Kitty:

        The archetypal pirate wears, of course, only three colors:  black
for death, red for blood, and white because dye is expensive and most
pirates would prefer to spend their money on booze and whores. The
archetypal pirate girl wears the same colors, only less of them. Kitty is
not archetypal.
        She's dressed in sapphire blue, for one thing. Blousy sleeves and
a fitted bodice, buttons open far down enough to show a hint of cleavage
and display the little silver-star pendant she always wears. Her trousers
are tucked into boots that have been dyed the same darker color as her
gloves. Both, like her shirt, are trimmed in yellow - and there's a wide
sash striped in yellow and blue knotted about her waist, apparently
helping support the plastic sword at her left hip.
        Her chestnut hair is bound tightly back at the base of her skull,
letting just a fringe of curl fluff out over her forehead. Large golden
rings set in her ears nearly brush the high standing collar of her shirt.
She's done something with makeup to minimize the wideness of her large
brown eyes, and accent the bones of cheek and jaw - instead of stubborn,
for once, she looks confident, independent, and determined. Too bad she
can't play the freebooter the rest of the year.


Roger:

         The man is tall and muscular; the build of a professional
athlete. His blonde hair is shorn into a crew-cut. Ice blue eyes, a square
jaw, and angular features contribute to a face that is attractive in a
rugged sort of way. Tan and fit, he seems to be in his early to mid
twenties; a vigorous young man by the way he moves. He carries himself
with confidence, and a wary sort of tension infuses his gaze and his
posture.

        Right now, he's dressed in leather. Some might recognize it as
motorcycle racing leathers. The pants are a black, with the knees have
protective armor to protect them in tight curves and the cuffs are tight
around the leather boots. Up top he's wearing a matching jacket. Waist
length it is mostly black, though the sides have a blue leather pattern as
do the tops of the shoulders and upper part of the sleeves. The jacket is
perforated, letting air through. A small patch on teh shoulder says 'Joe
Rocket' marking the name brand. A dark blue t-shirt can be seen beneath
the partially unzipped jacket. The jacket has armor as well; the
shoulders, elbows and back, which makes the muscular man look even larger.


Beacon Park

        Corner Lane follows a long, lazy curve, circling the northern half
of the large plot of land set aside for the Beacon Harbor Park. Old
Schoolhouse Road circles the park along the southern half, meeting Corner
Lane at two points to provide a "moat" of roadway around the vast park.
Two parking structures, one on the north outside rim of the park, and the
other on the south side, provide parking for Navigator Stadium home of
Beacon Harbor's own baseball team which sits between the two structures.
Most of the park is filled with roughly landscaped lawns and concrete
sidewalks that follow the semi-hilly terrain. There are a lot of trees in
the park, creating a thick canopy of green over this part of the city, and
blocking most of the buildings from the sight of the park's visitors. In
the southern corner of the park are several public tennis courts as well
as a place for volleyball.

        One end of the park has been set up for the Bonfire. Near the
road, the east end of the clearing has a stage, complete with speakers and
lights. On the opposite end the firepit has been constructed for the
Bonfire which blazes brightly in the night sky. There are a couple of fire
engines nearby, as well as police officers on hand should any emergency
arise.

There's already a fairly sizeable crowd here. The music is loud, echoing
in the clearing. The bonfire is already banked high up in the air. Dancing
in the night. Tickets for the charity event are collected at the makeshift
gate that's set up. There are plenty of vendors set-up to sell food and
keep the masses well fed. Roger is wandering around near the entrance, a
beer bottle in hand.

Not that many of the crowd showed up in costume, despite the date - it's
warm out for the season, but not /that/ warm, and sweaters are a little
more appreciated than silliness. Kitty's an exception, but a recognizable
one: the blue-and-yellow pirate outfit (long sleeves, hurray) leaves her
face untouched. She turns in her ticket and proceeds through the gate.
Solo, at least for the moment - because, well, after last night, her
hangover was a whole lot milder than Wisdom's. Determinedly cheerful but
habitually alert, her attention flickers actively over the crowd.

Roger has his jacket unzipped, but he is wearing his leathers. It's just
cool enough to keep the outfit from being stifling. And besides, if
anything -happens-... He sips from his beer and scans the crowd, watching
people file in. It takes him a moment to spot Kitty though. Been quite a
while. He raises his bottle and waves it. With the noise, yelling her name
probably wouldn't work.

Probably not - the music's impressively enthusiastic, and a crowd of this
size generates a decibel level all its own. Waving alcohol, though, works
quite nicely. Kitty's head turns, and a moment later there's a woman in
blue and yellow angling through the crowd. If anything happens, she's
probably going to be very relieved Roger's here. "Hey," she calls once
she's in hearing distance - you know, seven or eight feet, where she has
to start tipping her head back a little to see Roger's face. "Good to see
you!" Particularly when it's not on the street in the Badlands.

Roger takes a sip of his beer and extends the other hand. "Good to see
you, Kitty!" He's got one of those voices that with long practice can be
made to be heard. Helpful when you've got artillery shells falling like
rain. "Nice costume." He gestures with his head. He's grinning at least.
Pleased with the turnout.

Kitty clasps hands, shifting out of the path of a small swarm of
chattering teenagers exactly none of whom are actually looking where
they're going. "Thanks," she says, with more humor in her tone than actual
pleasure. She needs the proximity to make herself heard back - she traded
off artillery shells for sneakiness, which isn't the best training for
vocal projection. "You're looking pretty well. Everything settle out okay
for you?"

Roger gives a nod of his head, watching the gaggle of teens pass by. He
just shakes his head faintly. "Everything has settled in well enough. I
can't complain any. I'm taking classes at the University." He glances over
his shoulder. "Hey, you want a beer or something?"

Those hair colors - well, in any other city, it'd be a safe bet they
weren't natural. For those of the teens that /had/ hair, anyway. "Really?
I've been tempted, but we're not going to have the money for a while."
Kitty follows Roger's glance almost absently, then lets her attention
flicker back toward the vendors. "Was gonna head over that way before I
saw you, actually. Need another one? Studying anything interesting?"

Roger gestures with his head and starts walking that way. "I could use a
refill, sure. And I'm just keeping an eye out for any potential trouble. I
did organize this after all, so I feel responsible for it." He gets in
line at the beer truck. He knits his brow a moment, thinking about
something. "Wait..that was yours and Wisdom's place that got smashed,
wasn't it?"

Kitty keeps him company in the walk. "You did?" There's a hint of
startlement there - she wouldn't've doubted that he /could/ have, but if
he /did/, he's moving fast. Then again ... given who he is, in any
incarnation, she shouldn't be surprised. "Nice job. I don't think they see
things like this too often around here." That aren't co-opted by people
looking to murder everyone attending, particularly. Then there's a faint
flicker of alarm in her expression, mostly but not entirely concealed.
"Smashed? Mm. When are you thinking of?" There've been so many explosions
in the last few months.

Roger tosses the bottle into a receptacle once he finishes it off. "With
everything going on lately, I thought it would be a good idea to let
people blow off some steam and raise money for charities at the same time.
I know a few people here and a few people there. A meeting with the Mayor,
some shaking hands, and ... " he gestures around with a wide grin. He's
proud of himself over it. "I heard something on the news about dragon
smashing up a flat. I could have sworn that was your address."

A meeting with the Mayor? In any other city, she wouldn't've thought twice
about Roger being able to get that. Here, it prompts another touch of
unease, but - well, really, it's a subdued one. Those who live in glass
houses, et cetera. "The location's not a bad touch," she adds. Lots of
people, lots of cover for would-be terrorists - but keeping it outside,
and somewhere that only a limited number of vehicles can approach and
/those/ are likely to be scrutinized, helps minimize the opportunity for
casualties. Besides, no obvious meta links. "Good thinking, on all of it.
Smart." There's admiration in the compliment, yeah. He /should/ be proud.
And then he mentions the dragon, and she blinks - and can't help but
laugh. "No. No, that ... wasn't ours. I remember seeing it in the news,
though. We /did/ run into a bad spot and have to move, but no property
damage involved."

All those are considerations Roger took into account. He even made sure
the cops that volunteered weren't heavily from any one precinct to keep
any of the crime lords from getting a big hold. "I put a lot of thought
into it. Wouldn't do to have some tragedy strike. Glad to hear I was wrong
about the dragon though. He's a nasty little bastard. And I don't think he
likes me much at all." Roger grins as he steps up to the vendor. "Two
beers please."

Politics, tactics, diplomacy. What can you say - he's Captain America.
"You've met?" Kitty starts to ask - and then there's a vendor. "Let get
them," she says quickly, reaching for that intricately-knotted wide sash
she's wearing. "You put in so much effort already..."

Giving a nod, Roger let sher buy. The vendor pops the tops on the beers
and passes them over. "Thanks." He lets out a sigh. It's part happy and a
little sad at the same time. He shakes it off. "But yes, to answer your
question. It's a bit of a long story." He does grin as he remembers the
rage from the big lizard when he got a way.

Kitty actually laughs, a sound that's honestly amused if a little rueful.
"I bet. Everything in this city is a long story." She picks up hers and
steps out of the way of the line, shaking her head. Fishing for a moment
in a different section of the sash (one advantage of making your own
outfit: being able to slip in pockets), she comes up with a small white
pill and washes it down with the first swallow. The way to avoid a
headache is to start ahead of time.

Roger sips his beer in manageable little portions. He's grinning though.
"Well, I was out riding around, you know, enjoying my motorcycle. And this
big fucking black lizard lands in the street and starts shooting flame and
acid and shit like that at this little old asian guy." He shrugs his
shouldres, the leather creaking a little as he does. "So, I had to get
involved. Despite advice to the contrary."

Kitty repeats, "Flame and acid and ..." She reaches up with her free hand
to rub at her temple before shaking her head. "What, flame /or/ acid
wasn't enough for it? It had to have both? What in heaven's name did you
/do/?"

"Well, the little asian guy managed to give him a jolt of electricity.
Knocked him loopy, but it apparently took it out of the fella. SO I tossed
him on the back of the bike." Roger makes the motion of cranking back on a
throttle. He even leans back on the shoulders. "He tried to chase me, but
apparently dragons don't accelerate anywhere near what a Duck does."

Okay, now it's Kitty who's grinning. "Go, /you/. Well, go, your bike.
/Nice./" Did she mention tactics? Discretion, better part of valor, and so
forth. And clearly he didn't suffer any for it - since if the bike had
gotten damaged, he'd probably have mentioned it by now. "So you lost him
okay?"

Roger waves a hand. "Not a problem. I hit 60 per in about four seconds. I
was up to 120 by 10. He couldn't keep up with that. He didn't even get a
blast of that acid off at me. I heard him roar though." A smile creeps in.
He loves frustrating an enemy.

There's the problem with having all that size and mass: it takes so much
more effort to get it up to speed. Kitty lifts her beer toward Roger in
salute. "I /bet/ you did." Eyes dancing. She likes dragons as a concept;
she doesn't like the larger local variety so much. "/More/
congratulations, then."

Clanking his bottle against Kitty's, Roger downs some more of the beer.
His eyes are constantly moving, roving around the people circulating
about. "Thanks. Save 'em for when I can actually find a way to capture the
bastard so he's not such a menace." He sounds absolutley serious about
that. Not a hint of teasing. "This place has so many strange things
though. Dragons." He shakes his head. How do you plan for that?

"Or work out a peace treaty, or something. Presuming he's intelligent."
Kitty shakes her own head, still half smiling; the expression doesn't flee
half as quickly as it used to. "Yeah, I know. And the weirdness seems to
change every few weeks. At least the dragons are sort of a /stable/
strangeness." Reliable, in an odd way, like Junkyard or the Hulk. Not the
kind of transient random bizarre interlude that requires readjusting every
single time. She's got an eye out, too; Roger's the primary focus of her
attention, but only in that it comes back to him regularly. Not that she
expects to notice anything he didn't already place, categorize, and figure
out how to deal with, but it's a habit anyway.

Old habits die hard. And keepign aware of surroundings is so ingrained he
can't stop himself. He notices a fight seeming to brew and steers them
toward a police officer. He gestures with his bottle toward the two young
men. "Let's stay here a minute. I want to make sure the cops don't go
overboard. But yeah, if he's intelligent and we can get him to behave.
That's good. If not, put him in a zoo." Roger takes a sip of his beer.
Still watching carefuly. "Life is full of surprises, and only the
adaptable make a success. This place proves it every day."

It's not, precisely, even nervousness that Kitty displays as they near the
officer - actually, it's not a display either; someone less alert than
Roger would probably miss it altogether. Just an almost subliminal
increase in alertness. She's not entirely comfortable around law
enforcement. "Survival of the most flexible?" A little too much beer for
those two, maybe. Or maybe for one of their girlfriends. "I guess the
trick would be trying to get close enough to find out if he's intelligent
without getting barbecued."

With Roger watching, the cop, either due to him being straight or for
other reasons, actually does the right thing and simply talks the two
down. "It's alright. Being the 'promoter' has its advantages." He sips
quietly on his beer. Savoring it as he surveys the rest of the nearby
crowd. "Which means figuring out where his lair is. Listen at me, I sound
like St. fucking George or something." He chuckles softly.

"These things are supposed to be something like the size of a house,"
Kitty muses. "You wouldn't think it'd be that /hard/." But no. Vanishing
dragons. So weird, this city. She Spocks an eyebrow at Roger - then
catches herself doing it and stops hastily. "Somehow, I can't quite see
you giving up your motorcycle to clank around on a white charger. I wonder
if they make lances to mount on bikes?"

Reaching behind him, Roger pats the middle of his waist, outside his
jacket. "No, I've got something better then a lance at reaching out and
touching someone." He grins crookedly and gives her a wink. The drunks are
handled without incident. Party on! "That is the tricky bit. How does he
just vanish like that."

Thank you, Mr. Policeman. Thank you very much. Kitty flicks Roger another
grin, her attention darting past him for a moment - no, not a familiar
face, and not troublemaking; no issues there. "As long as the scales
aren't enough armor to get past that. Always an issue. Well, presuming he
/has/ scales; I've never seen a good picture." Or a live specimen, of that
species anyway. The dragon she's familiar with doesn't spit acid, after
all. "Invisibility? Shapeshifting? Shrinking? Dimensional variance isn't
too likely, it's not terribly stable according the research I've been able
to get my hands on, but that's a possibility too."

"Traditionally, shapeshifting is attributed to dragons throughout most
cultures. I'd wager that's how he does it. But yes, he does have scales. I
don't know that small arms would work. I do bet if I could get ahold of an
attack 'copter a couple of hellfire missiles would settle his hash." Roger
looks about ready to pose and proclaim that 'dragons don't surf'. He
resumes walking, just ambling toward the bonfire. "I'm going to find out
as much as possible before I make a move though. Don't want to get caught
with my pants around my ankles, trying to dive out the whorehouse window."

If he could get ahold of an attack 'copter. Roger thinks on an entirely
different scale than Kitty does - and the thing is, he can get /away/ with
it. She meanders after him, careful not to risk losing him in the unsteady
light. Flames make everything more interesting. And then he says that
last, and she comes close to choking on her beer, coughing and gasping for
a second before she says a thing - and her tone a little ragged at that.
Whew. "Just to nail another cliche to this conversation: forewarned is
forearmed, huh." Literally, in the case of the 'copter. "Good luck. Most
people are too busy running the heck away to take notes, when these things
show up."

Glancing over at her from the corner of his eye, Roger chuckles.
"Apologies. It was just a figure of speech." He sips quietly from his
beer, smiling to himself. "No discipline." He offers as an explanation why
people fold and run. "That's long range though. Everything here has to be
done in increments. Pull a string here, beat up a drug dealer there, but a
dinner at this place. Build up some favors and cash them in for bigger
favors. All the while staying clean and avoiding the bigwigs that want
trouble." He pantomimes walking a balance beam; arms outstretched, one
foot in front of the other.

Kitty's expression shifts to the wry, and she shakes her head. "What a
city." Not that some things don't work the same way anywhere - just more
obviously, around here. "I don't envy you that one bit. But it looks," she
gestures around at the crowd, the stage, the crackling fire, "like you've
gotten the hang of the local variations, all right." Unless someone else
is using him, and this, for something - Kitty takes a moment to stomp down
her own paranoia. "I'm not sure it's 'no discipline' so much as 'healthy
sense of self-preservation' - well, maybe not /healthy/ exactly. You'd be
surprised how many locals still don't go armed." Most of them, really.
"But not /completely/ crippled. Those things have got to be pretty
frightening."

Roger chuckles softly at her comments. Someone thinks they are using him.
But that's alright. Roger has it under control. "I'm still learning.
There's still a lot /to/ learn. It may take me years, but I learned back
home to be patient." He knocks back more of the beer. Though he doesn't
gulp it. "They are frightening I suppose. But discipline is controlling
that initial response to just shit yourself and run away screaming.
Retreat against overwelming odds is fine. But not doing it willy-nilly."

If only. Kitty's usual first impulse is to run directly /toward/ the
problem. It's not heroism so much as addiction. "For a soldier, or someone
with any training? Yeah. For most people? I'm just as glad their first
thought is to get the heck out of the way. Keeps the city from getting
depopulated." More than it does already - no, she's not going to be
morbid, either. More beer. And painkillers kicking in quite nicely by now
too. "Most of these people, if they stayed long enough to think, they'd be
lunch." Not that all of them think the rest of the time. His comment about
patience she doesn't dispute - wouldn't - but doesn't comment back on
either. Politics make her edgy. She likes being semiretired from dealing
with them.

"Oh, definitely. Civilians need to just run. But not everyone is a
civilian." Roger grins crookedly at that. "I definitley don't want anymore
dead civlians. Too many as there are already. Suppose I should have been
more clear about that." It's about that point his cellphone starts
ringing. "Crap. 'Scuse me a moment." He digs it out of a pocket and flips
it open. "Yeah. Uh-huh. Right. Be right there." He turns, looking
apologetic. "There's a situation backstage. I need to go handle it. It's
been nice talking to you though."

Kitty answers his grin, but - ringing sound; she stays quiet for the
cellphone (not that anyone /else/ does). "Good luck with it." Not just the
backstage situation. "I'll hang around, keep an eye out out here. Hope to
see you again."

Roger gives a wave and he trots off toward the stage.