Chokeweed And Brambleberries

Participants:

ava_icon.gif dequan_icon.gif dumortier_icon.gif

Scene Title Chokeweed And Brambleberries
Synopsis An unexpected gathering of agrokinetics leads to the topic of revolution.
Date January 13, 2020

Park Slope


It is early morning when someone like Dequan decides to visit a location like the Park Slope. Running past this location on a regular basis, the tall and muscular individual can be found settled down in an area that still qualifies as ‘parkland’.

There is a patch, of seeming just weeds and brambles, all thick and twisted and over growing and Dequan is there, his two fingers gently brushing up the stem of a wild flower, stroking gently. His arms are exposed, as he’s only wearing a black tank top and a pair of running shorts, his long hair is braided back out of his face in a low single braid. Beside him is a small couple of coolers as he rumbles softly in a language that is not English as he relaxes in the early morning light, murmuring to the plant.

Parkland is what people make of it. Park Slope lives up to its name now. While people here generally keep to themselves, it isn't impossible to criss-cross paths, especially on the more used ones. Old roads tend to mostly be cracked rock and dirt now, and paths seem to form along semi-familiar boundaries until the more wooded clusters. It's there that paths largely vanish, and tiny suburban deer seem to make small ones in place.

It's not Providence, he knows, but there are some things that can only be found here. Places that might still hold something worthwhile, or something amidst the wild growth.

It's not the first time Dumortier has found another one like him here. The unspoken neutral zone, cityscape caught in time and nature, where even the least of them can coalesce with something greener.

It doesn't mean they all get along.

Rene tries to remain on good sides, even if his own means are suspect. Like now, when his backpack is partway full of things he's stolen from old houses or the more unsavory squatters. Thankfully he's beyond the view of the scraggly patch of plants, hovering back behind the trees with hood up, a sliver of shape against the profile of a tree.

Waiting, watching, he's not sure yet. He is only sure of his curiosity.

There’s a low rumbling chuckle from the broad chested man and a shrug of a shoulder as he pulls back from the plant. He idly tugs his shirt up and over his head, folding it neatly to drape over some other brambles near him. Ignoring the temporary mussing of his hair, Dequan carefully plunges both hands into the brambly chokey mass of weeds and god knows what else. Eyes closed and full lips parted, the native concentrates for a few moments and a few buds on the cusp of blooming start to bloom with and then a few flowers that belong to plants to actually mature as if someone hit a ‘fast forward button’ as the flowers shrivel and fold and then form bright red and dark purple berries. There’s a natural communion here as he takes deep breaths, as if someone is going for a casual jog or relaxing doing yoga. Muscles in his back tensing every now and then but he looks peaceful, serene even.

There's 'communing with nature' and there's communing with nature. Dumortier isn't absolutely sure which one this is, but the fact that this stranger is partially disrobing is, of course, effortlessly getting his attention. Fortunately the work he's doing is just as eye-catching- - to another agrokinetic, moreso. He could go about this a few ways. Ignoring it. Walking right up.

Or, as Dumortiers do, he decides on something else and pads silently closer until he's leant against a tree at Dequan's back, hood pushed down.

"Maybe you two should get a room."

As a few more buds bloom and flowers wilt into berries…Dequan’s training is what alerts him to the ever so slight change in his lighting, when Dumortier approaches. His hands still buried in the plants, he glances over his shoulder for a moment and then turns his attention back to the plants.

A tangled and faded patch is now more vibrant, blooming with berries scattered throughout it. A expedited before and after picture. “Nosy people always seem to see and think the worst of a situation, because their intentions were to snoop, not to learn.” His voice is low and honeyed, almost with a rumble to it…drizzles with notes of the gulf coast/cajun influences.

He rolls his shoulders and pushes himself further up, straightening up as his hands are withdrawn from the mass of plants he was caring for. When the tall man turns, he just folds his arms over his chest and regards Dumortier quietly. He has the physique of someone who takes care of himself, could model for men’s health but who even has time for that these days. Not glowering, or glaring just watching the other man.

"You could take heart to your own advice, you know," comes a snap of a voice belonging to neither male. A woman emerges from nearby growth, thin and spright, her dark hair bound behind her head in a thin wisp that passes for a bun. She's bundled against the elements appropriately— a thick-sleeved coat worn with fingerless gloves to keep her warm, and a rifle slung across her shoulder to keep her safe.

A local, it'd seem.

"It's too early for those. Now either someone has to come by and mind them, or they die with the next frost. And mark me, winter isn't done having its way with us yet." The woman tsks at them both, looking away and off into the growth to see if there's anyone else aside from them here, turning back when she's satisfied. She keeps her distance from them both, but even from this far away can be seen the growth of hardened roots curling around the soles of her boots and clinging up her calves. The boots themselves look old; the roots might be the only thing weatherproofing them.

One of Rene's favorite things is snooping. He's really good at it. In fact, he snoops a look over Dequan right then, looking more amused than scorned; a laugh escapes him, but before Dumortier manages to backtalk further, it's Ava's presence that stalls him. Stalls.

She gets a rather obvious snooping too. A short one. She has a gun in reach closer than his is.

"Oh, isn't this cute." Another laugh is probably not exactly what is expected of him, faced with the twofer of sober faces. Instead, he steps on past Dequan, one hand lifting and running careful fingers along the thorniest parts of the brush as he circles it. As Dumortier comes away, it grows with, drawing out behind him like a thread pulled from a spool. "We could start a coven."

"Or not. I do enjoy my snooping just how it is." Dumortier's newest hangers-on climbs around his sleeve, and a palm to the air shows off the shiny black needles of thorns grown past what they ought to be. "But please, go on and teach me something too, gorgeous. I'd love that."

And then there is another person encroaching upon his post workout cooldown, so Dequan’s even gaze flicks from Dumortier and lands on Ava. The rifle is noted almost immediately and the muscular man gives a quiet ‘hmm’.

Kneeling down to retrieve his shirt, he casually pulls it back on and his hands go back to adjust his braid which is all sorts of messy by now but who cares. Regardless of the words going back and forth or the actions of his new companions, Dequan just gives another ‘hm’ and kneels by one of his coolers to retrieve a glass container. “Aronia melanocarpa..” He carefully selects a few of the dark berries, black almost and he pops one in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Black Chokeberry.” A few more are dropped into the container. His eyes linger on Dumi though, and his actions then back to Ava, keeping an eye on them both.

He lets his fingers trail over a few more branches that are tangled together to select a few red berries, hard and round and shiny. “Pyrancantha. You can tell because of the thorns. Not quite as palatable, but a beautiful representation of deceptive beauty.” Those do not go to his mouth first, but are quickly dropped in his glass container.

“It seems like when it comes to matters of manners around these parts, I might have to take the lead. Pardon me if I seem distracted but I was in the middle of making the acquaintance of a few others. Are we going to do introductions and pretend we like people or are we just going to bask in the ambiance of land allowed to grow free?”

A coven, the little blonde man says.

Ava arches an eyebrow at him skeptically. His hoppity nature isn't something she's particularly a fan of… but the soothing, vocal identification that Dequan begins of his growths draws her attention and eases the angles in her expression down to something nearing amiable. She still takes in both strangers from that same distance, feet shifting as before she lifts a hand to adjust the strap of the rifle.

"You're a grower, so I'll pretend." At least she's honest with her reasoning. "Name's Ava. I take root in the garden ruins." She glances to Dumortier for a moment before inclining her head in Dequan's direction instead. "You new around here?" she asks, voice lightening a touch with that curiosity. He doesn't carry himself like a scavenger, like the other agrokinetic circling him does. No… there's something peculiar about him.

"I like a good firethorn." is what Rene offers in response to Dequan's attempted lessons, a brow lifting back. So maybe he doesn't need much teaching. He allows the thorny growth to turn around his hand a moment more before releasing it; it coils away and back into the earth, straddling out to rejoin itself.

Perhaps to prove a point regarding his nature, Dumortier does crouch down to lift a tenderly inspecting hand to the pieces the other man had been minding. They are drawn to him in a similar way. If plants are good judges of character, he must not be so bad.

"Ava. So that's you in the ruins." Dumortier stands up, lightness still in his step and a flash of a smile on his lips. Sounds like he's been polite in giving her a decent berth. Not to say he hasn't skirted a time or two. Not looking for a fight, of course.

“Of course you do, there’s a bit of the trickster in you as well I’m sure.” Dequan drawls in reply to Rene, moving to settle down near his freshly bloomed and blossomed patch, settling the glass container in one of the coolers. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Ava, I am Dequan Silvercreek.”

He removes another container from his cooler, this one is actually filled with food. Some types of stews, thick with vegetables and legumes. Protein packed. Then he unpacks a couple more containers that when he opens them, the freshness of the vegetables wafts from them. “I wouldn’t call mahself new necessarily. I’ve not been a frequent visitor to these secret gardens but they called to me so I decided to swing by.”

Fresh cut broccoli and carrots, that have been washed clean are in those containers and he sets them out near him in silent invitation before cracking open one of his stew containers. He bends a knee so he can rest an arm on it.

Ava flints a glance Dumortier's way at his demeanor, the faelike charm to him actually keeping her at arm's length. So cheery a person he is— who conveniently avoids going through the pleasantries of introduction all the while. His is a golden, thriving being so charming she finds it invasive. Were she in her own grove, she might have more than just side-eye for him.

But Dequan— he ekes out a place of his own here, cool and nonplussed. His is a quieter form of socializing she can appreciate, apparently, because she ventures forward to see what it is he's bringing out from the cooler. The vines strapped about her boots creak as she steps closer. Ava arches an eyebrow when she sees it's a meal Dequan has brought with him. She refrains from inviting herself to it immediately even though the offer has been made.

"Places like this, I think they call to anyone like us, the good and the bad," Ava remarks. "The more it grows, the greater the siren's song swells."

Considering the offered food a moment longer, she huffs to herself before kneeling, removing her hand off the strap on her shoulder to reach out near her feet. Vinelike growth finds its way to her hand, and she snaps off a thin, fortified offshoot, using it to spear herself a vegetable piece without dirtying the rest of the offering. Ava regards the broccoli thoughtfully without considering it directly— silently giving thanks for it.

"It won't be long now. Those who want to take this all from us will come crawling back again." she murmurs before taking a bite. “The warmer it gets, the more of them we’ll start to see.”

Dumortier knows exactly what's in him, and Dequan isn't terribly far from the mark. He watches the others with a small squint in his expression, arms crossed loosely and flyaways around his cheeks. Is he supposed to be the good or bad in Ava's equation?

The quietness from both of them seems to sink in the more it casts, which leads to Dumortier hesitantly moving nearer, arms unfolding as he crouches at arms length from what passes as the center of orbit. Arms instead hook around his knees, bright blue eyes roaming briefly between Ava and Dequan in turn.

"I won't deny a siren song its due. Takes one to know one…" Thankfully for the shyer of them, he keeps his hands to himself when he continues, "Rene." No freely given surname, given will do fine.

"If… you would want to learn some tips on traps… I could help with that, chere." A smile comes again, though this time having read the room it is a small and closed gift of one, spark relegated instead to his eyes.

Dequan watches Ava’s expression of her agrokinetic gift with another soft ‘hm’. There’s a glance over to Rene as well before the businessman nods towards the offering of food. “I don’t usually run into too many people when I’m out for a run, but I always have plenty to share.”

The commentary however, from Ava is what draws a deep chested chuckle from the man. Another spoonful of that hearty stew and a black bandana is whipped out of the back pocket and used to wipe his mouth before he responds. “They come because they still hold on to some antiquated ideals of taming this ‘wild’ and reclaiming somethin’ that honestly wasn’t theirs to take in the first place.”

A shrug of a shoulder and he takes another spoon of stew, chewing thoughtfully before he continues. “There are skeletons still from when they thought they had staked their proverbial flag. Old buildings and such. As long as those exist, folks will be back. They can’t help themselves.”

He has made very quick work of that first container of stew, scraping the bottom thoroughly. Not sloppily or messily thought, just efficient consumption of necessary protein and calories. It is equally the mention of Traps that catches his attention as much as it is the usage of ‘chere’. “Question is for all of you so invested in tending to this garden as it reclaims this space…” He places the lid on the container and reaches for his second. “How badly do you want to keep them from coming back?”

Then to Rene he switches to French, his own is deeper and honeyed from gulf influences in the diction. «”Do you speak French Little Firethorn?”»

Ava regards Rene out of the corner of her eye while he speaks, a slender eyebrow arching at him at his offer for help with traps. A soft huff comes from her, not quite a laugh, accompanied with a thin press of her lips. "I'm more … scare tactics than traps," she admits. But maybe different times called for different measures.

Dequan's musings paint an interesting worldview, one that draws the woman's attention back to him. Her brow stays arched, a thoughtful glint entering her eye as she listens to him, and ponders his question. How badly is a question no one's dared ask her before. The slip into French might normally deter her, to wait out until that little conversational path has run its trail, but she lifts her voice anyway while she spears another pair of vegetables. "They'll get nothing of Park Slope back, so long as I'm fit to fight for it." Ava is resolute in this.

"I've tried, for Sue's sake, to not be too much a bother. But between outsiders coming and leaving their trash and corporate and construction types plotting ways to push back the green…" She shakes her head. "They don't belong here. We grew this place when everyone else had abandoned it. They don't just get to decide they want it back again because they put up a fence around the city."

"No," Ava supposes. "There's going to be a fight for it before that'll happen."

Unlike Ava, Dumortier isn't quick to take up any offers. He remains crouched a moment longer, sitting himself down when he decides he does have it in him for an exchange, of sorts. It's not what he expected to find, yet here it is. Roll with it.

"«I don't live around here.»" Is the blonde's answer for Dequan, an answer and a commentary on his place here. He lacks the accent of the south or the north; he's not from here either.

"Scare tactics are for haunted houses." Dumortier levels a hooded look at Ava, mouth twisting slightly to one side. "Give them a little hurt." Arms perched on his knees in front of him, Rene's hands twine idly with one another. "Make it look like anyone except you. Easy." He sounds like he knows this from personal experience. Of course he does.

"You don't mind the squatters, do you? I've seen some old homes taken up, here and there. I ignore the drifters if I run into them." Much like Providence, they are just looking out for themselves in a crazy place, and Dumortier relates. "Met some kids out here once. Another time robbed a guy in a suit doing property surveying- - don't think he'll be back, heh." A very audible amusement.

Dequan quietly works on his second container of stew, scraping around the edges with that spoon and eating with that focused yet genteel practicality. When he finally sets the container down with the spoon resting in it? He is replying to Rene in French once more. “«Doesn’t mean that you don’t care.»”

Then he turns his attention to Ava, looking between his two new associates with an open yet unreadable expression. “If you are indeed resolved to see this place remain wild and free, then you must be prepared to supplement your own resolve with the commitment of like minded individuals.”

He gestures vaguely towards Dumortier. “The good Monsieur Rene here has a fire in his veins for being a bit rebellious I do believe, but for a cause that is bigger than himself. There are resistances. There are rebellions. And as always, there are revolutions.”

He shrugs his shoulder. “Do you know if there are any current or present bids in place to begin any rezoning or reconstruction? Squatters and Drifters can be recruited if need be, if the new homes they have found for themselves are in imminent threat.”

Ava receives Dumortier’s advice with a visible grain of salt, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Make it look like anyone except her, huh?

“The squatters I don’t mind. The partiers I do.” she confirms for him. But when he says he’s run off a surveyor before, a deep-rooted amusement at that manifests as a pleased smile. The little trickster might be wily enough she holds him at arms-length, but she appreciates hearing it directed toward those she dislikes.

Dequan speaks of revolution, though, and the smile isn’t long-lasting. Ava’s eyes half-lid while she considers the situation, considers the rumors she’s heard recently. “There were construction hats by earlier this winter out where I live. I made clear the land was not theirs to take and shape, but who knows if they’ll listen or if they’ll need their bulldozers gnarled first.” A pang of regret surfaces as she glances back at him. “Anything more official than that? I… I don’t know,” she admits. “Sue might, but the Council holds no real power at the end of the day. The City will do what the City will do. The Safe Zone Council might advocate one way or another … but money talks more loudly, and the ruins I live in look to developers like perfect space for fresh growth.”

The comment of his level of care just gets a purse of mouth and the run of tongue underlip. Yeah, alright.

"Do I seem like a rebel with a cause?" Dumortier laughs rather openly as he says this, emphasis right where it belongs. "Partiers? Not surprised." He runs a hand over his hair, adjusting the tie at the back as he thinks. "Ferngully certainly doesn't seem the right style, does it." Less sludge monsters.

"In the end you don't really need to wrestle the developers. Just convince the mayor's office into expropriation. It's green space now."

“Hm.” Comes the rumbled response from Dequan as he adjusts his seated position to rest an arm comfortably over his knee now that his meal is over. He continues to divide his attention between Ava and Dumortier, two very different types of wild flowers.

“If we can correctly identify, document and report on several important, medicinal and ecologically balancing genera of plantlife, which is abundant here, and better formalize the squatters as sharing communal living space then you have yourself a formula for creating a viable case.”

He glances over towards Dumortier with a slight dip of his head. “I know of a few like minded individuals who are associates of my own who would also enter in requests to do ‘research’ on ecological recovery and wildlife reclamation to the offices as well.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Funny thing is, best way to research the Earth healing herself? Is to just sit back and let it happen.”

At both ideas, Ava finds herself beginning to arc an eyebrow. She's not against the idea of making the system work for her, these are all just … ideas she's never had before. Her fight was much more simple. "If we can't find any," she interjects with sudden tenacity to the suggestion of there being a variety of beneficial plantlife. "Then bring some. Shoot, we can make anything grow if it's not here already."

She sits upright, gesturing to the other two with a sweep of her arm. "Between the three of us? What even are we if we can't manage that?"

It's been a while since she's been this excitable. Been a while since she's had anything to hope for, rather than despise. It catches her off-guard, because then she's looking back to Dumortier with more enthusiasm than she thought possible. "And for the rest of the space … your idea would do, wouldn't it?" It might be too much to hope for, but don't tell Ava now. She's just infinitely grateful to get away from talk of revolution that could possibly be violent, or even pranks that could be.

Dequan loves to get technical, doesn't he? While Dumortier doesn't exactly glaze over, his brain summarizes for him. It's not that he's unlearned. Just less… flowery, funnily enough.

"Most of what's local still does perfectly fine out in the Barrens. Wouldn't be hard to bring that here." Blue eyes study Ava's face, her posture, that obvious change from one side of the fence to the middle. "May as well leave the rest so long as it's not invasive." Old properties- - homes, gardens, places much like where Ava roosts. "Those are easy to leave as they are, like finding daffodils in the woods, no home in sight. They've been there forever."

If it has roots, no need to bother it.

"I've got my own shit going on, but this seems as good of a distraction as any…" One of his hands alights on the ground, grass growing to twine through his fingers. "Besides, if you want to convince someone of something- - you'll need someone a little less technical and someone a little less of a hermit." Rene raises an amused look to both of them in turn. Sorry, DQ, you're stale. Just a tad. Ava's just a loner by nature, seems like.

There is a curve of those full lips, a hint of a smile as Dequan watches Ava’s reaction. His response is another soft ‘hm’. He unbends his knee and shifts to settle up on his knees as he works on packing up his now empty food containers back into the cooler. He is listening though.

There is another unreadable look shifted over to Dumortier and he just snorts softly and shakes his head slowly. “Assumptions based on what people let you see, can be dangerous Monsieur Firethorn.” But he sounds bemused. His attention does shift back to the topic at hand. “I’ll return in a couple of days, see what feathers I can ruffle and which I can preen and bring some help. Spread whatever word you wish.”

What a group the three of them make together.

Ava slowly sits upright, taken by the feeling that something has happened here which will set something in motion. Who knows where it will go. The small woman narrows her eyes before she comes to her feet, one hand on the strap of her gun to keep it hanging from her shoulder. She seems a little uncertain still, but ultimately committed.

"When you come back, find me in the Gardens. I'll— see who else won't listen, won't be willing to fight." Ava tips her shoulder carefully at that, then glances sidelong at Dumortier.

If he's willing, she might need his help with that sooner rather than later.

"Oh, I know." Dumortier mutters back at Dequan, chewing briefly on the side of his tongue as he smiles, crooked, hopping back into a stand, balancing on his bootheels, hands in back pockets.

"I'm a cat around town, just not this town. Can't tell you exactly when I'll be back this way, but you can check Red Hook- - or, say," His shoulders move upwards in a careless shrug, "come find me in Providence. Very apropos, I guess, isn't it?" Rene seems fine to say this much, even with a laugh; if either of them are liable to come that far for him, all of this turns exponentially more interesting.

"Good luck with all of the, uh, intial- -" The blonde lifts a hand and a brow and gestures at Dequan. Vaguely, at all of him. The whole thing. "Bird stuff."

Something like that. Let him know when you hit a wall with that. The preening.

Dequan gives another rumbling chuckle as he pushes himself up to his feet. Containers packed away in one cooler, and his plant samples situated in the second cooler. Stretching his arms over his head and idly cracking his neck. “I’ve been meaning to take a trip down to Providence.” He muses outloud before gripping the handles of his coolers and lifting.

“Miss Ava. Monsieur Firethorn.” He gives each a polite nod. “Until we meet again then.” His lips twist in a hint of a smile before he turns and starts heading out of the garden, whistling to himself.


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