2020-05-02 - Roger That!

The threat of inclement weather is perfect incentive to get out there and run a few kilometers. Not only does the heaviness of the skies above add to Ainslie's already-harried mood, but it actually goads her to run faster and harder. Lord knows the past few days have been stressful, what with Stefhan realizing his glow and dealing with it in a... manner that is NOT helpful for his health. Other Things occurred also in that brief window of time between finding her boss / friend in a pitiful soused heap and finding her way home after taking care of him overnight. Life still went on for Ainslie.

At present she is clad in running attire -- pure black with the barest red accents -- that loves her form. This would be a fine and dandy thing but alas, she is sweaty A.F and practically snarling as she gulps down air. She's been jogging for well over an hour now and it's showing.

Deftly, the woman dodges other folks on the sidewalk.... she's running in a part of the downtown core that isn't quite so congested. Dark eyes lift to watch the clouds overhead, measuring how much time she has left until the distant storm moves in. Her truck is parked and ready for when her jog is over with.

Ariana is NOT jogging. That smacks far too much of exercise. Dark and gloomy days are just her thing - they could be reflections of her usual mood. So, to celebrate this pleasant weather, the Russian wanders Downtown. She is also on a mission. To find the place that sells the best vodka - hence the bottles clinking in the paper bag she cradles in both arms.

"Ainslie?" Not the brightest of greetings but not rude either. Those bright blue eyes look over the running outfit and eyebrows rise in appreciation. "I think you could only get something tighter if you were in a cast" she smirks. Sweat doesn't bother her. Ariana is hardly the most delicate of perfumed flowers herself.

The woman's long legs skid upon the sidewalk, and instinct causes her to whirl on a heel to face the source of the voice. Ainslie stands there, huffing and puffing, her color high and skin shiny. Her previously clean ponytail hangs in a lank, sweaty vine down the middle of her back. She stares hard for a few seconds, unseeing... then realizes... oh! A crooked grin, "Ariana." She offers back, hooking a thumb into the waistline of those oh-so-tight pants. She continues to breathe hard, watching the blonde. "What are ya up to?" Asked huskily, one foot lifting to scratch behind a toned calf. A nod to the paper bag, "What ya got there?"

Ainslie is not shy.. the remark re: the tightness of her attire earns a slightly pinched (still stressed) but honestly amused bark of laughter. "Or naked. But then I'd end up in jail." She quips, before padding in the direction of the Russian.

"I think you'd be taken a few places before jail" Ariana smirks about Ainsle being naked. "I could think of a few..." A glance at the bag before she holds it forward and up a little. "Vodka." Is that an actual grin from the woman? "I am doing...umm...shopping? All the eseentials." There is nothing in there but bottles of vodka.

A look of concern at how excercised Ainslie is. "Were you running away from someone? In that outfit, I would understand why people would chase you." What other reason could a sensible person have for running so long that they're so sweaty? "How is work going?"

The brunette, bless her, is no shy maiden. Ainslie does not blush or scuff feet or turn herself away, embarrassed. No no, she pulls her hands back and slams her palms onto her hips, eyes flashing with mirth. "Damned fuckin' rights I'm hot." It's all in jest though, her eyes glint with amusement and she shakes her head. "... hell no. Look at me. I need to be hosed down.. I stink. I used the wrong damned deodorant and I reek... but thank ya all th' same. Not a sight on you though, ya fuckin' vodka hound. Ya got that surly blonde ice princess vibe happening... looks good." That is... a compliment? Really, it is.

Now in proximity Ainslie extends a finger to look into Ariana's bag. Between the brooding skies and the threat of the weather -- and hurting for company -- Ainslie considers. "Ain't nobody chasing me..." Said quickly.. too quickly. Partial truth.. she is running from the memory of someone. "Work is alright... it's been busy." Understatement. "What about yerself? What's new?" She seems to consider something.. looks again toward the sky, threatening a thunderstorm. "Hey, I got an idea.."

"I think there is a famous saying" Ariana muses, thinking hard - or at least giving the appearance of doing so. "'Have her washed and bring her to my room; just kidding, don't wash her.' Did I get that right? I have no idea who said it." A pause. "Maybe it was me?" A snort of amusement about being an ice princess. "Thank you." She will definitely take it as a compliment. Who wouldn't want to be an ice princess! "I will be in the live action 'Frozen'" she deadpans.

"Nobody is chasing you? Why not? And why would you run so much if not?" Americans are a crazy people. "It has been...interesting...here. We have been investigating unusual places. I am not sure how much I should tell you but it was very dangerous." A dimissive wave of her hand. "I like ideas."

Another spat of laughter, "No clue who said such a thing... let's just chalk it up to you." Ainslie considers... does Ariana swing that way? She'd be a damned fool to be oblivious. Could the Russian blonde be like her? Fancying both 'flavors'? Too personal; too personal to ask! It's just... it's a rare thing for rangy, abrasive Ainslie to be complimented by another woman in such a way, unless it's a joke. One look at Ariana and she doesn't reckon the blonde to be joking.

Ainslie doesn't mind.

The 'Elsa' bit earns an intensifying of Ainslie's laughter, "Christ, imagine you taking over the role on those plays... can only imagine." She snickers.. and right them, a warm breeze cuts through, bringing with it a hit of rainsmell. "We got ourselves a blow coming through here in the next hour... I know my storms, grew up 'round 'em. I give it an hour then she'll pour." She tilts her head. The 'investigating unusual places' bit is noted... worth asking on, soon. But first: "I need to get home.. and I got a damned awesome Canadian take on Vodka. Wanna come with?"

Ariana looks up at the gathering clouds and nods in agreement. "Da, big storm." Then a 'so' shrug to Ainslie before there is a reason to dread the coming rain. An invite to Ainslie's place...and Canadian vodka. Is that to vodka like Canadian bacon is to bacon? About time Ariana found out. "Sure, I will come with you." There's a spark of mischief in her eyes for a moment before she gestures forward. "Lead the way. I don't have to run, do I?"

"Ain't gotta run.. I'm parked a few blocks away. I was just coming to the end of my jog." Ainslie indicates an intersection up ahead. and will begin to walk in that trajectory without much preamble. "Only if ya don't got plans.. seriously. I'm going this way regardless, it's up to you if ya wanna-" Oh wait, Ariana is keen?! Huh! Ainslie grins then, liking the idea of such zero-fucks-given company after Ainslie has given MANY fucks the past week. "C'mon then... the vodka ain't gonna drink itself."

It's not a long walk... there's a mid-2000's Ford F-150 chilling there at the curb; well-maintained, black, clean. Ainslie glances sideward as they walk, "So what's this about dangerous, strange places? Better we talk about this in private? Because I'm curious." She pulls her keys out of her pocket.

"The best vodka drinks itself" Ariana offers in that deadpan way of hers as she follows Ainslie. Was that a joke? No one will ever be sure. She stops alongside the car, looking it over. "This belongs to you? It is very...shiny." Then a look at Ainslie. "Will you be putting down a towel?" All that sweat may damage the upholstery after all.

As for the dangerous things. "We should talk about it at your place. Short version...giant spiders." Ariana doesn't seem to care who hears her though her voice is not booming it out either. "It is a tale best told with a drink."

The best vodka... huh? This a Russian adage? Surely it is... yet to Ainslie, it makes sense. It sure as hell would in her backwoods hometown! She snickers as she unlocks the door and eases her body in to pull the fob up on the passenger-side door. It's one of those two-door models where the backseat passengers are S.O.L, jammed behind the front bench. The interior smells clean; immaculately cared for. "It's mine.. bought it before the jetlag was gone, when I moved here. Can't be without wheels." Ainslie admits as rain begins to drum upon the roof of the cab. A snort as she gestures to the drivers' seat, "Got a seat cover down already... from when I was a waitress, going home filthy with--"

Blink.. wut? Once in the truck and hopefully with Ariana joining her, Ainslie gawks at the blonde. "Giant spiders...? Shit. Drink, is right. Sit tight, ain't a long drive." Ainslie tosses her jacket and bag into the back of the cab, starts the truck, and pulls away from the curb.

"What is S.O.L.?" Ariana asks with a curious expression. "Sex Only..." A shrug as she can't get the L for now. She slips into the passenger seat, vodka bag nestled carefully on her lap. "What makes you filthy as a waitress? Was it at a strip club?"

A nod of confirmation about the spiders. "Da, it was in a parallel world. I think Kip calls this on the Veil?" Ariana shrugs. "I am not up to date on supernatural terms. I lug the cameras and the crowbars around. We got covered in a lot of web."

Just as she is about to veer the rig 'round onto one of the tributaries leading to Elm, Ariana poses unto Ainslie her question. The brunette snorts laughter, "Means Shit Outta Luck. Not quite as fun as what ya were gettin' at." A grin, liking the blonde's blunt humor. She glances sideward, making sure Ariana saw fit to buckle in after nestling her paper bag into her lap. "Aw hell... amazing how mess ya get when yer slinging food for people. Ketchup, coffee cream.. wiping down peoples' tables after then finished up, the filthy animals. Then ya end up smelling like grease...." A little sigh.. mostly in relief. Not her problem anymore. But then worry about Stef -- her current employer -- settles in and she inhales once, pushes her worry away. For now.

The scenery is becoming less-and-less 'classy' as they approach the trailer park. "THe... Veil?" Blink. "Ain't knowin' what that is.. but given the way this town works, I am not one to discount it. Ya'll entered another world? With spiders? How?" Ainslie asks as she pulls into Huckleberry, giving a brisk wave to an overweight man walking along the road, trying to beat the rain. "Get yer ass indoors Reggie! Fuckin' storm coming in!" Ainslie hollars out the window.

"I think I would prefer something to do with sex" Ariana replies - that's probably a general life mantra for the Russian. She listens to the horrors of waitressing. "And you also have to wear tight skirts for your boss" she points out. "That must make it hard to bend over...to clean I mean." The scenery may be less classy but it's more what Ariana understands. "Kip can travel into other worlds" she states as if she were talking about the weather. "She finds it hard to come back the other way though" is added flatly. "We needed some friends of ours to come rescue us." A wave for Rotund Reggie. "You could have given him a lift and put him in the S.O.L. seat." But she only suggests this once they are well past him.

The tiniest touch of worry, at the mention of her boss. "Naw... honestly? Seriously? Ain't gotta worry about any wonky looks.. Stef is always respectful." A little grin, "Classiest dude I've come across in awhile. He asked me to put on a tidier face for the shop, t'look good for the customers.. that's the long and short of it. He's been nothing but kind." Spoken frankly, not in a gushy moony way but in the manner of a woman who respects a friend. "Least when I gotta bend over t' dust the laptop ports, I give a show to th' people who are thinking of paying." Said with a snicker.... must have been successful. She looks in her rearview mirror briefly.

"Eh.. naw.. he's okay. He lives over on space 12." She pauses, points to a dirty-looking trailer that they pass by. "That one... Reg could use th' shower. Few more paces and he'll beat the rain." She turns again, the places is like a maze. Rain sluices in earnest along the windshield.

"Jesus... that is.... wow. So ya'll had to fight the spiders? THere was a lot of web? Why did ya'll go into this world?" Ainslie pulls the wheel, the trailers don't look quite so awful in the current direction she has taken.

"Stef? Ah, the boss who likes you in a tight skirt. Well, he does have taste I suppose" Ariana is happy to admit. "I have met too many 'classy' people in my time. They just have more polite ways of asking you to take off your clothes. And much kinkier activities afterwards." She watches the rain fall for a moment before nodding about battling spiders. "We went in because that is our job. Kip has a supernatural channel on YouTube. I do the production work, she hosts. We went to get video of what was going on in there." It seems to be no big deal to her.

The brunette gives the steering wheel a tap with her chill-chafed fingers, "Hah!" A smile, "Ain't thinkin' Stef is checking me out. I don't think it'd feel right for him because we're such pals." Ainslie considers, her profile looking intent and serious for a few heartbeats. "Seriously. Nothing but respect. I have a lot to thank Stef for." The complete truth, that. The sober mood passes and dark eyes flit sideward to her passenger as they drive through a corridor of mobile homes, all in various states of (dis)repair.

Ainslie colors a bit but again, not in the manner of a shy woman... she's just amused to encounter another who is equal to her own -- hell, Ariana surpasses it -- brashness. "Ya sound like ya have had yer fair share of rodeos." Spoken in awe. There is a slight lurch as she pulls the truck into a narrow driveway and beneath the lean-to alongside what she calls home.

(( Desc: https://gray-harbor.com/location/3499 ... there are pictures on my wiki under the 'Trailer Sweet Trailer' tab.))

Somehow, Ainslie doesn't think Ariana will judge her home and hearth. THe truck is turned off and there is a small span of silence in which heavy rain drums the overhang of the lean-to. "Yer gonna have to show me the channel when we get in.. I can fire up my computer. I am fuckin' curious now. Especially if you were behind the camera."

That said, she grabs her bag and slides out of her seat. "C'mon in! It ain't a palace."

Ariana snorts at the reference to rodeos. "Yeah, I've found way too many guys can't even last the full eight seconds. So rodeo would be a good way of putting it." A lurch forward as the car suddenly stops before she looks over what must be the trailer. "Nice place" is her sincere appraisal before she steps out of the car into the rain. "Why would you want a palace? Do you know the heating bills they have?"

The Russian's paper bag, containing the important stuff, is in danger of dissolving in the rain so Ariana steps lively to the door. "I can show you whatever you like" she deadpans, yet with an expression that is also sly and teasing - how does she do it? "I used to be in front of the camera too. Hated it. Back in my 'Good Morning, Tunguska' days." A dismissive screwing up of her nose. "Long story and boring. We should get inside and warm up with drinks before this vodka goes off."

Standing alongside her truck, Ainslie bursts out into laughter at the Russian's quip. "Fuck, ya got that right. Ain't gonna be that bitch to generalize but at least the fellows in my track record can mark those times. There was this one guy I met in Toronto... thought he was cute, worthy of a night. He popped before I even got his pants off." She admits mournfully, and shakes he head. Her features soften at Ariana's appraisal of her home, "It's all I got... I had my work cut out for me when I first got it. Ya wouldn't believe what the place was like when I got the keys." Offered ominously.

Prancing over to the door, she opens things up with a jingling fob of keys and wrenches the door open. The breath of a clean space exhales upon both women as she shows Ariana in, out of the chill and wetness. She reaches out to turn a dial on the wall, bringing the baseboards to life. A ting-ting-ting of pipes warming up and within 20 mins or so, the space will warm up nicely.

It's a surprisingly charming space that has seen a lot of updates over the past year.. pictures all over the walls of family, landscapes.... and the odd two or three of muscle cars. The space is small but economically spaced-out... a blend of retro and modern. You wouldn't think such a thing upon seeing the exterior... Ainslie ran out of money and has to wait awhile for those renos.

"I love it here, honestly... trailer parks get a shitty rep... we have our dirtbags but there's good, honest people too." A sigh.

Blink. Ainslie peels off her running jacket, watching Ariana. "Good Morning Tunguska...?" She offers a hand to take anything Ariana might like to hang up... be it a sweater or whatnot.

"This guy in Toronto still attended to your needs, right? Just because he made a mess in his underwear doesn't mean his tongue stops working" Ariana sniffs. She steps inside, looking around for a place to put her bag down before giving the interior a more thorough looking over. "Nice" she states again in her flat, yet enthusiastic, way.

A nod to one of the family photos. "Your family or did the picture come with the frame? You're into loud American cars? This place looks good to me. Not sure why it would have the reputation of shit. It's not as if it is a government supplied concrete box. Not that I am that old to know it all but they were still there to be lived in."

Ariana will peel off a coat to be hung up. "It is one of those vacuous morning television shows. It broadcast to the entire Siberian region - which means loggers, miners, weapon developers, and nomads who don't even have television - iPhones...da, televisions...nyet. I was the smiling face that people woke up to. They got to hear all about bear alerts via my dulcet tones." Not that she's using any of them at the moment. Her voice that usual deadpan that is either being deadly serious or hysterically sarcastic.

"You are going in the shower now? I will make us some drinks. Unless you need help to wash your back?" A beat. "Or your front."

There are plenty of dated-looking but well maintained end tables upon which a bag can safely be placed. An old-school analog clock tick-tocks in a mellow, relaxed way on the wood panel wall, revealing the hour: approaching six-thirty PM. Ainslie removes her running shoes next and slides them into a tiny coat closet with her toe. Afterwards, she dutifully hangs up both her jacket and Ariana's. She may be rough, but she's fastidious! She slides the door closed -- it's one of those retro sliding doors with the mirror. A quick squint to look at her messy hair and features and her attention is back to Ariana.

"My family.. they're still up North." Ainslie replies, a very fond tone to her words. "And you bet... none of this garbage ya see on the roads, these tin cans that all look alike. Give me a gas-guzzling beast from the do-wop days, or a snarling 1960s special... fuck..." Ainslie sighs softly, with want. She loves her truck but it's not a muscle car. "Someday. My Da was thinking of restoring a clunk not long before I moved away."

She listens, now, to what this 'morning show' consisted of. Ainslie grins wide, "Hear about the bears and pop one off to the sound of your dulcet tones." She pokes, but grows serious. "Ya didn't like being in the spotlight much, that right? Well, yer gonna have to show me what Kip and yerself get up to--"

The offer earns a quick laugh, her animal-white teeth bared in a grin. "Aw hell, gotta get to know ya a little better first. Ya jonesing for that company? I reckon ya would've found someone to hold ya over by now, lookin' as ya do. Plenty of folks like the Russian grit." It's Ainslie's way of trying to figure out Ariana a little more. She's not shying away or awkward.. but she needs to know more.

She pads over to a small cabinet above her television, pulls out a moderately-sized clear glass bottle in the shape of a skull. "This stuff is called Crystal Head Vodka... actor by the name of Dan Aykroyd came up with this. It's made in my neck of the woods, close to it... try this out, and.." She sets the bottle down with appropriate glasses.. pulls out her laptop and boots it, bypasses the password. "Get yer Youtube channel ready. I'm gonna get cleaned up, let ya mull that one over in yer imagination."

A wink and Ainslie goes off for that quick shower. She will only take 15 mins, tops.

Ariana would have just thrown her jacket on the floor so she seems rather bemused by the fastidious attention to it. Not only is it hung up but inside a closet. And the closet door is then closed!

"I think Kip is dating someone into cars. Not that she is dating" Ariana smirks. "Oh no, not Kip. It is friends with much benefits...I think that is how she puts it." The Russian flops down on the couch. "What is a 'clunk'? You like history or just loud cars?" A shrug about the spotlight aversion. "I do not like being watched" she replies flatly. "Maybe that is just a Russian thing? Here, everyone seems to want to tell everyone where they are and what they are doing at all times. What kind of ego must you have to think anyone else is interested?" Another shrug.

A faint curling of her lips at her shower assistance being rejected. "Oh well. Maybe next time?" An arching of a single eyebrow suggests she doesn't go along with Ainslie's claims that she has found someone to 'hold her over'. "Grit? Like sand in places you shouldn't get sand? There are certainly very nice sights in this town..." And she stares at the other woman as she says that. "...but, nyet, no one to hold me holding me over. I am not into relationships much anyway...or they are not into me. One or the other. Casual but frenetic sex with mature individuals who like to have a good time...this I am into."

The skull shape of the bottle amusing her - there may even be the sound of a laugh-snort. "Anyone who drinks this dies? I like it." The glasses are eyed off as unnecessary but, when in Rome. A nod about the channel as she pours them drinks. "Don't worry, I've been imagining it for a while. Don't be too long."

Not a lot is left to the oratory imagination in a place like this.... the hiss of water can be heard, right down to the woman's footfalls. There is a 'WHUMP' as a full container of body wash does a 4.5 star dive and clocks her baby toe. Sure as the heavens above, Ainslie's voice rings out: "Motherfucker!"

True to her word she's out not a minute past the fifteen she promised, hiking up a tight pair of black bicycle shorts and pulling the hemline of her loose black T-shirt out of the waistband. Emblazoned across the shirt: 'fuck with me and you fuck with the while trailer park' .... fitting.

Hair is a wet, loose tangle that has been cursed into a messy bun atop her skull. She smells like Irish Spring soap... none of that flowery garbage for Ainslie.

She picks up where the conversation left off, "Oooohh! Kip? Your best buddy? She found herself a fuck buddy? Good for her! I hope he has endurance!" A cackle as she plops herself down alongside Ariana on the couch, then goes on to offer the Worst Thing Ever to a Russian who loves her vodka: "Ya want a mixer? THere's orange juice in the fridge." UUGGHH. There's a mischievous twinkle in dark eyes though; Ainslie knows exactly what she's doing.. all in fun.

"That's been my way for years now... so used to movin' around that I never wanted to leave someone brokenhearted. This place feels pretty... permanent though." Ainslie eases forth to take up her glass and bless her, she knocks back half of it without any of that ludicrous doctoring of orange juice or the like. She curls long leg up underneath her arse. "Arright.. lets see."

The curse for the body wash gets an absent reply from Ariana that is probably unheard over the rushing water and rushing swearing. "Mothers need to be fucked too...oh...that wasn't a question." The blonde shrugs and gets back to finding a decent video to show her hostess.

Upon Ainslie's arrival the t-shirt message gets a wry smirk. "Does that mean that there are a lot of orgies here? I might move into a trailer park. Da, Kip. She has found one that I know off." She frowns a moment. "Every second night she is staying over to help him exercise. Not really like her. I mean, the constant sex, yes, the staying over with the same person, not so much." A shrug. "As long as she is happy. You smell nice."

Though Ariana soon regrets that compliment - yes, it was a compliment - when there is an offer of a mixer. It's a miracle she doesn't storm out after introducing Ainslie to the Punch of Doom. "No. No mixer" she replies flatly and through gritted teeth. Move on quickly. "I do not think I leave people brokenhearted" the Russian sniffs. "Broken limbed...broken pelvis...sure."

The problem with being investigators of the supernatural is that if they had anything truly mindblowing to show that would change humanity's opinions on existence and the meaning of life, it would be all over every news channel in the world...at least until the Church and/or government stopped it. Most of them are of the 'did something move' or 'did you hear that' variety. Yet, somehow, there are long running programs that show much less. People want to believe.

Ariana sets the footage that starts. "We shot this at an abandoned mine in the Urals. Local woodsmen were complaining that it was haunted. If you are a cynic, that means they went up there, drunk, and forget where they put their chainsaw. It must have been stolen by ghosts, da?" It is a miserable looking set of derelict buildings on a muddy, gloomy Fall afternoon. "There is Kip" she points out needlessly as the woman in question does a spiel of the camera in front of the administration office of the mine. "The woodsmen also claimed to have seen beasts prowling at night so we set up a camp in that building...it did not have a roof so we were in tents. We can skip all this stuff if you want."

"Orgies..? Huh... beats me... there is that one trailer down at the very end that makes me wonder. The lady there don't let age stop her... but I ain't about to find out." Ainslie laughs outright, swirling the clear fluid in her glass. She listens to the new deal for Ariana's friend Kip. "As long as she's happy, indeed," Says the brunette, seconding the blonde's opinion. A bark of laughter, "I smell a sight better than before... thanks a lot. If there's anything yer wanting while yer here, make yerself at home." She indicates the room-as-a-whole and the combination kitchen and dining room. There's no kitchen table but instead, a sort of breakfast bar with stools. It's actually not a terrible setup!

"Yay on the broken pelvis bit, not so much on the broken limbs... keep the fuckin' orange juice in the fridge is what yer saying." Ainslie tosses her head back and once again bites the air with that laugh of hers.

Now the footage is being started and Ainslie silences, obviously taking it all seriously. She has her reasons. She listens closely and looks to Ariana, shaking her head. "No no, keep goin'.. I wanna hear this. Don't skip it." She bids, taking another hit of the vodka. "So what next?" Ainslie practically whispers, her breath scented with toothpaste and strong spirit.

"If you want to insult Dan Aykroyd by putting orange juice in his vodka then that is up to you" Ariana shrugs. "But I warn you that us Ghostbusters stick together and I will make sure to let him know what you did." A beat. "Yes, keep the fuckin' orange juice in the fridge." No malice in her tone but there is certainty.

Taking her fingers away from the computer, Ariana lets the video play in full. Kip is relating a history of the town - or a supernatural history at least. How the mine was abandoned after an accident that was supposed to be caused by a Romani curse. How the miners that survived the cave-in, deep in the earth, turned into cannibalistic monsters to survive. How they dug themselves out long after the outside world had given up. How they emerged as monsters, taking their revenge on those above. The mine has been abandoned for decades but loggers sometimes come near and tell of mysterious creatures in the darkness that steal, and murder the unwary. "Typical story in Russia" Ariana notes between mouthfuls of her own drink. "Next? Next we fuck like maniacs" she suggests with a wiggle off her eyebrows. "Oh, in the video. Just watch."

The brunette laughs outright, amused at the 'orange juice' tangent of the discussion even as Ariana looks fit to punch anyone who suggests the idea. Ainslie lets it go though, her dark eyes glittering with mirth as she eases back into the cushions of the couch. She continues to watch the Youtube channel, listening to Kip on the screen and marveling at exactly what these two are all about.

"What a story..." She doesn't sound skeptical though. Ainslie glows, and therefore she knows that there is a LOT to the world beyond the norm. Just, she hasn't been inclined to chase it... not lately.

"Only thing I ever did as a youngin' that approached creepy was let myself into an abandoned house out in the sticks. I was 'bout ten... myself and a couple of other kids. It was a big ramblin' place, lots of rumors surrounding it. All sorts of things left behind. That's... really about it." Ainslie rubs the back of her neck, grinning sheepishly at Ariana. The blonde's intensity causes the brunette's gaze to linger for a half minute before sliding back to the laptop screen.

"Yer both pretty lucky to be able to do this.." Ainslie starts, trails off. Regarding Ariana's last statement regarding what maniacs are supposed to do in this circumstance, the woman simply asks: "That a promise?"

Well then!

"Maybe you can tell me where this house is? We could go look into it for you. Most of them are nonsense but some of them prove to be real. But it sounds like it kept any secrets it may have had from you." Ariana then shrugs, "Or it was one of the nonsense ones." The Russian is a glower herself so has certainly noticed Ainslie's, though it is not something very common in the rest of the world. This place does seem rather special.

"Lucky? I don't know about lucky. Kip has to work as an usher to make ends meet. I will have to find something too. This is a calling. We need to do this." Ariana has another smirk at the question of a promise. "There is something else I need to do as well."

Reaching up to place a firm had on the back of Ainslie's head, she pulls her into a kiss upon the lips. Heated. Hard. Though Ariana is not such a brute to force herself on the other woman. If there is protest, it shall stop. Reluctantly. If not...then the Russian can be quite the passionate one.

Thinking nothing of what she pretty much offered, Ainslie just goes on to ruminate further on the 'abandoned house trek' of 2001. "Ain't worth the plane ticket, Ari." She smiles wolfishly, "Wasn't any lore attached to that old house afterall, just a bunch of sad songs. The owners grew old in it... the missus fell and broke her hip, died in hospital. The mister lingered awhile after and they say he was found dead of an aneurysm months after his wife left. So my hometown bein' what it is, full of gossips and bored housewives.... tales ranged from murder to kidnapping."

A beat, Ainslie's gaze softens. "I reckon it was just a case of two old lovebirds not being able to go on without the other. They passed, the kids couldn't sell an old house... and there ya go. I was respectful when I was there. But I remember people vandalized it... disrespected it." Her gaze darkens... there's a 'clink-clink' sound for a few heartbeats' worth of time. Maybe a glass on a countertop vibrating... but it ceases. Fast.

The 'glow' around Ainslie flares suddenly, innocuously.. dies. Here is where Ariana's forthright response literally keeps the woman's Glimmer on check... because the memory of the old house always strums her anger.

Ariana meets no resistance whatsoever when she grabs the back of Ainslie's head and pulls her into that fierce kiss. THe brunette has the sense to clumsily set her empty glass down and without much preamble, brings both hands forth to clutch into Ariana's blonde tresses, cradling her scalp gently as she returns the kiss. Hey, it's been a long time... especially since having fun with a lady!

A happy sound in her throat, "Roger that."

"Isn't that another name for fucking? Roger?" Ariana slyly replies. "Not sure about being called a 'that' but, hey, if that's what it takes" she deadpans, though there is still that glint of passion in her eyes. "Those shorts you are wearing..." she notes, hands caressing the long-limbs of the hostess, "...much too tight to be wearing. Looks like they could do you harm if you keep them on." Such a subtle romantic she is.

The video ignored as she stands, pulling Ainslie up with her to engage in another torrid kiss. If they are welcomed...they will be arriving often. "Come on" Ariana growls lustfully before dragging off the brunette towards the bed. It's at this point she remembers she is not in her apartment or, in fact, anywhere she's been in before. So a brief orientation to find the bed - how hard can it be in a trailer. Too hard it seems. "Bed?" she asks her hostess. Though she doesn't seem the kind of woman who is tied to having to continue in a bed. Not yet anyway. The tying up can come later.

"It's another word for yes... you bet we're gonna fuck." Says the equally-blunt Ainslie, her gaze darker somehow. She takes a moment to breathe, "It's slang. I'm sayin' damned rights, let's get this show on the road." She licks her lips and moves to stand once Ariana indicates that they are to leave the glasses and the laptop and get to know one another better. On her feet, she and the blonde are actually of equal standing in the height department.

The kisses are indeed welcomed and returned with just as much -- if not more, in certain breaths -- intensity. There's not much distance to stumble in the likes of this single-wide trailer: one long trajectory from door, past the puny kitchen space and down along a narrow hallway from which a clean bathroom sprouts, some closet space and indeed, Ainslie's bedroom. She is fastidious there too, but the pair of them are likely going to give the tidiness a run for it's money.

"Bed." Ainslie grunts, kissing mouth, jawline, chin and neck in one smooth series of motions. "To start."

Yeah.. it's been awhile.