@exdiv : [sit] your muse sits with my muse.
for a sunny late afternoon, the northern end of reconciliation park is unusually empty.
a handful corpos grateful for a break from their desks make tight loops along the sun-dappled paths, while a smattering of civilians loiter in small groups, talking amongst themselves. three clustered valentinos survey their surroundings, but they keep to themselves like everyone else.
kerry, perched on the edge of a stool with his boots tapping out a rhythm on its footrest and his hands mirroring that rhythm on the table they claimed for themselves, is glad for it. he is dressed subtly enough in a in a lightweight hoodie and sleeveless turtleneck that no one looks their way or sits near them. it’s quiet.
"i wasn't plannin' on goin' anywhere at all today until you texted, you know," he says, a thin edge of amusement to his voice. his bodyguard, miguel, keeps a watchful eye from the next table over. "but now that we're here... shit, it's like everyone heard we were comin' and cleared out. reconciliation park never looks this empty. glad i came out, though."
nikita is good company. she makes leaving the house worthwhile, in any case.
