2022-04-29 - Hot Daddies and Hot Fashion

It's one of those mornings which promises rain later in the day, but not right now. A warm blanket of temperature has snuck up from somewhere (thank you, Hawaii) and left the air feeling soft. Not only this, but the sunshine is bright and makes the grass scent of dew and sighing earth. What a delight -- how to resist it? As such, there's a long-legged redhead making her way along the paths meandering through the park. She's had her coffee and made herself get up earlier than her usual wont, but there's an extra spring in her step that might not be due to caffeine. Whatever she listens to in her earbuds is upbeat, more than likely at 120 bpm or higher for the sake of keeping up her heart rate, and she keeps a steady loping pace as she goes.

Today, it's a stretchy pair of flare-cuffed jogging pants which hit around her shins, black with colorful triangular designs along their outer seams of each leg. Her shirt, an athletic tank-top, is a jazzy number in black with fluorescent-yellow along the sides evincing an hour-glass illusion in turn. Black sneakers and her hair pulled back into a ponytail complete the look. Sunlight catches in her celestially-dyed underpanel of hair. She's not hard to miss. An idle glance to one side along the greenery makes her do a double-take, however, and slow in her jog.

"Dita? That you?"

That beautiful morning weather is what has a lone figure out in the flattened picnic land balancing on a bright red yoga mat as she moves through various positions with a rather surprising amount of flexibility. The morning sun is shining down on her like a long parted lover, eager for an embrace. Her long hair is up in a high ponytail that's currently brushing against the ground as she moves into a standing split pose, her legs forming a strong but graceful column, toes on one foot pointing up into the air, while the other rests flat on the ground, one hand ever so lightly resting on the ground as a safety, the other wrapped around her lower leg.

She's wearing a pair of black athletic shoes, and a coordinated black and red athletic outfit that seems to be almost half mesh, thin strips of flesh visible between the spandex panels. Still upside down, she turns her head to look up, flashing a smile, which is only slightly disconcerting from this angle. "If you say 'namaste' I'm flinging you into the harbor, just so you know."

It is Dita -- and the threat makes the barista chime semi-breathless laughter. Earbuds are plucked out and placed along with the phone in pocket; this, the source of her music, is silenced.

"Damn, took the word right out of my mouth," Ariadne replies as she detours off the beaten path to see about making her way over to the yoga enthusiast in question. "Also, pretty sure if I tried that pose, I'd fall over and break something. Mad skills, girl." Her lanky half-jog turns into a brisk walk slows down to a lazy meandering until she stops comfortably short of the bright red yoga mat. "Probably sassy of me, but I'm surprised to see you up this early. I pegged you for a night owl. Are my people judgement skills lacking?" The barista even rotates her head to one side in a deliberately owlish-manner to see about visually orienting Dita's face upright, though she keeps her hands on her hips as she lightly pants.

The standing splits are turned into a handstand without a single visible tremble in Dita's arms, and, perhaps showing off just a bit, she does a single hand-stand push-up before she flips to her feet gracefully, feet landing where her hands had been only a split second before. And she doesn't wobble.

"Depends. Am I winding down with yoga in the park before bed, after a night of wild jewel theft and romance novel worthy bodice ripping... or am I scoping out hot daddies on their morning jogs before work?" she's grinning, and tussles her fringe with one hand. She's either not wearing any make up, (perhaps just a hint of eyeliner smudged in along the lash line, but that could be from yesterday?) or she's wearing expertly applied make up to make it look like she's not wearing any make up. She looks a bit younger without the glam and heavy eyeliner, more innocent and approachable, perhaps.

Noteably, there are no hot daddies on morning jogs, just yet, or they've already passed.

Polite golf clapping for the adjustment from yoga to exquisite balance to upright once more, Ariadne's fingers bouncing off of her wrist. Her brows lift. Yeah, she would have probably eaten grass trying that trick. The mysterious means for Dita being present brings her to grin up some dimples.

"Gosh, not sure what's the better option there -- though I suppose you're down a bodice if you can't find a new one you like. Or did all the hot daddies on their morning jogs say 'namaste' and you've thrown them in the harbor? Good way to weed out the weak." Her voice slips into Movie Announcer Mode. "Only the strong survive to court you!" Cue a strong, dramatic fist held up before herself and flash of gritted teeth, grrr! Normally, she continues. "Not a bad way to do it anyways, you figure out who can swim or not pretty quickly," the redhead laughs.

"Sadly, there haven't been any daddies hot enough to spare their watery graves." Dita tells Ariadne, stretching up onto her tip toes before rocking back down to her feet. "You're not a half bad Aunty Entity, though." Dita winks at the other woman, tilting her head a little.

"In all seriousness, I woke up from an odd dream and felt like coming down to the park to get some morning sunshine. What about you? Are you always up at this ungodly hour?"

"Aw, thank you kindly," grins Ariadne, quite amused, before then evincing a little bow, complete with circled hand before her stomach and bend of one knee.

She straightens and gives Dita an openly curious look. "Me, up at this hour normally? God, no." Shaking her head brings her ponytail to sway back and forth against her back. "I'm an evening shifter for a reason...but I couldn't sleep well either, though mine wasn't a dream thing. Just restless, I guess. A lot on my mind right now. It doesn't sound like you mean a Dream, with a big D?" Drolly, her mouth pulls to one side as her brain catches up to her word choice. Her brows flick. "If only the Dreams were like that sometimes. Maybe they are, I'd have no idea," she shrugs blithely. "Anyways, I had my coffee and it's my day off. I figure I'll nap after I walk Sam later today. What were you dreaming about, if you don't mind my asking?"

There's a soft laugh from Perdita, almost as if she's hesitant to break the morning stillness, entirely. Once she does, other people will have to go about their days, after all.

"Sadly, no, not that kind of Dream. I mean, there was one with Ravn and I in Cozumel that ended like that, but..." she pauses, and look, Perdita can blush, because there's just a hint of pink on the tips of her ears and freckled cheeks, though the smile is fond. "Not with Ravn. We were in one of my memories, and the day ended with me and a very handsome street performer spending an evening practicing my Spanish. Ravn made it back to his nesting doll yachts and the dream faded pleasantly."

"No, last night was a dream with a lower case 'd'. Old anxieties, fresh wounds, no need to be supernatural when there's plenty of things for my own subconscious to beat me up over." she shrugs, easily.

For just a second -- a hanging second -- Ariadne's brows try to vanish into her hairline. A Dream that ended that like? With Ravn involved?

But then, there's Dita blushing and it happens to be a street performer rather than their fellow Grey Harborite. "Oh," the barista says before laughing once at herself -- and apparently blushing as well, though her pinking is darker on her fairer skin in turn.

Just as quickly, those malleable brows quirk in sympathy. "Aw. I'm sorry, Dita. It doesn't make those kinds of dreams any easier though, when all the night's really late and all you have is a few hours of darkness to kill if you can't sleep." Her golden-hazel regard breaks away down the paths and greenery, towards where her car is distantly parked. "If you want to talk through 'em, I can try and be a sounding board? It's entirely up to you, not my business to intrude upon," the redhead is sure to note with both palms up in a gesture well-meaning as she looks back to Dita.

There's a split second of catlike satisfaction as Perdita sees Ariadne's blush, as if something was confirmed that she as heavily suspecting... and then she's smiling wide and laughing, good naturedly, the sound inviting rather than mocking. "I promise, while I find Ravn attractive, we've never had sex. We've slept in the same bed, but he was a perfect gentlemen, even when I was so drunk I probably propositioned some very inappropriate things."

"It's... complex." Dita hedges, a hint of genuine discomfort on her face. "The short version is that my family is wanting to come for a visit, and I'm worried about letting them, because I've changed a lot... a lot... and I'm afraid they'll still treat me like when I was a kid. I'm also terrified of letting them come here. Not just because of the town, but... I like my independence. A lot. But Báte and my brothers do construction now, and my father's mortally wounded that I'm not letting the three of them come help me with the building."

Dita probably won't miss the way the barista's blush lingers on her cheeks either. Or how she adjusts her stance while listening, a shift of feet, before fiddling too with a strand of celestially-dyed hair. It twirls sleekly around her finger as she listens, mouth mildly pursed.

"Yikes," she sighs. "That's a lot at once, yeah. I thought my family was nosy...but then again, I guess all families are, right? I guess..." Her eyes fall to a bumblebee who indeed bumbles by, circling the bright red mat in curiosity once before continuing on towards some spring sproutings of dandelions. The brightly yellow flowers dot the green here and there across the park. Ariadne looks back to her friend now, still curling the lock of hair in idle circles. "Could you meet them elsewhere in town? Or maybe Seattle? I know it's a drive, but if you need a redirect off of you, there's a lot to do there? It's easy for me to suggest these things, I know this. Hell, if my little showed up and started nosing around, she wouldn't let me hear the end of it. Lots of questions," nods the redhead with dry fondness for her sibling.

"In their defense... I was no contact for almost eight years." Dita hesitates for a second, before deciding that if Ravn trusts her, she can, too. "I'm transgender. It was a source of fighting for years before he found out, me being too feminine, but... he found me upstairs with my boyfriend at the time. It didn't... end well. He's apologized so much, and told me he's proud to call me his daughter, told me he was a piece of shit as a father to me, but..." Dita looks away, but her face is as calm as if she were discussing the weather.

"I'm trying to decide how much contact I want him to have. Nobody in the family knows exactly where I am yet. Seattle's not a bad idea. Or... a trip east, to see how it goes."

"Oh! I follow, yeah. I have a friend from college who's transgender." Ariadne tries for a cajoling smile, nothing too strong. She then nods and sighs, looking away too as if she wanted to grant Dita her moment of privacy. "Okay, how would I do this myself. If I was in your shoes..."

She tilts her head back and forth before looking to her friend again. "I'd want to keep my privacy, personally. My safe zone. If your place here is your safe zone and you're still not sure how people are going to react? There's no reason you need to give it up. There's only one of you and it's important to be kind to yourself in everything, right? You're an adult, not a kid, like you said. Any boundaries you set down should be respect and honored. Meeting in Seattle could work because there's lots to do, lots to divert to if you don't want to talk about anything in particular, and it lets you enjoy yourself on the town -- well, city," the barista amends. "I'm actually grew up in Seattle, so if you need ideas for places to go, I can give you some?"

A beat and she sighs, almost laughing again, her eyes briefly downcast. "Or I can stop giving ideas. I mean well, but sometimes, I need to be an ear and not a sounding board."

"Well, you didn't panic or say anything insensitive, so that's a great starting point. Honestly, I'm tired of flinging people into the harbor from here, that last guy was heavy." Perdita is smiling, now.

"Seattle is a good idea... but if I fly home, then I'm back on bad turf... but I don't have to deal with my parents after they've been on a plane together for like four hours." She pulls a face. There's definitely a story there. "But you're right, either way. Kindness to myself matters. Thank you."

Perdita smiles at Ariadne, genuinely, "You're trying to problem solve because you care. That matters, too. I actually lived in Seattle for a little while before I came here, though. Had an apartment in the Stratus for a hot minute. The view was amazing, but once I was done with the job..." she shrugs slightly, "View wasn't worth being caught standing still."

Ariadne tugs gently on that strand of hair as she listens, her hesitant smile growing more little by little. A laugh at the reason for leaving town. "Well-well, the Stratus. Yeah, that view...I know exactly what you mean. Across the Sound with the Needle off to one side. Ferries out on the water. Speaking of your parents though," and she gestures off to one side with her free hand, pointer finger outstretched. "What's to say you can't set a day to meet after they've arrived? Let 'em detox, get a feel for the place, tell 'em a meeting came up and they'll have to wait a day? It'll let you prepare as well. Center yourself and get ready and decide how you want to play things?"

She then reaches to tighten up her ponytail with a tweak of the hairband. "And seriously: next time you need to throw somebody who gets rude with you about you in the harbor? I'm here to help. I have zero tolerance for that kind of bullshit." By the way her smile hardens about its corners, this is a statement through and true.

"Oh my god, and you haven't lived until you've been-... nevermind." Perdita blushes, letting the topic turn back to less carnal points. "Also not a bad idea... and if I met them here... this is my stomping grounds. I have friends I know, and I'm at the strongest I've ever been, here. I can literally fly here. Before I struggled to Lift a fifty pound safe. Here I almost feel like I could lift a car. Not a big car, maybe like one of those super light golf carts?"

"But you're right. Giving them, and myself, time to detox before... Mamá and I don't have much bad blood. My siblings are hurt that I didn't come to them, but they understand. My niece just wants to meet her Bibi Dita... But Báte and I need to set rules. Boundaries."

"Same goes for you. Anybody gives you shit you don't want to deal with, let me know. I have a massive basement full of weird creepy tunnels."

Curiosity certainly perks at the unfinished thought, but given Dita moves on, the barista merely makes a mental note to mull over what could have been said in the back of her mind. Still, she nods. "Boundaries," is echoed and confirmed with a firm nod. "And once you've set them with Báte, you can see about the others too if need be, your Mamá and your siblings." Pronunciation of the titles comes easily to Ariadne, though her inflection is both Americanized and hails from somewhere else in the same vein.

"And I appreciate you and your massive basement full of weird creepy tunnels." A squint and half-smile. "You're not keeping giant gerbils down there, are you?" She glances up and around nonetheless before sighing and actually pinching the bridge of her nose in passing. "I shouldn't say these things aloud around here," grumbles the redhead. Damnit, Grey Harbor reality.

There's a slight look of surprise from Perdita as she hears a smidge of Kalderash being spoken by a gazhi as well as she pronounces the word, but she smiles, "I keep forgetting you know a bit of the tongue just by virtue of your family."

"Boundaries are good. For me and for my giant basement capybaras." she's just willed something into existence, she's sure... but capybara are chill. They get along with everyone, right?

Right?

Giant basement capybaras?!

"Oh god, Dita," Ariadne says half behind a hand. Cue a snort-laugh. "You might need to invest in a large swimming pool down there and lots of leafy greens now." Might. Fingers crossed against it. "I don't know a lot of the tongue and I know I probably won't ever will, but...yeah, a few things here and there. My mother knows more. Oh, god, I still owe you that answer -- so sorry, I'd texted my mother last week and she hasn't gotten back to me yet. I'll text her again," the barista promises her friend. "But you know, it occurs to me that I haven't stopped by your place. I know Ravn has. Una has? And here I am, clueless. Can I drop in sometime to check things out? I'll text you beforehand?"

"Here's hoping I didn't just bring something into existence... but if I did, they can fight the probable CHUDs. I'll back the capys." Perdita laughs and shrugs slightly.

"You're welcome whenever, just text me in advance so that if I have a gentleman caller over I can clean up the evidence. I tend to avoid having guys over in the evenings, because I don't want to make things even more awkward with Garrett. Not that I think he'd mind, but I'd mind." Dita smiles, a little sadly, before smiling. "But you're definitely welcome over. Seven floors, original terrazzo marble floors in all the halls, the original limestone façade..." Is Dita writing a love letter to her building? Probably.

"Well, geez, you're describing a place which apparently needs some appreciation, so yes! I'll definitely text beforehand. I'm not the kind of person who takes glee in ruining evenings by spontaneously showing up. People who do that are just...fuckers, really." Shaking her head, Ariadne then takes a moment to glance around. No hot daddies. They really did all drown.

Though, speaking of hot...

One can almost see the thought track through her face. "Sooooo...Dita, I was wondering..." How cute, the barista almost scuffs the grass. "You're so fashion-savvy and my...closet needs a little help. I kind of...only have a few skirts and a few pairs of jeans and a pair of cargo pants that I dearly love," she explains, smiling with a pastel blush starting to show on her cheeks. "Can I get some help?"

"Any evening that can be ruined with the addition of one more person doesn't sound like my kind of evening anyway." Dita smiles, just the slightest quirk of a brow.

Ariadne's question gets the slightest tilt from Dita's head, and her face is curious but neutral as she begins asking for this favor... And then her expression starts to slide toward acceptance... but then, suddenly, horror. "C-cargo... pants?" Dita's voice breaks when she speaks again, her eyes wide. "You... own... cargo pants?"

"...yes, Dita, I'm a marine biologist who really likes pockets, so I own a pair of cargo pants."

Though Dita's expression is more than enough to almost scare Ariadne's brows up into her hairline in turn. "I...really like them?" she offers as further explanation. This is beginning to look like it's an irrevocable sin and the barista needs to go confess to Padre Armani about these sins which apparently include cargo pants.

"... Ariadne, who hurt you? They look the same on your body as they do laid out on the bed before you put them on!" Dita has a hand pressed to her chest now, over her heart, eyes still widened slightly. She'd be clutching her pearls, if she had them.

"They're fine for work but you don't let people see you in them! Unless..." Dita visibly takes a breath, then lets it out, regaining composure. "I suppose if they're slouchy, incredibly oversized, slung low on the hips and belted, then paired with an extremely feminine silk midriff baring cami."

She tilts her head to look Ariadne over, really looking at her. "Ultimately, fashion should be whatever makes you comfortable. But cargo pants are typically for dads over 50 working the grill at a family barbeque, and they're rarely flattering. But yes... I will teach you my ways. But better, I'll teach you how to find what works for you and to sort what you actually enjoy wearing. Because you can put a homeless runaway in a couture gown, but the dress will end up wearing her." That... sounds like experience.

Somehow, Ariadne does not blurt a laugh at the pearl-clutching-minus-pearls. Still, to be diplomatic in the face of nearly snorting, she does agree with Dita in that, "Yes, the pants paired with a camisole like that would be cute as hell."

Shifting in place, she finds herself under scrutiny. It makes her come to a stillness of reserved surprise at first, no doubt making it easier for Dita to give her the once-over. "I...admit, I've never worn anything close to a couture gown before, but I understand the premise. Gotta rock what's on your body. Otherwise, it's just clothing. I really would appreciate the assistance. I'm kind of a...yeah, painfully pragmatic person in regards to fashion. Pants, comfortable shirt, skirts... I need a good dress though, speaking of dresses," she wince-smiles.

"Most people haven't worn a couture gown, and with fully half of the designers you're paying for the name, not the material or craftsmanship. They're ridiculously expensive and should be saved for only the most special of events. Such as a red carpet gala, or a Tuesday you're feeling like absolute shit and just need a pick-me-up." She's smiling, again, just a hint of mischief in her eyes. How much of the horror over cargo pants was feigned? One can never be entirely certain with Perdita.

"Why the sudden desire to dress up? Does it have anything to do with a certain Danish gentleman? Name rhymes with Brown?" she walks around Ariadne, now, eyeballing her. It's a little unsettling, not unlike a drill sergeant measuring up her troops. Did Ari just sign herself up for fashion boot camp?

"A Tuesday pick-me-up," Ariadne echoes sotto-voce. She can't imagine owning such a thing for a pick-me-up, much less just wearing it. Still -- she catches the gleam in Dita's eyes and smirks back. Her hands end up rested at her hips in a stance at least partially confident.

Well, it was. What an owl-eyed blink. Not only a question like that, but now she's being circled like the last piece in a portfolio before the senior professors at Juliard.

"Uh. It...might...?" she says before laughing. One hand rises to touch her cheek. Great, she's blushing more now. "If it were this gentleman, we can both admit he wears a turtleneck well, right? I just...might want to see if I can match that level of style." Or something is certainly heard if not said.

"Of course. Tuesdays are for couture." She's probably joking. Probably. Although who knows, maybe Perdita wanders around the Bauer Building in a couture gown, possibly carrying a sword, as a confidence exercise. She's probably being flip, however. "He does, indeed, wear a turtleneck well. Most of the nobles I've tried to seduce weren't quite so easy on the eye... but let me let you in on Ravn's secret. It's less about being stylish and more about knowing what works for him. It just so happens to be an elegant style because the man is a dress maker's mannequin come to life. He needs to keep his skin covered, and the turtlenecks do that, and the finer fabric of them helps with pain. Same with the gloves. Better quality means longer lasting, and less itchy or irritating. I'm pretty sure if we could give him a cure, he'd switch to black t-shirts and... cargo pants."

Her smile softens. "From experience... don't ever change yourself for a man. If this is a change you want, for yourself, I'm happy to help. But Ravn seems to genuinely like you for who you are. Cargo pants and all."

Insightfulness disarms Ariadne as if Perdita did have a sword after all. She blinks at the other woman and then looks off to one side. Uncertainty flickers in and out of her face like a wispy cloud across a sun.

Looking up again, she sighs as if she's come to a conclusion. "It's fifty-fifty, I think, about the fashion. I'd..." Man, this feels like a confession in a booth. "I'd like to see about just...having some very nice things on days where I want to look very nice. I mean, you get what I mean, right? About wanting to know you look good? If there's a bleedover in that...yeah, I'd like to look good in Ravn's eyes too, like...fancier now and then, yes. That influences my question too. I think he would like me in a wet potato sack, but I'd rather not test this theory," she then laughs.

"He would. He's a genuine guy, like that." Dita tells Ari, fondly. "Trust me. If he wanted a glamor girl, he and I have literally been drunk in the same bed and I was in a very willing mood. If he likes you, it's because he likes you." She rounds to Ari's front once more, resting her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "You're incredibly intelligent, quick witted, you read, you brew a hell of a cup of coffee, and you also happen to be fucking gorgeous. But Ravn's more concerned with your substance than your style." A slight tilt of her head, "That said, there's nothing in the rules about you not being able to like being girly and have fun date outfits. So we'll schedule a day, head to Seattle and see if we can find something that makes your heart sing."

"Oh." Ariadne isn't concerned so much about the substance of how Ravn appears to not like glamour girls. It's still a surprise, plain and simple, given how there's a damn good reason she's asking Dita about this endeavor and it's because the young woman is positively radiant.

She then proceeds to turn a hue darker in blush as the compliments pile on. "Geez, Dita...thanks," murmurs the barista who's apparently all of these things. Her smile is possibly about as shy as she's shown since she arrived here in Gray Harbor. "I'd really like that because...yeah, you said it right. It's fun date outfits, but it's also just rocking my curves, I guess. I know my work schedule about two weeks in advance, so if you have any days that work for you, let me know? I can double-check 'em against the current plan."

"My schedule is wide open for the next few weeks, don't worry. Everything happening with the building is on levels or areas I'm not needed in since I am decidedly unskilled labor when it comes to anything except demo work." Dita flashes a wide smile at Ariadne's blushing. "But we're going to do things that work for you, not just pick out things because I think they look good. Fashion is personal, and it's what you enjoy and what works for you. That was one of the things Garrett felt bad about, I think that I was always dressed up to the nines... and he was rocking cargo pants." A slight head tilt and a smirk. So at least some of the horror was mock horror, at least.

"Ooh, you brat." This comes after the smirking commentary about Garrett's cargo pants. Ariadne snort-laughs once. "See? Nothing wrong with cargo pants," the redhead still insists with hands rested on her own hips. "But yes, please. I appreciate that you're not too pushy about the fashion. Sometimes, I...just don't get it." The admission comes with a little wince. "I grew up climbing trees and hiking and generally being too active to think about things like the height of heels and the hemline of skirts and really, most of the time, I'm kind of faking it until I make it when I'm pulling stuff off the rack."

A bicyclist rides by on the path below the stretch of green. His movement draws Ariadne to look his way and follow his travels. His suddenly semi-distracted-and-then-reoriented travels.

"Dammmmn, gurl, I think you about poleaxed him," murmurs the barista to Dita with a grin.

"There's plenty wrong with cargo pants... He just managed to fill them out nicely, regardless." a little shrug and an exaggerated eyebrow waggle. "It's not easy. There's a thousand million rules and if you break one, someone is going to have an actual fit. And trust me, I get growing up not understanding this stuff." a knowing smile. "It takes time, but you'll find what works for you, and the next time someone shames you for cargo pants you can tell them you know how to rock them as actual fashion."

The bicyclist gets a raised eyebrow and a smile of amusement. "Brazilian butt lift. Worth every penny... Not that I paid."

An amused snort for the eyebrow waggle with smirk to follow. Indeed, filling out pants -- critical for pants in general. The bicyclist's reaction just proved this about spandex in particular.

"A Brazilian butt lift. Man, and here I have to rely on biking and squatting heavy boxes at work," Ariadne funs with an easy-going humor. The blush of earlier is fading away steadily at this point. "I'll see about this camisole you mentioned earlier and belt the cargo pants low around my hips and we'll see what Ravn has to say. How about that?" A beat and she says drolly, "Bet he asks why my pants are sagging." Purse-lipped not-smiling-you're-smiling.

"The BBL was just to offset nature. When you don't get to start HRT until you're already partially through puberty, hip bones don't change like they should." Dita shrugs. "I still do a lot of squats, trust me. And biking, and kickboxing..." she laughs.

"He's going to appreciate the skin, blush, look away, and then ask if you know your pants are falling." Dita predicts, tilting her head to one side slightly.

"Makes sense." A little sentiment and nod before Ariadne glances over at her friend. Squats and kickboxing -- kickboxing.

She opens her mouth to ask about the kickboxing in particular, since that just happens to be her own physical hobby of choice other than biking, but then there's all but a bet being laid down. Another snort-laugh from the barista. "I think he'll do everything you said, with the blush and the look-away, but I still think it's going to be sagging, not falling down. Bet me?" A pinkie finger held out for sealing purposes, apparently. "Also, I happen to do kickboxing as well, so I demand the satisfaction of a kickboxing get-together one time."

Perdita holds out her own pinky and links it with Ariadne's. "Bet." Dita grins, tilting her head slightly. "And absolutely. You will kick my ass, though. I learned after everything with my ex, wanted to make sure I wasn't entirely dependent on screaming and throwing things to defend myself in the future... and it didn't hurt that the instructor was hot. What about you, what got you into it?"

How eloquently Ariadne's brows meet. Her arms move to lightly fold beneath her chest as she listens.

"Christ on a cracker, Dita. God. I wish it wasn't because of that, but I'm glad that you've been able to learn and grow through the lessons. I sincerely hope you feel more protected now and that you can handle more things coming at you. I needed to feel safer too, after college. Nothing bad happened, but there were...too many close calls for me, in my personal opinion, and I know if I had known how to do things, I could have helped some of my friends sooner. Grabby hands at parties...things like that." She's quiet now, but still watching Dita's face.

"It's the past." Dita shrugs a little, looking slightly uncomfortable, "I keep a taser in my purse, looks like a cellphone, and there's always the option of lifting the other person up by their clothes and suspending them in midair, or locking their shoes to the pavement, or any number of other things, before I ever have to actually fight. If your grifter is fighting in a crew, your job's already blown, but..." she shrugs. "That's another reason. I don't want anyone, especially another woman or Queer person, feeling like they're in it alone, and at least we're able to throw down with your average frat boy jock without getting knocked on our asses, right?" She grins at Ari, now, looking more confident once more.

"Thrown down is right. Smack to the beer-coated floor." An edged smirk from Ariadne there and gone before she sighs. "Yes, it's also about being there for others. Once I get my powers a bit more figured out, maybe I'll take up being a masked vigilante or something. I don't think I'd make a good jewel thief, that'd be for you, but a nice spandex suit surely wouldn't be too bad?"

A beat. "Minus the chafing." Another glance around the park before she looks back to Dita. "Though speaking of chafing, I bet Sam has to go out by now. Yes, the joy of dog ownership. I'll leave you to your yoga. I'll text you about visiting? And what days we're good for Seattle?"

"I can try to help with that, a bit, at least... the mover side of things... Though maybe Ravn is the better option, there." She flutters her lashes, exaggerated, then grins. "When I was little I wanted to be Catwoman. Close enough, right?" Perdita laughs and poses in her yoga outfit. It's certainly tight enough.

"No chafing, use baby powder. But yes, go take care of your baby! We'll chat later." Dita gives Ariadne a quick, but tight, hug, before moving back to her yoga mat.

And look. There are the promised Hot Daddies, now.