sitting here, just by looking at the drawing. "This is really good." She says quietly and then looks over at him again, her nose wrinkled. "Better than good, but I'm a little too blown away to find the proper words." She gives the picture another look, soaking it in before she starts to hand it back, clearly reluctant to do so. "How long have you been.." She trails off, brow furrowing as she tries to find a word that does justice to his work. Sketching doesn't seem good enough.

Dylan peers around, as if expecting lurking people around, before in he leans towards Mae, and his voice lowers to a conspiratorial tone. "Avoid discovery," That's his playfully wise advise as to avoiding attempted murder charges, and that gregarious, broad smile springs to life on those features as he straightens back up, giving her that bit of personal space back as she comes to join him. Her laughter draws a delighted look from the man, eyes turning to half crescent moons, edges showing wrinkles in his own appreciation of her thoughts. "Yes." When she hands the pad over with that slowness, he picks up on it, and it's towards the back of the pad he flips. Two blank sheets are tugged free, even as he flashes her that image of her own torso again, "Best part," No sooner has he said it that he pauses like a deer caught in headlights, eyes as wide as saucers as he just stares as Mae for a few long moments, mouth partially open.

His brain kick starts back in, as he explains hastily, "All good!" Even as his hand raises to motion to the held up hair and then down to her shoes to take in every last part of the dancer. He clears his throat with that same exaggerated offering as he flashes her a sheepish smile, and then those two sketches of her, the realistic one and that of the skeleton? They are carefully removed from the pad and placed between the two blank sheets to help protect them. "Yours." He says as it's all handed over to her. Features scrunch up, and even his tongue dips out a touch as he contemplates the question, before concluding, "Fifteen years." A pause of a beat, and a look of expectation comes back to Zoiya, eyebrows arching upwards with curiosity, "You, dancing?" How long, presumably.

Mae is almost tempted to look around with him, what if there is someone behind her and she doesn't realize it? She tilts her head slightly toward Dylan when he leans in, snorting out a soft laugh at his advice. "If I do have to murder them, I'll come in the woods to hide. It'll be fine." She watches him pull out blank pieces of paper, is he going to draw something new? She finds herself leaning in toward him, wanting to see how he does his magic, but then he's staring at her, and she stares back. She goes still, wondering if she has done or said something wrong, her fingers brushing her hair behind an ear, a fidgeting movement.

She nods at his words, watching him motion toward her, blinking a few times as she tries to puzzle Dylan out. "I don't think I ever caught your name, did you offer it?" Seems silly, here they are sitting in the woods, watching a beautiful sunset that's just about gone, looking at naked and nearly naked pictures in a sketchbook. Then he offers her the pages and she lights up, sitting up straighter as she makes an effort not to hug them to her chest. Instead she sets them down on her knees carefully. She watches him as he answers her question, her cheeks flushing as a question is asked in return. "I've been dancing since I was old enough to move, exotic dancing.. since I was eighteen." She shrugs, reaching for her water bottle. "You have a real talent, I usually don't get into art all that much, but .. do you have more, maybe, that I could see?"

"You too," He offers up about talent, and it isn't a tongue in cheek thing, but sincere, for clearly it was enough to capture his focus and inspiration to draw something. "Dylan." A beat of a pause, before the second option comes, "Rink." Either seems to be good enough, his shoulders lifting up into a hapless shrug to demonstrate either way? He'll respond to those names. A rumbling 'hmmm' comes from the man at her inquiry, and once more it is into that messenger bag to rummage around, finally freeing out a different sketch pad. This one is carefully placed into her lap to make certain it doesn't mess up the sketches she has already been gifted, and then the artist scoots a bit closer, until shoulders bump, as he flips his own book to a new, fresh page all so she can watch what he does in between looking. "Paint. Sculpt." He offers up as other avenues he pursues, which certainly explains the old, faded stains on that t-shirt he wears.

Without a bit of concern for propriety, his hand reaches out, a finger touching to her chin, thumb tucked beneath it to encourage her head to move so he can see the profile of it straight on. It's equally guided down, letting her eyes have an easy chance to see the pages she's been offered to view. "Favorite dancing?" Type, one would assume, even as Dylan picks back up his pencil. Those first lines he draws? They don't hold much rhyme or reason, save to serve as a very rough outline of Zoiya's face, helping to draw out the perspective and sizing of what will in time become actual details that are recognizable. Never does the man speak in more of those one or two words, but equally it is never in doubt how he feels if one keeps an eye on those facial expressions. "Who inked?" He asks, and all it takes is one glance down to those tattoos, fascination and curiosity to be found, like one who is pondering getting something himself.

The first couple of pages in that book, when she looks, are different. They seek to capture emotions. One is at a park, the sky cloudy, except for one brilliant beam of sunlight that comes down on a couple holding hands. In those clouds? One can see vague images of hearts, and it captures well that sensation of a long lived love, given the fact that couple is in their middling years. Another is at a graveyard, and once more the clouds are present, but this time? They seem to have eyes, and he's captured rain that comes from them. A lone widow in black with an umbrella stands over a grave. Save for the clouds, these two border more on the realistic than the surreal.

Mae offers Dylan a genuine smile, her eyes lingering on his face when he introduces himself. "Nice to meet you, Dylan." She watches him rummage around and come out with a different pad, shifting so that it will be easier to view on her lap. She doesn't mind him invading her personal space, she's eager to see the pictures that he's willing to share, already forgetting the backdrop that they are immersed in. Her eyes are on the book in her lap, even if it isn't opened, so when he reaches to touch her chin, she is briefly startled, her eyes rolling up to catch his gaze when he looks at her profile. She lets him move her as he will, staying still under his study. It's only when he picks up his pencil that she makes an effort to answer his question. "My favorite dancing is ballet, but I couldn't really get lessons, so I just learned free form and street dance."

Her eyes are on the lines that are placed on the paper, she's not an artist like this so it's all quite new to her. She seems entranced as it starts to develop, almost not catching the second question because of her focus. "Oh, I've had it done all over the country. Lex Falco did some of my arm and most of this leg.." She taps her fingers on the butterfly on her thigh. ".. when we both lived in Seattle." She catches him looking at them and her lip tugs up into a slight smirk. The sketch book is opened and she is careful as she turns the pages. She lingers on each one, looking at the lines, shadows and details, her lips slightly open as she peruses. "Wow." There is a lot more she feels she should be saying, but all that comes out is that one word.

Once so postured, the bulk of Dylan's attention turns onto his pad, slowly but surely beginning to create depth to the image. He works on the whole first until it's rough but understandable, and then starts diving in on the details of one aspect at a time. He takes a brief interlude to tug out another, colored pencil of an orangish amber hue, but it isn't yet used. "Free form?" He inquires, as if trying to place what sort that would be, before other questions come as to what she might know. "Ballroom?" At the offset, it seems to just be a simple but well detailed opportunity to capture the profile of her face in a realistic fashion, but once those details have been added in, he continues with a touch of the fantastical, that other pencil picked up.

"Lex," He says, not a bit of familiarity with it, but that name tucked away for his own potential needs in the future. "Born there?" Comes the simple question when she mentions Seattle, but her wow? That has his eyes sparkling with delight, that broad and charming smile graced to his lips. "Thanks." The next few pictures become far more surreal. One is of this very forest in winter, the trees barren, but rather than wood? Those trunks look like skeletal arms, the branches like finger bones, a dark and looming thing. Shadows too lurk in that picture, vague but ominous, never quite fully materializing into something that can be related to. The one after that is of down town, bright and cheerful as it captures a man talking on a cellphone who has clearly just gotten some good news given the expression on his face. "Favorite tattoo?"

Mae is still looking down at his sketchbook as she answers. "Free form, just moving as you want, feeling the music, letting your body respond to it. Kind of like stripping in it's own way, probably less bumping and grinding." She rolls her eyes at that, but the bumping and grinding is what gets her money, and she knows it. "I like ballroom dancing, but I haven't had much opportunity to do any. My hours are a little fucked up most times, I'm up most of the night and part of the morning, sleep through the afternoon and then do it all again." She shifts her hazel eyes over to Dylan, a slight tease of a smile on her face. "Ballroom dancing usually happens in the afternoon, or so I'm to believe."

"Born in New York, stayed there until I was in my twenties, then I ran off to Chicago. I only stayed there for about a year." She's kept her attention to his pictures, turning to glance at him when he offers thanks. "Seattle was a more recent thing, I was heading to L.A. and then something turned me north. Can't say I know what it is, but I'm not mad at it." She glances back at the pad, the forest in winter making her smile. "I miss snow." She says before she moves on, the picture pulls at something in her, not in a good way. She does peek at what he's doing, catching the look on his face before she grins. "My favorite tattoo are the words, right here on my torso." She pulls up her shirt, drags her jean shorts down a few inches, saying the words, letting the rhyme roll sing song off her tongue:

"Run and tell
all of the angels
this could
take all night
I think I need
a devil,
to help me
get things right."

In any other context, it would surely be even more weird and forward than it is. But down Dylan's head dips so he can peer closely at those words, even as he listens to her speak them. At their conclusion, another warm rumble of laughter comes from him, that smile going sly as he watches her for half a heartbeat. Straightening, he returns to his current sketch, adding on that orange-yellow hue that matches quite well to the fireflies that begin to appear. This time when she tries to peek he dips his head in the way, "One minute," He states, clearly wanting to finish something up. It has him lapse into concentration, before finally he stops hovering over it to make certain Mae doesn't find a way to get a look at it prematurely. When he pulls it back? That coloring has been applied to her eye and her lips, shaded in to make her appear to be illuminated like one of those alluring fireflies. Her breath has that same glow to it as it is exhaled, and thousands of little dots are darkly drawn in, creating an image within that cloud of her breath of a ballet dancer in the middle of a pirouette.

"Snows difficult," A tap to the pad to indicate to draw, given just how white it makes everything. All of those places, the large cities, have him focused raptly upon her, a look of fascination, nearly mesmerized, and his own two cents probably aren't surprising about where he has been. "Always here," The pad is held out for her to take so she can get a better look at it, even as his fingers fumble into his pocket, "Dancing," He considers as she talks of what she enjoys about it in ballroom, feeling the music. Finally it's his phone that he produces, a few taps upon the screen before it is held out to her, a new and fresh contact made, just waiting for a number should she so indulge him. "Teach me?"

Seeing that she spends five nights a week on a stage where her every move is scrutinized by men offering her money, him bending to peer at the words doesn't seem all that weird. She laughs with him, but she's watching that sly look. When returns to his current sketch, she turns to look back at the pad in her lap, only giving him a brief contemplative look. She tries to get a look of what he's doing, how could she not, but when it's clear that he doesn't want her to see, she settles back with the drawings of the past. She flips pages, looking at the various sketches. Studying some of them more than once. "Oh snow is difficult on paper and off. Imagine driving through places with a motorcycle. I didn't really think ahead on that one. I had to get out of Chicago though." She slides a look at Dylan when he mentions he's always been here, "Gray Harbor is.. an okay place. I didn't expect to find the Cabaret, or roommates. This place has been one surprise after another." She sees what he's been drawing and she leans a little further into his personal space to do it. "That's just the time we've been here?" She looks impressed.

She takes his phone gives him a brief searching look and then leans over to add a name and number, handing it back. "I can try, sure. You can text me for other things than dancing, if you want."

With that phone handed back, he sticks it back into his pocket, tucked safely away for the time being. Those eyes blink a few times as he tries to picture that particular situation of snowy driving, and not just in a car, but. "Motorcycle escape?" Comes the open ended question, even as he flips that sketchbook closed. It's that fading light, and while it makes for a brilliant dying sunset, it's lost enough illumination, apparently, that he won't work anymore, or maybe he's just far too intrigued to focus. "Maybe yours," He mentions of that new sketch, a teasing smile offered up as he isn't yet ready to let go of that one. It's that lean into his personal space that he doesn't seem to mind, even as he murmurs an answered, "Yes."

Up his left hand comes with her that close, a single finger extending to brush down the bridge of her nose if she'll allow it, calling attention to that closeness, but not a dislike. A wry, amused smile quirks upwards as she mentions texting for other things, and a mischief filled, playful side emerges more fully for those few seconds as he teases, "Weather? Fortune-telling?" As if pondering just why else he might reach out.

"Literally, the motorcycle wasn't mine, but it's mine now." Mae winks in Dylan's direction, closing the pad she had been handed to peruse, handing it over to him carefully. "It was beautiful, I like fireflies, though I don't catch them anymore. Everything deserves the opportunity to be free, especially those things. They only live a few days." She doesn't move away from him, her eyes skimming his face in the close quarters.

Her eyes lid when his finger slides down the bridge of her nose, matching his amused look with one of her own. "To quote a great movie, my breasts can tell when it's raining." She clears her throat and makes a soft noise. "I could also tell your future, but like the weather there is a pretty large margin for error." A beat. "Food, company, or even a motorcycle ride. There are lots of reasons to text someone like me, oh.. girl advice." She nods slowly at the last one, rolling her eyes. "Probably the best reason."

"Wasn't yours?" It's fishing for more information on that story, and with that closeness, one can feel as much as see the amused smile that grows on his mouth, pushing dimples into those cheeks. "Possession is..." He doesn't - can't, likely - finish the thought of how something becomes someone else, but his head dips into a definitive nod with her thought of what fireflies deserve, and it causes noses to brush barely against one another with the effort. "Free," He coos with approval. But then those features scrunch up, trying to place that particular quote, but it's clear that he hasn't seen the great movie that is Mean Girls. "Not best," He comes in disagreement with her playful tease about girl advice, pausing a moment to sort through that multitude of options.

It's hard, clearly, boiling it all down, for each of those things draws a small nod of agreement from him between food, company, or even a ride. But finally a hand lifts, three fingers extending, "Three things," He offers up, though then a fourth, and finally even the thumb juts out. He can think of more than three, but they falter back to stick to what he can manage. "Breakfast. Inspiration," A pat to that sketchpad on his lap, and the third? He can't get to it, and so instead just offers a charming, enigmatic smile cast towards the woman.

"I uh, took it from a guy who did something he shouldn't have. I had the key, so .." Mae trails off, trying not to react to the amused smile, but one curves her lips anyway. "Possession isss.." The last word is softly hissed out of her, trying to draw out the rest of what he was going to say, his next coo of approval making her laugh softly. "Not best? Please. I am the best wingman you could have." Then his nod brushes his nose against hers and she tips her chin up, just a touch, as if she were going to try to make contact with her lips. She pulls back a little bit, teasing or just being polite, it's hard to tell.

He starts to name out the three things, adding a forth, which makes her eyebrows rise. "You can't tell me two, and then not tell the rest. Come now, I'll trade you a secret for it." She reaches for his hand, her inked fingers wiggling his two that haven't been ticked off.

"Why not," Comes his answer to her 'so', not a disapproving bone in his body for the means she used to get that particular motorcycle. That hand is easy enough to capture, both given the proximity and the fact he doesn't seem to mind that contact, allowing hers to wiggle against those two that haven't been ticked off. That third extends back up, offering yet more tantalizing promises of things he can think of, even as an arched brow of his own matches hers, "Secret?" he's clearly on the hook for this, intrigued enough to spill out at least a few more words. He finally uses his free hand to fully shove that last sketch pad into his messenger bag, leaving his own lap completely free, though he is mindful of the pages still in her own, not wishing a single drop of harm to come to them.

"The rest," He begins in those two worded thoughts, repeating what she had said to begin. It's all drawn out to tantalizing portions to keep that tease up, and his eyes drop to a half lidded, contemplative state as if he has to refresh his mind, "Dancing. Motorcycle." Lessons and that mentioned ride, apparently. Each of those words has a single finger lower back, leaving one digit that her fingers are wrapped about, showing she hasn't gotten quite everything out of him yet.

"It felt right." Makes everything better, doesn't it? Mae watches another finger unfold, laughing softly before she turns to nod at Dylan, their close faces brushing against one another. She doesn't have a charming messenger bag to put her sketches in, so she offers hers out in his direction, her free hand holding them out somewhat awkwardly. "Could you put these somewhere safe for me, my house is right outside of the forest, and I can trust you to keep them safe until we walk out?"

Him being a tease isn't a surprise, she watches his face with a grin on hers. She nudges at him gently, her shoulder bumping against him once and then again, jostling them both and threatening to spill them over on the path. "Dancing and motorcycle, yes. Probably best to get the second out of the way before the cold rains move in, unless you don't mind getting a little wet. She gently manipulates that finger, bending it and then unbending it slowly. "And this?"

@emit It takes him a bit of posturing, giving that one of his hands is captured, but he takes those sketches and carefully tucks them away, which demonstrates that those two clipped words are playful banter, "We walk?" He puts on an air of presumption to add to that amused quip at the assumption, tying the thought all back together with what she had very first asked him. "You're lost." He concludes as to that need for accompaniment out. It comes complete with a low chuckle, letting his breath spill gently against her cheek with that effort of sound produced.

"Don't mind," He concludes, not to say he'd rather wait on the motorcycle, but there is a touch of flirtation to that thought about rides in the fall, before he is completely distracted by the wiggling of that last digit that remains pointed upwards. His shoulder bumps back to her own to keep that jockeying going, and then out he stretches all to get closer, consuming that last remaining bit of distance between them. Unless she shies away, it is enough to have lips brush, parting to encourage her own to do the same, a shadow of a kiss that doesn't actually form fully, offering so many promising possibilities as he finally offers up that last one. "Surprises." It's all a touch off balance, teetering as he seeks to maintain that barely touching offering rather than pulling back away.

"Not all those who wander are lost." Mae responds, proving that she might have read a book a some point. "At the same time, I think that many people here are a bit lost, I could find my way out, but it would be the gentlemanly thing to do for you to accompany me." Not that she expects Dylan to be a gentleman. Her eyes follow his back down to his fingers, so when she is bumped, she laughs softly. The laughter dies when he closes the distance between them, her lips opening slightly at that first brush. Surprises, he murmured against her lips, and that's when she pushes that last tiny space that separates them. The kiss is gentle, chaste even, slow with her mouth still slightly open. She lets her eyes close during the kiss, a hint of a smile showing as she moves to pull away.

Dylan keeps that kiss soft and light, though his do curve about the lush lower tier of her own as it is broken, letting it pout out just a touch. His own eyes had flickered open halfway through to watch, and even now they continue to track Mae's lovely orbs, before he gives a lopsided smile. "Asked nice," He concludes with a tease, and it is her hand that keeps a bit of connection between them, fingers seeking to curl in with her own. It's up to his feet that he slowly comes, his other hand picking up his bag to sling it over his shoulder, while the other arm flexes to offer assistance to get her up to her own feet in the aftermath of that moment. "Not all," He agrees, before his eyes cast out to the darkening forest, and that? It causes his expression to fade, a frown darkening his own features for a few heartbeats. "Bit lost," He murmurs with agreement. Up one eyebrow comes in an inquisitive look, not yet having taken steps down the path, but instead putting the question to her. "Ready?"

Mae looks a little flustered after that kiss, letting his fingers wrap with his, accepting his assistance to help her to her feet. She watches him get situated, grabbing her water bottle as he looks around the forest. She helpfully points her finger toward the part of the trail she came walking up. She wraps an arm around his and tugs him in that direction. "I'm ready."

The path set is a lazy thing, one that is in no rush to get where they are going, enjoying the cooling that the evening sunset brings. "Promised secret." He reminds her, one brow arching upwards as he casts a sidelong glance towards the woman as they make their way along that path. His arm keeps twined about her own, only stealing glimpses of her now and then while his focus remains on making certain the path ahead of them remains clear from any of those lurking shadows.

"I remember. Do you want it now or do you want it to fester a little bit, something to think about next time we see one another?" Mae slides a look up at his face, grinning as they make eye contact. She keeps an eye on the trail as well, navigating it as though she's been down part of it before, at least. She points to some light, grinning briefly. "There is the exit, see?" She tugs him toward it, and there is Elm street spread out before them. "Ta da!"