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Which came first: a city that spawned people in unusual attire, or a city that seemed to attract the kind of nerds that let those people move around in relative safety?

He had considered this question before, when walking past a group of LARPers or cosplay artists and finding himself scrutinizing their clothing. Certainly it gave you some plausible deniability to go traipsing around in outlandish get-ups, especially if you weren't doing so under the gracious cover of nightfall.

It was close to nightfall now, but there was still sun slanting across the ground in irregular bars between the trees and buildings, and while he preferred to do his Professional Business after dark like any other sensible part time superhero, summer in the city had a way of spawning dangers onto unsuspecting civilians. He had taken it upon himself to hurriedly dispatch a horrific chicken about an hour ago, but he'd gotten sidetracked almost immediately afterwards. A quick round to make sure the area was clear had brought him into the edge of a disused business park, where the absence of landscapers had put the field into a profusion of color right up to the low stone wall hung with No Trespassing and No Loitering signs, which were often ignored by clusters of pedestrians here and which he, also, was now ignoring, albeit alone.

He was ignoring a lot, by now, with his cloak pulled around his shoulders and his hood falling back, because he'd stopped to pluck a flower up and instinctively lift it to his nose. That had been ten minutes ago. Cosplayer, LARPer, eccentric - or strange and powerful creature for those in the know - he was a little picturesque in golden hour light, all his strange ancient garb juxtaposed with the concrete and chain link, seated on the wall and leaning back against a post, a fuchsia blossom lifted to his nose and his eyes somewhat heavy-lidded. A very slight modification to the scenery and he might have been a medieval outlaw posted up on the side of some village path, waiting for some fair maiden to offer that flower up to, lost in that kind of dreamy and abstracted poetical thought that a reformed rogue type ought to have now and again.

Still, it was no good to be entirely lost in his thoughts when he was advertising what he was to anyone with the eyes to see it, even with his cloak drawn over most of the sigils of his alignment. And so he was trying, with varying degrees of success, to focus whenever someone seemed likely to walk by, and he enjoyed the pleasant, dangerous struggle of trying to do so now.

—----------

What a goddamned day, Del thought as she began to wander, camera in hand. She’d decided that she was allowed a day off from an overabundance of magical bullshit and had only paused long enough to grab her bag and camera before heading out the door to explore. She had little to no fear of being mistaken as a simple civilian and drained. No, her fear was that if someone pulled a ‘little whoopsie’, it would be entirely intentional and with full knowledge of who she was. But, as no one had yet jumped out at her, she had to cautiously assume that she was simply being monitored for now. Whatever was the case, it made for unpleasant thinking when she just wanted to be normal for a little while. Firmly pushing the thoughts aside, she veered towards an old business park that she’d seen a while back. She wanted to try for some shots of urban decay and thought that the park would do nicely.

Much to her shock, someone already seemed to be there and she flattened herself against one crumbling, ivy covered wall and watched for a few moments. She couldn’t rely on aura sensing when she wasn’t powered up. And there was no way she was going to power up in such close proximity to an unknown. To her great surprise and pleasure, she realized that she knew this cloaked person. And, had a little voice deep inside not hissed at her to not be an idiot, she would have charged out to greet Maus with nary a care. He knew Ilmare. He didn’t know Del and compromising her civilian identity would be an added tangle that she didn’t want. As she stood there, torn on what to do, she decided that playing dumb was probably going to be her best option.

And play dumb, she did. Strolling out, she admired the flowers growing everywhere and ignored Maus for a few moments in favor of taking pictures of the bloom. When she didn’t allow herself to ‘see’ him, she paused before grinning and calling out cheerfully, “Well, you’re certainly fancy! There a con in town that I missed the memo on?”

Oh, she hated herself for having to pretend, but it was as much for her protection as his.

—--------------------

He had been watching her quietly for some seconds, unwilling to break the silence until she did. Under the usual circumstances when he felt like this, it might have been the work of two exchanged sentences before he could with propriety ask a pretty girl to run her fingers through his hair and whisper in his ear. Under the current ones, he would be a creep no matter what, and he spent these few moments firmly reminding himself of this fact.

“Not unless you call a few nerds getting together to throw some dice a con,” he answered, with a smile that was quick, easy, habitual. He smiled a lot, after all, and maybe had more to smile about when he didn't know who she was and the shared shape of their struggles. He did not offer her the flower - for reasons obvious to himself at least - and instead gave it a last lingering inhale before tossing it back into the overgrown field and folding his arms around his knees.

“I like your hair,” he said, observing that it was casting a sort of neon halo on the golden sky behind it, which pulsed with his own veins in a pleasant and familiar way. But duty was duty, and he added casually: “Be careful if you plan on staying out. Saw some animals around that didn't seem very friendly.” It wasn't a warning most people in the city needed, that warning about being out alone at night. But it was worth reiterating. “But the light has been too good to waste, I guess.”

—--------------------

Grinning a little, Del reached up with a free hand to brush her fingers through the short waves. “Why thank you! I like it too. I think it suits me better than the last dye job I had. And honey, as far as I’m concerned, two rats and a single geek can be a con if they try hard enough and really believe.”

This was, she thought, the most relaxed she’d ever seen him. Granted the other times she’d seen him, she’d be in the middle of several crash-outs, but still. He was actually smiling and that simple action transformed him. It was just too bad that she couldn’t actually tell him that. But she could at least nod gratefully at his warning to show that she’d heard and understood. There were weird critters out and about. And she’d already had to fight one of ‘em. “Yeah about that. Be careful of any big lilypads if you see ‘em,” she offered. “They do not spark joy.” It was a simple enough sounding observation, and true. And, she thought, for someone playing in the magical side of things, probably as good a warning as she could give without raising uncomfortable questions. “But you’re right. The light is great and I wanted to snag some pics of this place before it got too dark. I don’t want to be shoehorned into weddings and gender reveals for the rest of my career, y’know. Thought I’d try for some atmospheric stuff too. Which… if you don’t mind my saying so, you kind of fit into with that crazy ‘fit. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me take a few pictures with you in ‘em, would you? Some silhouette shots would be amazing… Plus all these flowers!”

And the flowers were amazing. The smell was heavenly, but also just different enough to tell her that she didn’t want to get too enthralled by them.

—----------------

Maus loved to have his photo taken. It was, in fact, becoming a troublesome hobby - that lurking around where the Destiny City street photographers might be. But that was when he was not Maus, but someone else nearly as artificial, and also when he had had the pleasure of choosing his own clothes.

He hesitated. It wasn't a good idea to get caught on film like this, probably; probably even worse if she would ask for a name or anything later. But he smiled, again. He hated to dampen someone's mood if he could avoid it - a tendency that was as dangerous to inhibition as whatever was in that blossom he'd just tossed aside. It was a bad idea. He should say no.

"If you promise they're just silhouettes," he said, pulling his hood up around his face and feeling unusually grateful for it. "I don't wanna sour your camera roll with this mug." And then, with the guilty twinge of the thought that he ought to warn her: "The flowers are incredible but they pack a punch like you would not believe. Or maybe you would," he amended, considering her lilypad comment.

He did not, then, get up and move around and ask where to be posed; did not offer the anxious, flattered questions that usually came around in this moment. On one memorable occasion not too long ago, Kay had been stopped for sudden photos, and he knew then, as he knew now, that if one had struck a photographer's eye the best thing to do was more of what you'd been doing; that it was easier to look natural in natural motion. So he stretched down for another flower, arranging himself back into the pose he'd been in before with an ease that suggested a lack of self-consciousness in front of the camera, despite his self-deprecating comment about his looks. If his face was turned just slightly from her - well, that's how it had been before.

"Surely weddings and gender reveals are more lucrative," he commented, giving the flower an absent twirl and not at all upset to have an excuse to indulge in it again. "Right?"

—-----------------

Delighted by his acceptance, Del was quick to reassure. “Only silhouettes. Frankly if we can you where the sun is a little more behind, the better. But I can always do a bit of touch up in post if need be. No one will see your face,” she promised. “But no self-slander. It’s a good face. I like it.”

Humming softly, she waited for Maus to assume whatever pose he’d be most comfortable in and had to restrain herself from the desire to kiss him for having such good posing instincts. She didn’t even have to suggest anything, he just did and it was perfect for what she wanted. Adjusting one or two settings on her camera, she snapped as many pictures as she could, pleased that the setting sun was being almost as cooperative as her subject!

“Perfect,” she crowed. She was definitely going to need to add a few touches to blot out a few tiny slips that showed his uniform’s details, but overall, she had a damn good set of shots. “The only thing that could possibly make this better would be a soft bank of fog just creeping in,” she said. “Alas, we don’t live across the pond.” She went quiet for a moment, examining each shot and nodding here and there. Then, she glanced up and wrinkled her nose at him as she grinned. “Well? Get over here and see the fruits of my labor. I’m pretty pleased. You’re a good model. And yeah, I guess they are? But there are only so many childish meltdowns from grown a** adults that I can take before I get cranky. I’ll do it because that’s where the money is, but if I can shoot other things and get some acclaim that way, why wouldn’t I shoot my shot?”

—----------------


He grinned at her at that last line - the unintended pun of it, if unintended it was - but didn't acknowledge it. He had risen and gathered the cloak around him as if against a cold that was not there, concealing all the little details that marked him out as what he was, and while it didn't make him the most comfortable to abandon his staff where he'd been sitting, it was better than attracting attention to it. He missed, a little, the convenience of having a weapon that didn't look like much.

He bent to look with her through the shots, absently tucking the flower into his hood as a little gift for himself, later. "Maybe if you'd caught me on a worse day I'd have been having a childish meltdown myself," he suggested, in a tone so amiable as to make the idea ridiculous. "Not if you're going to flatter me by saying I make a good model and have a good face, though. Very kind of you."

That other photographer had said that too, or at least had said the model part, even if she hadn't been so charitable as to extend the compliment to his face. It was enough to make him wish he'd grown about five inches taller.

It was very strange to see himself as he was now in a photograph, even photographs that were largely backlit silhouettes against a field of riotous color. The effects of the flower lent each frame a vibrating energy, and he paused, furrowing his brow a little.

"Sometimes," he said, "you see a picture of yourself and it doesn't look like you. I guess you hear that a lot, though. Not exactly a novel observation." This, with a return of that quick smile and an easy little laugh. "But it's weird. Like seeing a stranger looking at you and realizing you're just seeing yourself in a window."

—---------------

“Okay, maybe some of the tantrums are justified and understandable,” Del was willing enough to concede that much. “But not all of them and it gets to be a bit much. Sometimes it’s just nice to just go and be impulsive; see what happens.” She really hadn’t been letting herself have those little impulses of late. She needed to be better about that. She would be better about that once she was free. But in the meantime…

Glancing down at the pictures, she tilted her head to the side, seemingly thinking very hard about what he’d just said. Oh, she’d heard her share of people exclaiming over how a picture didn’t look like them. Usually the tone was one of surprised pleasure. Only a few got sullen or cranky about it. But it did make her wonder how she’d see her own image if given a chance. It might be interesting to see how many elements that she’d be able to recognize and pinpoint. Or maybe it was better if she didn’t know. She wasn’t sure that she’d be able to remain composed if she saw how she actually looked.

“I think I understand what you mean. I just hope that you like the you here,” she said, tapping a fingertip gently on the little preview screen. “Very important to be able to like yourself, I think. Or at least engage critically with yourself and find a bit of grace and forgiveness.”

—-----------------

There was no hitch in his voice; no glance of sudden alarm or awareness. It was impossible that he was not thinking about the past that made him peculiarly sympathetic to Ilmare's plight. It was impossible that those sleepless nights he'd alluded to were not immediately at the forefront of his mind, even if he had no reason to suspect that this apparent stranger knew that too.

There was not so much the flicker of an eyelash. He made a joke, immediately and easily, like someone with the cleanest conscience in the world, who might not have anything worse to regret than some white lies and unpaid library fines.

"Forgiveness? I'm a saint who's never done anything wrong in his life, ever," he said, pressing a hand to his chest with a playful solemnity, which didn't keep the smile from returning. "And don't worry. I always like myself," he added, sealing up one lie by telling another. "I hope you always like yourself too."

He stuck out a hand to her then, clearly preparing to leave. "Since my face isn't in there I'm going to assume you don't need me to sign off on anything. Good luck with getting away from those gender reveals. I have faith in you," he finished, unaware that it was, more or less, something he'd said to her before.

—-------------------

Del was skilled enough in controlling her expressions that her cheerful facade never cracked. Maybe he did like himself now. Who was she to judge? But honesty compelled her to give her head the tiniest shake. “Let’s just say I’m a work in progress,” she murmured. “But I’m doing my best.” She didn’t have to fake the amused chuckle or headshake born out of fond exasperation. Instead, she took the hint and began winding the roll of film, preparing for the next shot.

“Well, I’m glad one of us does. And you would be correct to a point. But since I don’t plan on profiting off of these, no waivers required. I might enter one in a photography contest though and just fib about my model.”

What she actually wanted to do was develop these and find an amenable senshi or knight to deliver them at some point in the future. He deserved to have a reminder that other people didn’t see him as he saw himself. That he could be mysterious and confident. That his face was a good one, even if it wasn’t visible here.