Returning to Dullville

Who: Peyton & Dessicant
When: Late Morningish
Where: Lakeshore

It was good to be home. Sort of. Being with her mom for the summer had been nice, seeing how there was much more to do in Ann Arbor than Marquette (at least in Peyton's opinion). But Marquette was still home and she'd missed her friends, and her dad. And, okay, maybe her brother, though she would never admit that out loud. She had to get used to being home again and after firing off a round of texts to her friends to let them know she was back, she jotted a few thoughts in her journal, tied her hair back, changed into her running clothes, and took off out the door. Like any teenager, she dreaded going back to school, but at the same time, she was eager, because she'd be a senior. Finally. More than that, she'd see a few people she missed while being away, and that kind of anticipation was almost worth the actual, you know, school part.

Peyton began to jog toward the lake, her eyes taking in her familiar surroundings. It was hot out, but there was the occasional cool breeze which felt refreshing against her skin. She only burned once this summer, which she totally blamed on her mom getting her the wrong SPF in sunblock, but thankfully the lobster look had dulled before she came home (not that it had left anything resembling a tan, of course).

Controlling her breathing, Peyton turned left to jog along the lake shore, letting her mind wander wherever it may. And it certainly did wander. After about three miles, she realized she needed to slow down. With a softer pace, Peyton turned to walk into the sand toward the water. Maybe she would jog along the water's edge on her way back. Still, she wanted to take a break and she found a good spot in the sand and sat. Listening to the water trickle up to the shore and recede, Peyton spread her arms and fell back unceremoniously to the sand, a slight burst of excitement rising within her. Quiet, boring Marquette. She was suddenly very happy to be home.

After Nevermore, Dessicant had wandered out of town with his new acquisition, looking for somewhere quiet to sit and peruse and hopefully get more laughs than frowns out of the book's subject matter. He wound up beside the lake, which he had no problems with: less people and more water were always positive traits of a place, to his mind. He found himself someplace in the sun where there was actually sand instead of pebbles on the lakeshore and settled himself down to read, wishing it were safe enough to change forms and actually sun his scales. The spot might be moderately secluded, blocked from sight on the side closer to down by a clump of water-loving brush, but it wasn't that secluded, and a forty-foot, neon-green snake would stand out even through bushes.

So he just tossed his coat down onto the bushes themselves-- he could grab it quickly, if someone came close enough to see the little blue feathers sticking out of his arms, and it was too damn hot to sit in the sun with a coat on. And besides, the sun felt good, beating down on his back.

He was engrossed in his reading-- and frowning at what he found-- by the time Peyton flopped back onto the sand not ten feet from him, on the other side of his screening clump of brush. Whether or not she saw him, she could certainly see his coat on top of said screening clump of brush, if she happened to look in that direction.

It wasn't until she decided to get up and head home that she saw the coat. She glanced briefly in it's direction while bending down to retie her shoe, but as she straightened, she got a better look.

Wandering over to it, she reached out to pick it up, wondering if someone had forgotten it, when she spotted Dessicant.

"Oh, sorry," Peyton said quickly, motioning to the coat as she moved closer to get a better look at him. "Is this yours?"

Dessicant jerked, looking up sharply at the sound of the unexpected voice.

Oh, shit. How he'd managed to get so distracted by a book that he didn't notice someone approaching, he had no idea, but it knew he was going to be kicking himself for it for days, now. He really was getting sloppy.

And it had to be another kid. Who hopefully was not another demon-kid. And him without any convenient way of grabbing his coat and yanking it back on in the next ten seconds, or so-- if it wasn't already too late. The two uneven lines of tiny, blue and purple feathers stood out enough against his skin tone that if she hadn't noticed by now, she would as soon as he did anything that might draw attention to them.

Scowling at himself, his bad luck, and at the girl who had stumbled upon him, all in equal measure, Dessicant closed his book. "Yes," he answered briefly. If Peyton was at all interested in looking, the book's title was legible: Demonology in Modern and Medieval times.

He didn't need to do anything to draw attention to his arms. Peyton saw them as she peered down at him and her eyes were drawn to them immediately before she reminded herself that it was rude to stare. But hello! He had feathers in his skin. But he also looked to be of Indian descent of some kind, so maybe it was a tribal thing? In any case, it definitely wasn't something she'd ever seen in Marquette.

"Okay, sorry, I had thought maybe someone had left it behind, though it's a bit hot for this kind of coat," Peyton told him before realizing she'd interrupted his reading. "I didn't mean to interrupt what you were doing." Even if it was about...squinting a bit, she read the title. Demons. Peyton tried not to snort at the subject. "You shop at Nevermore?"

Oh, she'd noticed, all right. There was a much more usual reaction this time than the one Dessicant had gotten from Blondie, though: she stared for a second, wide-eyed and obviously innocent to what feathers might mean, but then looked quickly away, as if afraid of being rude.

No point pretending she hadn't. Irritated though he was, he managed to not sound too sarcastic when he answered, tilting one pin-feather-prickled elbow her way, "If you looked like this, wouldn't you keep a coat around?" All right, so maybe a little sarcastic. He didn't like kids. "And yes, apparently I do. Though I probably won't, again. Damn expensive."

"I think they're kind of cool," Peyton said, her cheeks blushing slightly at the thought that he'd caught her staring. And she did think they were cool, if a bit creepy. Obviously he didn't think so, if he was trying to cover them up with that kind of coat. Even so, she wrinkled her nose at the mention of the expensive books.

"The whole store is a bit of a sham, if you ask me. Charging ridiculous amounts of money for a bunch of worthless books. They're not even, like, first editions of good books, you know? Just a bunch of crap for weirdos. No offense," she added quickly, as she remembered he was reading one of those worthless books. "My brother bought me a candle from there once. Smells good, but when I went in to get more, they were totally not worth the price! I'd rather shop online, you know?"

Briefly nonplussed at that odd sort of answer, Dessicant looked between her blush and his arm, then shrugged it off. She wouldn't think they were cool if she knew what they meant, but he'd take the compliment if she was going to offer it. "None taken," he answered hoarsely. "I think I count as a 'weirdo'." The word came out of his mouth like it was something foreign that he wasn't sure how to get his mouth around. Well, honestly, he wasn't-- he'd never used teenage slang before. "But," he continued, tapping the cover with one finger, "you can find interesting things in these, weird or not. Tell you what people think they believe." Or know, in his case.

"Interesting, maybe, but a complete a waste of time, at least that's what I think." Not that necessarily cared what she thought, but hey, he was continuing the conversation, so she didn't mind voicing her opinion. "I'd rather spend that money on something worthwhile like music." Peyton offered a smile. "But, hey, you can always tell a lot by a person by what they'll blow their money on."

Music. Well, Dessicant spent money on that, too... probably very different kinds, though. "Well, that depends on your idea of worthwhile," he shrugged.

Since she was here, she wasn't shutting up and leaving, and she'd complimented his stupid feathers-- nobody ever did that, so he figured he might as well enjoy it, even if it came from a kid-- he figured he might as well be social for a few minutes. "So what does it say about a person when they spend their money on music?"

"Hmm." Placing her hands on her hips, Peyton furrowed her brows together thoughtfully. It definitely didn't say weirdo like people who bought books on ghosts, demons and vampires. "I'd say it says they're artistic, and emotional. People seem much more willing to pour their souls out when they can do it with a melody, at least that's what I think. They get something out of it, you know?"

Dessicant couldn't help but laugh, even if it did turn into an uncomfortable few moments of coughing. Still, he was smiling when he could speak again. "Do I look artistic and emotional to you, girl?" he rasped.

Her gaze was drawn to the feathers on his arm briefly before she looked at him properly. She wished she would have brought another bottle of water to give him. He sounded sick.

"You don't have to look like those things to enjoy music." Peyton looked down the shoreline, squinting against the sun. "I mean, you don't look the type to be sitting on the shore, reading a book about demons either, but there you are. So..." So Peyton considered her point proven.

"Not everyone who likes the same things is the same way," Dessicant told her, still amused. Admittedly, he had rather different reasons for liking music than the kid, he expected, but it was still a point. "I am not artistic and emotional. I am grouchy and irritable and generally not very nice. But music is the only thing I spend spare money on-- aside, of course, from expensive books on demons," he added with a smirk. "But then, that was a rare treat."

"Maybe you are and you just don't think you are." Ha! Teenage logic. It worked for her. "And grouchy, irritable and mean are emotions. I never said you had to have kind and gentle emotions." Double ha! Peyton smiled at that, tilting her head to the side. "What kind of music do you buy?"

Shaking his head, but still grinning in amusement at kids and their stupidly naive ideas, Dessicant answered, "A lot of instrumentals. But I'm not picky, as long as there's halfway-decent harmony involved." He might have to curse something of this one's, just to make a nice, demonic counter to all the innocence.

"I'm totally the same way. Instrumentals are nice, they help me sleep sometimes," Peyton admitted, thinking to all the instrumental cds she had in her room. She loved the sound of a symphony, whether it was Beethoven, or some movie soundtrack. "See? You just get more out of something like music than something like an expensive book full of bunk theories and information. There's a halfway decent music store in Marquette, but like I said, for the good stuff I have to go online." She really had no idea if she was overstaying her welcome - or if she was even welcome in the first place. She liked getting to know new people to Marquette, which she assumed he was, given she'd never seen him before. But he liked music, and he wasn't telling her to go away, so why not?

They helped Dessicant sleep, too, just... rather in a different fashion. He chuckled at her, amused by the idea that he was "totally the same way" as a teenage, human girl. "I haven't been to the music store yet, I admit," he answered. "But I have yet to figure out the... internet... thing." He was still working on "computers", honestly. "Typical old man, right? Behind the times."

"Well, I'm recommending it! The music store, I mean. Not that my opinion holds any weight, but in case you ever wander by. And the internet isn't really that hard to grasp these days. Even if you don't like it, you could probably get the music store to order stuff for you." Peyton really did feel helpful. Whether or not he was taking her advice to heart was another thing, but at least she was trying.

Dessicant smirked at her enthusiasm. Yep, definitely gonna get a curse. She was too funny not to. "I shall wander by directly, then, miss...?" Just so he didn't want to remember her as Music Girl, or something, he might as well get her name.

"Peyton. Not Miss Peyton. I guess it's Miss Marsh, but that sounds silly, so you can just call me Peyton, I think." She held out her hand over the brush to shake his hand, because it would be rude not too. "And you're...?"

Stacey was busy doing her 'homework' on the lake shore. She was busy combing the lakeline for anything interesting to collect for a possible ritual; one thing that was drilled into her was to always be prepared. She was mostly looking for stones, as small pebbles could be rather inconspicuous, not to mention the fact the lake didn't have a lot of driftwood.

She picked up a smooth grey pebble and looked it over. It looked similar to two more she had collected before and she didn't think she'd need three. She brought back her arm and with a swift motion chucked the pebble into the water in an attempt to skip stones. The rock, however, didn't feel like complying and landed in the water with a solid 'plunk'.

Though he could if he stretched, reaching the hand from where he was wouldn't be very comfortable-- and he was all about comfortable these days-- so Dessicant heaved himself to his feet to give her a firm shake with his glove-covered hand, tucking his book under one arm. "David. Old habits die hard, but I'll try to forget the 'miss'."

"It's okay," Peyton said with a smile before taking his hand. "It's just I get called Miss in school a lot. When you're in trouble, it's like Miss Marsh, or you don't do your school work, or you get caught talking in class, or whatever. But it's nice to meet you, David."

"And you, Peyton. That's an interesting name. I don't think I've ever met a 'Peyton' before." He also didn't think he'd been this polite and friendly with anyone in a long time-- he really must have been in a strange mood.

It wasn't a very common name, especially for girls, so she was used to people commenting on it. Peyton nodded and gave a little smile again.

"My parents named me after my uncle," Peyton told him, perfectly fine with talking about personal things. "He died in an accident before I was born, and my parents were expecting twins, but they thought that I was going to be a boy like my brother. So they already had the names for my brother and me picked out. Tyler Peyton, who was my uncle, obviously. And my brother, Tyler, was born first and then there I was five minutes later, so not a boy, but they kept the name anyway, which is nice, because I like it. It's sort of unique enough that I feel like I stand out in someway."

"You even have a whole story behind it," Dessicant chuckled. "Do you share that with every stranger who comments on your name?"

"Sometimes. I mean, if they're going to take the time to comment on it, I might as well give them a story." Peyton glanced down the shoreline again, realizing she should probably be getting back. She had three miles to run still. "I think I should probably start back home," she told him, but with another smile. "It was nice to meet you, though! If you want more books on like, demons," she motioned to the one he was holding, "try someplace cheaper!"

"If I can," Dessicant answered, amused, though at the moment he thought the one he had was quite enough. "Good-bye, Peyton."

She gave a quick wave and turned to start back down the shore, her pace quickening as she went. She was halfway home before she realized she hadn't asked David why he was in Marquette. She was always curious to know why people chose to move there rather someplace a bit more exciting...but it was a small town, and he was fairly easy to spot, so maybe she would ask him next time she saw him out and about. Maybe she would ask him why he had the feathers in his arm too.

Mentally filing away the questions, Peyton shifted her focus on her jogging and headed home.

Dessicant watched the teenager jog off for a moment before, with a little smirk, focusing his gaze on... her feet. Under his attention, both of her shoelaces promptly decided they no longer liked staying tied. By the time Peyton was halfway home and realizing she had more questions, they had worked themselves free and flopped against her legs as she ran, getting underfoot and trying their very best to trip her.

It was a tiny curse, a pathetic curse, but it was a little bit of chaos, and that's all this particular Worm wanted.