You are within Saint Uriel's graveyard, and the protrusions of two hundred years of the buried dead's tombstones push up around you like claws digging their way from the earth. The numerous grey slabs are broken in their varied uniformity here and there by a mausoleum or larger monument to some departed relative. The ground is grassy, although in places it seems withered and unhealthy without actually being dead. From these buildings of departed souls, a wide assortment of leering gargoyles peer back at you, and with a start you notice that in one or two cases the tombs they guard seem to be partly open.
The north, east, and south of the graveyard are walled off by a wrought-iron fence, the top of which is tipped with lethal-looking barbed spears. The southern wall is less unfriendly, but not by much. The grey-white stone of the Church of Saint Uriel is broken only by a single door leading back into the western wing of the church.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mein and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in old black jeans with the rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off, today with a blue t-shirt bearing the superman logo, the print very faded and the fabric looking thin enough that it may have genuinely gotten that way through time and not retro-merchandising. The shirt's rather snug in a flattering sort of way. Over it he's wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned, with a scattered pattern of tiny blue and red dolphins; he's also in possession of a pair of white plastic wayfarer-style sunglasses with iridescent indigo lenses. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
Thick honey-blonde hair, styled in a poofy set of curls, rings this pretty blue-eyed young woman's head. She's in her late teens, and her hair's currently left down, though it's occasionally pinned up. She stands about five and a half feet tall, and is a little on the thin side of things, though not to an extreme. She dresses mostly in informal styles, from ripped jeans and tank tops to the occasional sundress.
Currently, she wears the former, her black tank top emblazoned with a large sequined red heart, and her jeans so ripped as to be nearly indecent. About half of the heart's sequins are missing. Her feet are clad in red strappy lightly-heeled sandals that have seen better days. She wears little in the way of jewelry, just a black wooden bracelet, a stainless steel and rhinestone mood ring, and (probably fake) gold earrings. When she speaks, a fairly thick Southern accent is evident.
It was a dark and not-stormy night... Friday the 13t-- er, 31st! And Lilah's leading Felix around the graveyard, peering at various toppled stones, gothy-looking angels and gargoyles, and the occasional mausoleum. She's holding his hand, her sketchbook tucked under her other arm, and says, "Me 'n Crystal 'n Pegs usedta spend a lotta time in the ol' cemetery in Fairhope. This'uns a lot bigger, though!" She sounds excited about that fact.
Felix lets Lilah lead him around, perfectly willing to hold her hand, and he does check the place out with a fair amount of interest, even if he doesn't seem quite as excited about the place as she is. He's radiating even more energy than usual at the moment, probably enough to power at least a city block. Maybe two if they're small. "Yeah? What'd you usually do in it?" he asks, eyeing the nearest of the mausoleums with more consideration that is probably healthy. "I feel like maybe we're a few months early, bein' here tonight..."
"No such thing as too early when it comes ta places like this. Just think-- we beat the crowds!" Lilah winks in his direction, and then answers his question: "Smoked weed, got drunk, gen'rally made nuisances of ourselves. Also, ducked our folks, ducked our jobs, and ducked purty much anythin' we weren't up to that day." She squeezes his hand before leading him to a tall statue, scarily reminiscent of a Weeping Angel. Sadly, she doesn't see the resemblance. "We also did less troublesome stuff. Like sketchin', singin', gossipin'. What kindsa places did you like, back where you grew up?"
"Sure, but crowds got shit goin' for 'em too," Felix says, and grins at her nuisance-making. "Good plans. Shame we ain't got anythin' with us to drink right now... we oughta fix that." He takes a look around toward the fences, as if somewhere to do so might pop up right outside them, on command. Her squeeze gets one in response, and then he lets go, prowling a circle around the tall statue's base before he grabs the edge of the thing and pulls himself up onto it, clearly aiming to see how far up the statue he can climb. "We useta hang out lotsa places. Couple parks, alleys... there was this sorta courtyard in the middle of one block where mosta the buildings were abandoned 'n' condemned, that was where my crew hung out mostly when we weren't out doin' other shit."
"You just want crowds so you can steal someone's trick 'r treat bag," Lilah teases, watching as he attempts to climb up the statue. "There was also this church parkin' lot that pretty much never had cars in it... I reckon they weren't too popular. We spent a lotta time there, too. They had a metal staircase goin' up, and we'd play games on it, 'fore we decided we were too old for all o' that. Ended up switchin' to the cemetery." She smiles up at him, and adds, "Yer makin' me wanna climb up that thing too, but I'mma end up bustin' my head open. I'mma blame you if'n my brains get scrambled."
Felix grins evilly down at her from over the angel's shoulder and wing, "Not JUST. ...and why only one? Y'know what they say, stock up and save." He laughs, checking the statue for a suitable foothold to get up higher. "Though, can't be greedy. Knew a guy grabbed a huge pillowcase off some girl once... she was bein' a gypsy, and it just had dolls in it. Fuckin' hilarious how disappointed he was." One possible foothold proves not quite good enough, and he slips a little, growling, before trying the next. "You're not allowed t' get your brains scrambled. Or fried. Or any other kinda egg shit. They're good how they are. ...what kinda games?"
"'kay, not just, and not just one. Y'got me there." Lilah laughs at the bit about the gypsy, shaking her head, and asks, "What kinda dolls? He coulda had him a REAL nice time playin' house!" Her brows lift as he starts to slip, and then she smiles, shaking her head. "What about pureed? Do eggs get pureed? That egg white stuff's not really *pureed,* is it? I don't actually know how ta cook," she admits. "An'-- games. Pretend-like games. We'd be on some spaceship, lost in time, travelin' the Oregon Trail, runnin' away from psycho killers, or maybe jus' goin' ta public 'r private schools. ...they weren't all winners." She fluffs up her hair, shrugging. "What kinda games did you play as a kid? An' what about pretendy games?"
The bit about playing house gets a snicker. "Cabbage Patch Kids, three of 'em. We teased him about takin' care of his new kids 'til he lost it and took a swing at Matt. Also hilarious, for the record." Felix adjusts his hold on the statue's head and pulls himself upward, scrabbling slightly, until he gets a leg hooked over one of the shoulders. Another good heft, and he gets himself an angel shoulder-ride; good thing the statue's not so old as to start crumbling under the abuse. Pure luck, of course. "No pureeing either. Even if you can't puree eggs. 'least, not raw ones. I can't cook either but pureein' is basically slingin' shit into a blender, right? Betcha you could puree hard boiled ones or something. Dunno why you =would=, but." He crosses his arms on the angel's head and leans on them, looking down at her. "Why would you pretend to go to school when people make you do that anyhow? I mean, game-pretend, not 'oh yeah that's definitely where I was all day' pretend."
Lilah laughs loudly at the talk about the dolls, and shakes her head. "Which one's Matt? An' he took a swing at 'im... did he make it? You're leavin' out all the important details, here!" She giggles, and then watches as he manages to giddyup the statue. He gets a quiet clap for his efforts, and then she mimes framing a shot with an invisible camera. Alas, she doesn't have the Polaroid at the moment! "A'right, no pureeing, but what about julienneing? Or Julieting, for that matter. You can't Juliet an egg, so I should be safe to Juliet m'brains." She blinks at his question, and then shrugs. "I was homeschooled for a lotta the time. I wanted t'see what school was like, so they'd pretendy it with me." She leans up against the statue, peering up at him. "Didn't you ever play games like that?"
"Thank you, thank you, no applause please, just throw money," Felix declares to her clapping, giving her a wide grin that entirely belies the idea that recognition of his accomplishment is in any way unwelcome. "Matt's 'bout a year older'n me, big guy, not real bright. Not real quick, either. So yeah, he -- Casey -- connected, all right. Gave 'im a bloody nose. Then Matt kicked his ass an' made 'im eat a doll foot." He looks amused at that memory. "And no julienneing, that's the fry thing, yeah? Definitely you could do that to an egg if you boiled it first. I dunno about Julieting; whatcha gonna do, have it pretend to be dead? Or stab itself? 'cause I'm not real big on either of those plans either." He makes a face at the school thing, shaking his head. "You didn't miss anythin' much. And... I dunno. I guess I mostly played shit like tag. I mean, some cops 'n' robbers, pirates, spacemen and aliens, but a lotta that basically ended up boilin' down to tag an' fightin' in the end."
Lilah claps a little more at his declaration, and then reaches in her pocket for a quarter, tossing it a few feet in front of her. "Yer gonna hafta get down if'n you want that money. Get down from the statue, not get DOWN," she heads him off at the pass. "How'd he eat the doll foot? That's naaaaaasty. Did 'e get sick? An' all right... no Julieting, no Romeoing, but I'mma find *somethin'* t'do with these here brains o' mine." She taps her temple, adding with a theatrical squint up at him, "I'm picturin' you naked RIGHT NOW. An' you can't *stop* me." Pause. "As if you'd want to!" She leans up against the statue, and muses, "You were prolly hecka adorable as a kid. Wish you had some pictures of it 'r somethin'." Pause. "...do you?!"
Felix arches a brow at her, and grins slowly, a particular variety of grin she's probably well familiar with by now. "Well, if you want me naked, I might could be convinced to get down =either= way, you try hard enough." He shifts position, hands on the statue's head, and the next few moves are fairly quick -- one leg moving to settle a boot on the angel's shoulder, an upward shove to set the other and rise so he's briefly balanced standing on them both, and then a leap right off them, through the air and onto the grass several feet in front. It's not a bad landing, even; there's an extra step to catch his balance, but he stays upright and there's only a hint of a wince at the impact before he straightens back up and sweeps the world at large a bow. A turn, and he saunters Lilah-ward, with a brief pause to pick up and pocket the quarter. "I reckon I prolly was, long's you don't think bruises'd disqualify me. But nah, I don't have any pictures."
A deep blush settles on Lilah's cheeks, and she scuffs her foot in the grass, shrugging. She looks up in surprise as she hears him moving up there, and takes a step backward when it becomes clear he's going to be landing soon. When he does, she claps for him again, and then giggles as he scoops up the quarter. At his words, she rubs idly at her own bruise, then grins over at him. "I reckon bruises don't hurt none. ...'cept for physically." Her grin widens, and she steps closer to him as well, trying to pull him in for a soft kiss.
Felix slides an arm around her waist when she steps closer, pulling =her= in as well, and returns the kiss, although somewhat less softly. The fingers of his other hand move up to run across that bruise also, and she can probably feel the brief, wicked smile. "...so," he murmurs when the kiss breaks, "can't say as I ever messed around in a graveyard before. You wanna fix that?"