it's a nice day for a picnic [open]

[avery]

It was logical -- at least, to Haytham -- to take his lunch breaks in the cemetery. The funeral home wasn't too far away, after all, and he much preferred the solitude and quiet of the cemetery as opposed to the racket inside one of the Downtown restaurants. And besides, this way he could pack his own lunch and, according to every grocery store commercial ever, save some money.

He'd brought one of those stereotypical red and white checkered blankets (mostly for him to wrap up in as the lunch progressed, because as nice as the sun was, he was going to get cold) and he set it up in the empty portion of the graveyard, the part that was still kind of nice looking and that had mostly green grass. He hadn't brought a basket, instead choosing a brown paper bag, and he dropped it onto the blanket before easing himself down.

Sitting on the ground was not fun in work clothes. The black slacks were exposing his ankles (and the scales there). At least his shirt was't doing anything yet. He opened the bag, took out each item, and lined them up on the blanket in front of him, pretending surprise. Sometimes it was nice to pretend mom still made lunch. Half a leftover steak (a treat), just barely cooked past raw and still bloody as all hell. A small salad, with approximately (who was he kidding, exactly) four cucumber slices, each half an inch thick, and four cherry tomatoes cut into fours. A fourth of a green apple in a bag. Twenty-six Cheetos, puffs because they were of course superior, because one serving of them wasn't enough. And a small sliver of pie. Which his mom had actually made him a few days prior.

He picked up the container with the steak in it, opened it, and then remembered he'd forgotten silverware. He frowned, going to put the lid back on, but then realized that if he did dribble on his shirt, it wouldn't show. Working at a funeral home and having to wear black came with an advantage sometimes. Haytham eyed the steak a moment longer before setting the container in his lap, picking it up, and taking a bite.

[Deleted]

Emrys really didn't care one way or another for graveyards. They were places he'd been often enough, and they'd ceased to have much impact on him. Today though... today he was glad he was somewhere with one. After all, today was an anniversary. The old, battered Chevy truck rolled into the parking lot. There didn't seem to be many people there, if any. He parked in the deserted lot and shoved open the door, listening to it creak. He picked up the magnolia from the dashboard. After he slammed the door, he patted the old truck fondly.

He looked rough, and he knew it. It had been a few days since the last motel, and his hair had gone a bit greasy. It was pulled back into a long tail and shoved down the back of his leather jacket. The grey t-shirt underneath was thin, but clean. His jeans were equally threadbare, carefully mended in a few places. A pistol rested openly on his hip, only occassionaly obscured by the open jacket. His jaw was shadowed with scruff.

All cemeteries seemed to be the same, really. Except the very old ones. He wandered trough the graves, looking around for nothing in particular. No one he knew was buried here. Gradually the gravestones became thinner and he guessed he was coming to one of the parts that was less 'occupied', and thus less visited. The grass was thicker and greener, not trampled down by the feet of many mourners. A bright splash of red and white caught his eye and he hesitated, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone. The magnolia was a bright splash of color against is own drab uniform.

"Sorry, didn't mean to bother you." He finally spoke up. He noticed the scales with a quick glance and cataloged the information away. It seemed the other person was having a picnic of sorts- which was probably the thing confusing Emrys the most. Who ate lunch with the dead?

[avery]

He was halfway through chewing a bite of steak when someone apologized to him, and he whirled around (wide-eyed and startled) and completely froze for about a minute. Then, very carefully, he set the container down, forced down the bit of steak, and in a surprisingly fast motion jumped to his feet. Running a hand though his hair and unsettling his attempt to hide his feathers, he looked around for a moment before sending the man another, slightly guilty, look.

"I... erm. Is there anyone you're looking for? I know where most everyone is. Not, erm, I don't spend a lot of time here," Haytham was sure everything came out in a rushed mess, and he was sure the awkward pauses as he realized he probably needed to explain himself were very obvious. "I just." He finally pointed in the direction of the funeral home. "I work here. Or, not here, since graveyards don't employ people obviously, but at the funeral home. I... there's maps, and I kind of help people on slow days."

He wasn't going to mention that he used to spend his breaks memorizing those maps.

[Deleted]

Emrys honestly hadn't meant to startle the younger man and he let him ramble for a minute, only shaking his head quickly when he asked if he was visiting someone. He managed an awkward sort of half smile. "No, no, I'm not looking for anyone," he replied hastily. "I don't know anyone here."

He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, scowling when he tangled his own fingers in the copper strands. Carefully disentangling himself, an idea suddenly struck him. "But uh, if you could point me towards the graves of any officers, it would be much appreciated." He realized how that might not sound completely normal a moment later and flushed slightly. "It's an anniversary, see. Since the one I should be visiting is a long way from here I usually try to find a grave of another police officer just.. you know, honoring a memory." His flush darkened under his tan and he rubbed his hand over his face, inwardly cursing himself for being a dumb ass. He should've just left it well enough alone.

[avery]

"Anniv- ...Oh."

Well shit. Haytham shifted a moment, thinking, then sealed up his steak again and motioned for the man to follow him. He walked between the graves like he was used to it, which of course he was, only making his way several rows in before beginning to search, reading the names where he could because the newer graves still tripped him up somewhat; he was used to the distinctness of the older ones. He finally stopped, motioning the man over, and he kept his eyes firmly on the gravestone.

"This is Officer Vega. She died... three years ago now. She worked in Atlanta and was killed in a car chase; she's from here and her family requested that this is where she would have wanted to be laid to rest." The drake didn't know how interested his guest would be in the knowledge, but he figured that he should offer it anyway. He shifted once again, though this time it was a little bit more out of awkwardness, and finally just clasped his hands behind his back and waited a moment.

When he spoke again, he sounded a little more sure than he usually did, though not nearly as sure of himself as he had been when he recited the facts of a woman's death. "I... erm, I know of a few more, if you'd like to see them. Or I can leave you alone. And... er, I'm sorry that you lost whoever you did."