2024-12-03 - A Stitch in Time

It isn't the most spectacular view with the boats docked, gently bobbing in the tides as they roll in and out. Artemisia is bundled up in a pale pink puff jacket, grey fingerless gloves that she made herself, tattered denim jeans, and converse that have been doodled on. She sits on a bench with a blanket draped over it, her hands working quickly as she attempts to get down the stitches for a new scarf. It's a tricky one combining granny squares and stitches, but she's making slow progress as she sits there. There's a large thermos at her feet.

"You know, you can do all that inside," a voice comes from behind the woman. In deference to the chill, Rowan has on a black wool duster coat, embellished with black on black lace and rhinestones as well as a few silver brooches. About his neck is a charcoal grey and deep purple hand-knit cowl and he has fingerless gloves on, also handmade, which show off his black-polished nails. No hat as it's not -that- cold, for someone who grew up in Chicago.

"It's not that cold," Artemisia counters, lifting her dark eyes to the man she's only seen but never really chatted with in around the Spookeasy. She's been playing and performing at the park since it opened. "Besides. This way I can see the water." All the while, her hook moves at a good speed.

Rowan is usually so focused on his shows that he doesn't generally socialize, in character, in the parks outside of them, but while Count Grimoire has a very specific European accent, Rowan does not seem to have such as he speaks. The other is looked at for a moment before he turns around and walks off.

Thing is, he returns about ten minutes later with a tote bag and a large to-go cup in hand. "Mind some company?"

Artemisia tips her head curiously, then shrugs as Rowan walks off. She goes back to working on her granny squares.

When he returns ten minutes later, the blonde startles at the sound of another voice. "Oh. Hey. I thought you'd gone down - back somewhere warmer. No. Totally. Free bench. Have a seat."

"I thought about it, but you're right. It's not -that- cold." Even though it should be. Rowan takes a seat on the bench and sets his tea on the ground next to his boots. Out of the tote bag comes a crumpled bit of knitting, still on the needles, in a shocking purple. His phone also gets set on his leg and opened to the pattern.

He'll make a few stitches until he gets to a marker, "I'm Rowan," he offers by way of introduction.

"Love - love - the colour," Artemisia compliments with a grin. "Is it for you or a gift?" Her needle and hook continues to click as she works, no pattern, just whatever she is making up in that mind of hers. "Mines for my roommate, Poe. I'm making her like a balaklava. Keep her ears warm."

Turning towards Rowan, Artemisia flashes a warm smile. "Artemisia. Everyone calls me Arte."

Rowan gives a little smile, "Thanks. I haven't decided yet. It's been a bit of a pain because...lace, so we'll see what happens once it's all blocked out. If it looks good, maybe it'll be a gift. If not, guess it's for me." He does a few more stitches before giving a little more of a smile as he turns to look at her, "It may also depend if I end up sick of the color or more in love with it."

Dark eyes look to the crocheted project, "That's nice. I never really got into crochet. I can make the amigurumi, but that's about it. Are you going to line it?" He'll then give, "Nice to meet you, Arte. That's a great name, by the way."

"Lace is a beast," Artemisia agrees whole heartedly. "You work in Spooky town, right? I should show you the shawl I did a few years back. It's all crimson lace. I was little red riding hood with a twist." She smiles. "I like that. You're letting the work tell you who it belongs to. For what it's worth, I think that's absolutely your color." Her dark eyes flit from the piece to Rowan.

"Nah. I'm doing some treble to make bits of it patterned, but a lot of the hood/cowl thing are going to be moss stitch which is pretty tight," Artemisia admits.

"Yeah," Rowan agrees with a sigh. "I'm an idiot for deciding to do it, but...I'll be damned if I don't finish it." Not actually. "I do work there, yes..." in much more Victorian Goth frippery. "Crimson lace sounds amazing. Now I need to know what the twist was? Was she actually the wolf?" The comment about it being his color gets another almost shy smile, "Thanks. I do like it...I'm just not sure if I'll be able to wear the shawl and not look like a little old lady, you know?"

He also looks back over at her project, "Is Moss stitch in crochet like Moss Stitch in knitting? Then gotcha. Makes sense. Is it wool?"

"Why does wanting to be creative make you an idiot?" Artemisia asks with a curious look. Then, her smile is slow. "Actually, she was the huntsman all along. I had a basket with one of those plastic wolf masks that I stuffed to look more real. Put an apple in its mouth." Shaking her head, blonde curls bounce around her shoulders. "That, my friend." They're friends now apparently. "Is all in the styling and I 100% guarantee you we can style you fabulous."

No old ladies required.

"Uh... I dunno." Artemisia admits her ignorance with a smile. "I don't know how to knit." She nods. "Yeah. It's a mix of merino." She holds it out so that Rowan can touch it. It's very soft.

'No, just doing lace with laceweight yarn makes me an idiot," Rowan is grinning fully now. "Because it's something that you mostly have to pay attention to and it isn't TV knitting?" As it is, he's glancing back to his pattern to make sure he's on the right row and doing the patterns in the right places. There's a tilt of his head in thought, "The huntsman, huh? I can see that. Very 'Into the Woods'."

Her comment about the styling gets a smirk, "Well, I wasn't planning on wearing it over my head like a babushka..." and maybe he already thinks his style is pretty fabulous, but he doesn't say no to the suggestion.

The offer of the yarn has him reaching out a hand to touch it, "Nice. I also prefer wool and animal fibers," he's working with some sort of merino/silk blend. "With knitting, the Moss Stitch is a sort of basketweave or small checkerboard-type of thing. It creates a pretty solid fabric."

"That's a musical, right? I think like a movie came out or something when I was living in NYC," Artemisia recalls with a tip of her head. "I haven't listened to it. I'm not really a Broadway baby."

"Weren't you though?" Artemisia teases with a narrowing of her eyes, gently nudging Rowan as to not disrupt his knitting. "I mean, if you're gonna go little old lady we're gonna need to pull out all the stops or you're too handsome otherwise."

"Yeah . Acrylic can be great but also icky."

"It is..." and Arte gets a stare as if she's suddenly grown another head. "You've never heard of it? -And- you lived in NYC?" There's a slight shake of his head, even as he still sort of grins, "I can assure you that I wasn't. Although, if I go 'little old lady', please stage an intervention."

The comment about his looks gets another grin, actually not so shy, "Thanks. You're a looker, yourself. I like the hair. I could never do that..." go that light.

"Well, like. I know the name?" Arte argues with a roll of her eyes, then a grin. "I did. Julliard girl." She can play some mean keys. "Noted. On the first day of our friendship, Rowan said to stage an intervention if they started to look like an old lady." Dark eyes look up at Rowan, shining with sincerity. "I won't let you down on this."

Artemisia grins, giggling as she plays with a curl. "It's shocking how much bleach it takes, but I like it."

Rowan's brows lift, "Julliard? Really?" and he almost seems to ask 'Why are you -here- then?' but it goes unspoken. "Music or Theatre? Or Dance...they do dance? Or is that another place?" Seems he's heard of the school at least, and knows the reputation.

There's another little smile at the mention of friendship, but then he offers, not wanting to be too pleased by it, "Should I draw up a contract?" His eyes go to her hair again, "Yeah, mine would probably all fall out if I tried. It's too dark and delicate."

"Music. They do dance too, yeah. I don't have the coordination for that," Artemisia admits with a laugh. "I play piano."

"Are we embellishing the contract or is it strictly serious and legal," she wonders with a purse of her lips and a twinkle in her dark eyes. Lifting a hand, Artemisia fluffs her curls a bit. "Nah. Deep conditioning agents are lifesavers. Mine would be... about as dark as yours if I didn't bleach it." She chuckles. "I would look like a poised concert pianist - which I'm not. Poised that is. I am a concert pianist. And somewhat of an artist."

"Well, what sort of embellishments are you thinking about? Because I think it's a rule that all contracts should be anything -but- straight-forward," Rowan can't help but chuckle at the idea of that.

"Poised is just posture, if you ask me. It's something you can put on, like a costume." As he does. Count Grimoire is a lot more poised and elegant and confident-seeming than Rowan, himself, is. Or so he tells himself. "A musician -is- an artist. I hope no one is trying to tell you any different. Just because you can't hold the ephemeral doesn't mean it can't affect you deeply."

"Mostly decorative," Artemisia admits with a bright, not quite musical laugh. It verges on giggly. "Okay. So we'll need drinks, a long piece of paper, and the terms of our friendship. Just for fun." She flashes Rowan a toothy grin. "You might be stuck with me now."

"Oh. That's true but. Like." Artemisia's hands finally stop and she sees she's made a terrible tangle of some of her crochet. Ugh. She pulls the stitches out in a swath. "I'm kinda sort of like really truly a clutz."

"Shouldn't we have some sort of magical pen that writes on it's own? Or purple ink. And one of those pens that writes all the fancy letters," Calligraphy pens. "I'm game. I'm sure someone around here has fancy, long paper like that." Her grin gets a smile back, "I'm ok with that." Being stuck with her. "Are you sure you're ok being stuck with me?"

See? Goths -can- have friends!

He watches as she just blithely pulls stitches out and gives a little shake of his head in amazement, "See, I could never do that..." especially with the lace project. "Poise isn't the same thing as Grace, if you ask me. Poise is how you carry yourself. Not how many trips you have walking down the street."

"Sure!" Artemisia smiles at Rowan, looking confused. "Why wouldn't I be? You seem nice and are a connoisseur of the fiber arts."

That's enough reason for a friend for her.

"It's crochet. Frogging is like - ugh. Part of the game," she mumbles, squinting at her project as she tries to figure out where a stitch went wrong. "Make room for mistakes and joyous imperfection. Like jazz." Arte tips her head at the two of those. "So close but different. I fell in a bush yesterday. Made a new friend though."

Rowan doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks to his knitting and finishes up the row before moving to the next one...easier, since it's just all purls across. "Thank you. You are too. I guess I'm mostly used to being 'apart'." Even though it should be easier among a collection of Theme Park weirdos, right?

"Joyous imperfection, I get. Nothing I've made is perfect, but that makes it unique and individual. But if I had to rink back more than a few stitches on something like this, I think I'd cry." He then pauses and looks to her, "Did you make friends with the bush...something inside the bush...or someone else?"

"Well, we'll fix that," Artemisia decides with the bright eyed opinion of a woman who wreaking-balls her way through life. She flashes Rowan a grin, nudging his shoulder with hers. "I promise."

Setting aside her crochet for a second, Arte snorts and takes a sip of her hot chocolate. Her dark eyes shift to watch the waves for a moment, curls dancing across her cheeks as she takes a breath. "Nah. Just the girl I ran into. Heaven. Such a pretty name. She didn't even mind that I got corndog all over her."

Rowan can't help a little chuckle, "Ok, thanks. We'll have to add that into the contract." He'll also take a pause to sip at his tea, closing his eyes for a moment and letting out a soft sigh. Sometimes a sip of tea just helps to set things right.

Opening his liner-rimmed eyes again, he glances over to her, "I met someone named 'Diamond' who came to my show a few days ago. And I thought -my- name was unique, being named after a tree." There's another pause, "The girl was in the...ok, that just sounds wrong. Heaven was in the...uhm..." nope, that won't work. That's going to sound even worse. "Foliage?"

"Your name is from a tree?" Artemisia blinks at that, curls brushing her cheeks as she tips her head. "I didn't know that. Mine's from an artist. It would make sense that this sort of work would draw people were are - a little bit different."

She laughs. "No. No. She was walking to the line and I wasn't paying attention and tripped over her feet, made a mess, and got stuck in a bush," Arte explains with good humor. "Heaven kindly pulled me out."

"Yeah, it's a Witchy tree. Which...fits, I guess." Not that he is specifically 'witchy' but sometimes those vibes come off of him. Likely, it's the Goth thing doing most of that. "At least they didn't name me 'Vlad Dracul'. I don't think that was one of their choices, but..." with his parents, who knows?

Rowan's lips twitch as he tries to keep a mostly serious face when she explains how she met Heaven. "It sounds a lot better than how I was trying to say things. That was very nice of her to help, despite getting covered in corn dog, apparently."

"Are you witchy?" Artemisia apparently doesn't skate around the point, she stabs with it like a kid popping balloons. "Is. that the vibe? Like I think you look fabulous but also - New York. People wear whatever the fuck they want." She giggles. "That's like Dracula right?"

"I bought her more corndogs," Arte says seriously. "It was the least I could do. She's super cute and nice."

Rowan gives a side-wiggle of his hand at the question. "The Jury is still out on that one, but it sort of goes with the Gothy, Magicy thing. I like the 'Do No Harm' part of it, but I'm not sure I'm all into the crystals or Manifestation stuff. But there's a lot of crossover in style." The compliment gets another smile, "Thanks. I'm actually from Chicago, so...not quite New York."

Her next question gets a nod, "Yeah, that was his real name. I'm from the same place. Ish. Close enough." But going back to talking about Heaven, "Well, with a name like that, I would hope so. That or some sort of Influencer Fake. I'm glad it doesn't seem to be that last one."

"Do no harm, but take no shit?" That's very New York, Artemisisa. Although, truth to be told it's rather Chicago too - isn't it? They're known for strong opinions. "Chicago still has a fashion scene," she defends the city that she's spent almost no time in. "I've seen some cool stuff come out of there." She wags a finger at Rowan. "You come by your good taste naturally. I can see it."

Goth is fab to her. "Huh. I would have stuck with that," Arte admits. "It's more regal. I thought it was just a book though?" Smile crooking a little self-consciously, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "Although that's - I don't know much about that kinda stuff. I think the closest I get to 'witchy' is watching Hocus Pocus and like the one with the sisters? Practical Sorcery?" Magic, Arte. Magic.

Rowan actually laughs, "Yeah, pretty much. I mean, from what I understand there's a bit more, but...that's also the part that sort of seems just to be common sense to me. I mean, intentional harm." Accidental is accidental, of course. "I've been here since the park opened...and before then, was pretty much just dealing with High School and helping my parents at their Circus Arts school. When you're already the weird kid because of that..." he shrugs as if the rest needs no real explanation.

But her comment of the name gets another raised eyebrow, "I think that would have -guaranteed- my bullying...being named 'Vlad' or 'Dracul' in school? Can you even imagine? And he was a real person in History. Pretty awful person, but he's one of the most famous. Was he a Vampire? Eh, who knows?" He'll take another sip of his tea, "The book doesn't really go into any of the history. And 'Practical Magic' is probably closer than 'Hocus Pocus'. But I sort of modeled my character on a little bit of the Dracula idea. No vampire fangs though. Maybe I'll do that for Halloween next year."

"Whoa." Artemisia's mouth makes a perfect 'o' as she stares at Rowan in surprise and delight. "Like a for real circus? People do that?" Yes, that is how the circus exists. "That's so fucking cool, Ro." Annnnd a nickname is sprung. She touches his arm. "You can't be the weird kid here. We're all weird."

"Can I show you something?" Arte asks, words half-whispered like a secret.

Rowan blinks, "Yeah. When I was a kid, they were still performing. When I got to be school-age, we moved to Chicago and they opened the school." Because it was just easier than trying to homeschool him, apparently. "That's how I learned how to do what I do here..." and then he chuckles. "You would think that, wouldn't you? But I still feel like the weird kid..."

The whispered question has him setting the tea down and leaning in some, "Sure..."

Artemisia puts her hand out flat. For a moment, there's nothing more than her furrowed brow - and then slowly, a spinning crystalline snowflake appears. It dances gently in her palm.

She looks at Rowan with ash dark eyes. "We're all a little weird here," Artemisia repeats.

Rowan watches the illusion for a moment before he meets Arte's eyes, "I know." His own voice is quiet even as he moves a hand over his tea, which was on the ground by his boot. He then lifts his hand and the tea seems to levitate upwards in the air until it's hovering in front of him.

"Oh wow." Artemisia's snowflake dances across her skin, until it is pivoting on the top of Rowan's cup like its suspended in the air with it. "I think yours is cooler," she says softly.

Rowan chuckles, "I don't know about 'cooler'. I can do the Illusions too...they're good to have with my show, actually. I've met people," he lets the cup hover a bit, watching the snowflake dancing on it, "With tails...wings...I think we got it easy."

"Maybe." Artemisia considers that hard for a moment, letting the snowflake break off into crystals of ice that spin up in the air. "Kinda cool we're the same though," she suggests sunnily with a smile. "Both illusions."

"I think everyone," Rowan offers, watching the crystals spin up into the air before grabbing his tea and taking a sip, "I think everyone gets it if they stay long enough. Something. The tourists...maybe it's just an amazing perk of being in the park because when they go home, it's gone. But us...as long as we stay here, we can do the weird stuff, I think. I can't decide if it's because these powers want us to stay or if it's just a 'Hey, thanks for being a part of this!'"

Artemisia chews her bottom lip, admitting, "I hadn't really thought about it like that." Frowning, she purses her lips. "You think it's like superheroes where we're gonna have to do something or are the islands just magical?"

There's a lift of a shoulder in a shrug, "I don't know? I mean, I suppose I probably should be concerned, but I kind of don't want to think too hard about it, you know? It's not hurting me...it's not hurting others, as far as I can tell..."

"Yeah." Artemisia agrees with that softly, offering Rowan a bit of a smile. "I should get back in. I need to warm up my hands to play," she admits, stretching her pink-tipped fingers with a wince.

Rowan looks up from his knitting again when Arte mentions going back inside and warming her fingers, "Where do you generally play? Is it all over?" Maybe Count Grimoire will have to make an appearance if it's in the right area at the right time. "I'm actually surprised you lasted this long. I was about to call it, myself..." even with his fingers warming up occasionally by holding the tea.

"I'm starting at the Spookeasy. Jack's been running me through my paces." Artemisia smiles. "You should come sometime. I'll play for you," she invites warmly, bundling her things into a tote bag. "You wanna walk back with me?"

The offer is considered before Rowan quickly finds a good place to pause in the knitting and also packs up. "Sure, I can walk back with you. And I haven't really been to the Speakeasy yet...just turned 21 in April, so..." there's that. "But one of the tourists told me I should do a burlesque show there with my whips. I'm still not too sure what to think of that."

"Aw. We need to break you in!" Artemisia says brightly, grinning and grabbing Rowan's arm. "Drinking night!" Oh dear.