Daine really isn't expecting to be approached by anyone on a day like today, let alone a stranger. Most folk, if they notice her at all when she's tending to one of the People, give her a wide berth (doubtless because they think she's a bit mad). It's not a misconception that bothers her overmuch, because it means she gets left alone to do her work, which is far more important than whatever a stranger might think of her, anyway.
But it also means that she might be a little too used to being ignored, so the appearance of a young woman in a wool cloak gives her a bit of a start. The squirrel, Scamp, darts into her hood to hide in her hair, an almond clenched between his teeth, and Daine offers the woman a sheepish smile.
Whoever she is, she isn't rattled enough by the squirrel to back away, which Daine counts as a mark in her favor. The cloak is a plus, too - it's too heavy for this time of year, but its simple familiarity is an aching sort of comfort. In fact, it's a little too familiar to be local, Daine thinks, and her suspicions are all but confirmed by the woman's oddly formal way of speaking and the intersection she's trying to reach. Another rifty, almost definitely. Well, they do tend to find each other.
"No need to apologize," Daine says, her smile taking a turn for the reassuring. "It's easy to get lost when you're new to the city. You're not too far off, though. Columbus Circle is…" she turns a little, then points, "that way. Maybe ten minutes' walk."
As she speaks, Scamp polishes off the almond and then cautiously pokes his head out to peer at Jane, and then back at Daine's treat-producing hand. Greedy thing. Daine digs a peanut out of her pocket and passes it to the animal, then lifts her squirrel-free shoulder in a half-shrug. "I've a knack with animals."
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But it also means that she might be a little too used to being ignored, so the appearance of a young woman in a wool cloak gives her a bit of a start. The squirrel, Scamp, darts into her hood to hide in her hair, an almond clenched between his teeth, and Daine offers the woman a sheepish smile.
Whoever she is, she isn't rattled enough by the squirrel to back away, which Daine counts as a mark in her favor. The cloak is a plus, too - it's too heavy for this time of year, but its simple familiarity is an aching sort of comfort. In fact, it's a little too familiar to be local, Daine thinks, and her suspicions are all but confirmed by the woman's oddly formal way of speaking and the intersection she's trying to reach. Another rifty, almost definitely. Well, they do tend to find each other.
"No need to apologize," Daine says, her smile taking a turn for the reassuring. "It's easy to get lost when you're new to the city. You're not too far off, though. Columbus Circle is…" she turns a little, then points, "that way. Maybe ten minutes' walk."
As she speaks, Scamp polishes off the almond and then cautiously pokes his head out to peer at Jane, and then back at Daine's treat-producing hand. Greedy thing. Daine digs a peanut out of her pocket and passes it to the animal, then lifts her squirrel-free shoulder in a half-shrug. "I've a knack with animals."