|Location||New York City|
|Summary||Irene and Vega keep busy by participating in the New York City marathon.|
Still technically summer, it's now cool enough in the early mornings that people are breaking out the jackets on their way to work. For those getting their exercise in, the weather is nearly perfect. Cool without being cold, sun shining through trees and past skyscrapers to warm what the it touches, it's the kind of morning where people feel like they might be able to run forever. And on this day, some people are certainly going to try, be if for personal glory or charity. Most people don't run the full marathon through New York City, but many run the first part of it.
One of the waves of runners counts down the minutes until they are allowed to start the race, dressed in a rainbow of colors and some shirts and display names of charities. They are unified by paper numbers stuck to their abdomens. Among these waiting for their turn to go are Irene and Vega.
Irene stretches a little and shakes out her legs restlessly, rather than really needing to. She is decked out simply in some high-performance leggings, red sneakers, and a light jacket. Her sunglasses are more eye-catching than the rest of her outfit: Bright green and alligator skin textured with stylized gator eyes printed on the lenses. Vega is...kindly gifted a pair of sunglasses too--by having them put directly onto her face. Hers, however, are Mickey Mouse themed in black and red with small, round ears on the frames.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Vega wonders as a pair of Mickey Mouse frames (complete with rounded ears) are placed onto her features. Their effect is striking and takes visible years off of her age. This seems cruel to her. Although, her pouting doesn't help her youthful appearance. Less geared up in high-performance gear, beyond her metallic legs, she is dressed simply in a t-shirt in support of a local prosthetics charity and half-length leggings. She has pulled on an old pair of sneakers for the event that might have been bright once but have long since faded to pale pink.
"You are going to have to be more specific," Irene replies with a perfectly even expression, as though she can't guess what is making Vega complain at the moment. It is /possible/ she means the marathon. Her former partner's appearance doesn't get remarked upon, although the sneakers do get a brow raise out of her.
Staring at Irene through dark, mouse-eared lenses, Vega simply lifts her hands and /points/. Why. Irene. Why.
"Oh," Irene says, one corner of her mouth hitching up in an amused smile. It's an expression that makes her own sunglasses look just a little oddly sinister with their alligator eyes. "You look cute." You know, in a pouty teenager sort of way. That kind of cute. "I brought you something from Florida," she explains, adjusting the Veterans pin on her jacket.
Sighing, Vega leans over a gently shoves Irene in the arm. "Thanks," she says with a broad, toothy smile. "You look a little terrifying in those glasses." Humming the jaws theme, she rocks back on her heels.
Irene's smile widens a little at the shove and she pretends to sway a little. "You're welcome." But she also adds, "I have oranges for you, too." It's a somewhat nicer gift, if a less funny one. "Who, me?" She may be trying to look innocent as Vega hums, though it's probably not very successful. Blame the sunglasses.
"Lucky me. Two presents," Vega notes with a grin, clearly delighted by the thought of fresh oranges from Florida. Those will be especially tasty later after the race. "Yes, you with the alligator eyes. You look like you should be coming out of the river." It's something about the eyes. Slicking her hair back out of her eyes, she loosely pulls it up in a high tail. "Seems like you guys had fun though."
"Well, there are two of us." Idris was certainly involved in the picking of presents, though Irene doesn't say who had the most influence over what. She tilts her head to look over her shoulder in the direction of the water. "You're in a lot less danger from my bite, at least." She just smiles with enough to display teeth for a moment, then the expression softens. "We tried our best, yeah," she says on an exhale. Vega received a few messages and pictures at least, so she think the Atwells fell off the face of the planet.
"There are." This is a subject that makes Vega smile warmly, sliding the mouse-ear frames just far enough down her nose to look at Irene over them. "And I don't know about that. You might turn me into a were-mom." That is a scary fate, Irene. Patting her friend on the shoulder, she glances around the crowd of people with interest. "Should be a good day for this."
It's a subject that makes Irene smile warmly as well, enough that even the gator sunglasses can't make the expression look weird or sinister. "...I don't think that's how it works, Vega," she points out dryly, canting her head over at her friend. Vega can imagine the look the sunglasses cover. "Mhm. Nice cool morning. Should be sunny most of the day."
It's hard not to smile on the topic of Idris and Irene. Laughing lowly, Vega lifts her eyebrows over her sunglasses. "But… are you sure? I don't want to chance it." That seems like a terrible way to catch motherhood. The least fun way possible. "Yeah. That'll take us through most of this. Are you running the full or just a half as well this year?" Lifting an arm, she stretches it out.
"Considering I'm not planning on biting you, I think you're safe," Irene points out dryly, with a roll of her eyes that can be heard if not seen. It's in the familiar exasperation. "I'm doing the full...slowly." She adds the last quietly, just for Vega, after a beat. "But I'll have your company until then. You ready for this?"
"That's probably for the best. You'd be setting a terrible example for your son." Because Vega would absolutely tattle-tale. Her chin lifts up as if she is above such things as eye rolls. (She isn't.) "Pick your pacer," she murmurs, nudging Irene with an elbow and a smile. "Born ready. Made ready." Shifting her stance, she rocks back and forth in her sneakers as if trying to find her ground.
She would /absolutely/ tattle-tale. Irene even side-eyes Vega a bit like she's expecting her to anyway. The look lasts a moment, then she gives up with a heavy sigh. "Oh, I will be well, well behind the first finishers," she says with a short laugh, nudging gently back with an elbow. It would be awfully suspicious if she ran to the best of her abilities. So she only runs well enough, never too exceptionally. "Yeah," she agrees with a smile for her friend, "I guess you are."
It's impossible /not/ to look innocent in Mickey Mouse glasses. With the bubblegum hair, Vega acquires an almost unfair (if entirely untrue) level of seeming above such things. "Slow, ayi," she sighs with a tease, wiggling her elbow against her friend's. They both know who would win if that were the case. "Darn right."
Vega acquires an entirely untrue level of seeming /exactly/ at the age for tattle-taling, really. There is no age where she is exempt from being a pain in the ass. "Ugh," complains Irene, gently elbow jostling for that nickname. (The speedster likely hidden somewhere among the racers would probably win, really). "They really are okay?" Her legs. She did bust them up pretty good in space and a lot has happened.
Fucking speedsters. Flexing the long metal length of her leg, Vega meets Irene's concern with a smile. "Yeah. I… had them fixed up pretty good initially. Final updates were made back on the ground." On earth. "Weird wearing sneakers, but I didn't want to stand out too much." The few other athletes with prosthesis are wearing something similar.
"Mhm," Irene murmurs, looking down as Vega flexes her leg. "It's a little weird seeing you in sneakers," she admits after a moment, looking down at said shoes now. "You're usually so stubborn about your footwear," she teases, though it's /true/. Boots for all occasions. The same boots.
Tapping the toes of her pink sneakers together, Vega laughs self-consciously. "It's weird wearing them, like I said." It's a kind of cover in this situation. "I like those boots." Those same boots. All the time.
They both have their own kinds of cover in this situation. Irene doesn't give her /too/ much grief. "You've got a birthday coming up," she...threatens? She certainly side-eyes Vega as if she's considering alternative footwear.
"I like cake," Vega says dryly in regards to her birthday. Her boots are practically a part of her and will be pried out of her cold, dead hands.
"Cake isn't a gift," Irene argues, albeit without any real heat. It's closer to bickering. You could wear different styles of boots at least, Vega.
"Not traditionally," Vega agrees in a way that is almost an argument. There is a shift in the crowd as people begin to queue up for the race. "Looks like we're starting, oh Iron woman."
"It's not a gift," Irene insists and looks at Vega through her alligator-eyed sunglasses. She is spared any other arguing for the moment by the participants queuing up for their start. "Looks like," she says, moving to take her place. "Isn't Iron Woman more your thing?" What, with all the tech and the metal legs.
Rolling her eyes with a smile, hidden behind mouse ears, Vega moves through the crowd with Irene to take her place as well. "Please. I'm far more high-tech than pure iron," she quips lightly."Oh, /well/," Irene replies, refraining from rolling her eyes too. "It would be way too long to be accurate with what you're made of." She can't even really remember, exactly, though she knows more than she pretends to. "Alright," she says with a huff of a laugh and then their off, jogging down the street and over a bridge into the city. The quips slow down between them, but do not stop.