2013.03.20 - No Yoko

After storming out of the coffee shop where she had... well, nothing, actually, with Warren and Kurt, Fern decided to do one of her favorite things in New York City. Take the Staten Island Ferry. She loves the water, and it's free, which is a huge plus in it's favor. It may not be crossing the nicest body of water, but just being on the deck, even in the cold air, usually clears her head. The motion of the ferry, the crisp wind, being around people but not having to talk to them... it all works together to ease Fern's mind, somehow. Despite the cold, which has most passengers inside, warm and sheltered, Fern prefers to stand on the top deck. With her coat wrapped around her, red hair blowing in the wind, she leans against the railing, looking out at the water, lost in thought.

While it would be faster to fly, Warren is in no mood to get to his meeting early and hang around Staten Island. He'd rather not be going in the first place but his father sent him and the client actually wanted to meet Warren. He didn't get much of a choice. He could choose, however, to take the Ferry and give himself time to finish off the coffee he brought from the cafe and try and figure out what just happened earlier.

Not being one to hang out in confined, claustrophobic places, he's also on the deck of the ferry, slowly pacing around even as it moves along the water. It isn't until he's made it almost all the way around when he catches sight of a familiar redhead. Pausing, he seems frozen for a moment before slowly trying to turn around and move back the way he came. Maybe if he's quiet enough, she won't see him.

His gambit probably would have paid off, if not for the man with the little girl, just emerging onto the top deck. It's her first ferry ride, and he wants her to see the view despite the cold wind. They'll only be out for a minute, anyway. As the pair step out of the door, the little girl first, she cries out in delight, "Daddy, it's an angel!" Fern is immediately drawn out of her thoughts, and she turns, thinking, 'No. Way.'. Way. Of all the ferries in all of New York City... well, whatever, there's Warren. The father quickly hushes his daughter, "Honey, lets go back this way." He leads her away, even as she speaks up again, "But I wanna meet the angel, Daddy." Any further words are lost as the pair move away, but the damage has been done. Fern leans back against the railing, facing Angel's attempted retreat, and she just looks at him.

An angel in a business suit and fine wool coat. He gives a brief wave to the little girl before she's led back inside. There's a slow glance over to Fern...if she's still there or looking at him. Nope, she's looking at him. Great.

"I'm not stalking you. I promise. I have a meeting on the Island..." he doesn't move any closer yet.

Fern crosses her arms across her chest, her posture somehow defensive and challenging at the same time. One brow quirks at Warren's words, and she looks like that's the biggest lie she's ever heard. "Why didn't you just fly over there then?" she asks logically, her head tilting as she stares at him.

"Because I'd be about two hours early and I didn't really want to be sitting in a Starbucks on Staten Island for all that time. This at least kills about an hour and it gives me time to think." Warren frowns and sort of hunches into his coat, "I'll just be on the other side of the ferry then. Or I'll just fly off now. "

"Uh huh." Fern still doesn't look convinced that he's not stalking her. Or she could be enjoying giving the young corporate VP a hard time. "You don't have to run away from me, I probably won't yell at you again." No promises, obviously. She turns away, facing back out toward the water, waiting to see what he'll do.

Warren doesn't move immediately. He glances around before offering, "You were right. Earlier. I have no right to tell you who to date or...anything like that. I'm sorry. I deserved to be yelled at." At least, that time he was. With that said, he also turns to start going to the opposite end of the Ferry. No need to make the trip even more uncomfortable than it already is now.

As Warren offers his apology, Fern turns back around, arms still resolutely crossed. Although it doesn't show in her demeanor, that's a huge step to her, and not exactly what she expected. She watches him turn and waits for him to take a step. "Stop!" The single word is sharp, and not a suggestion. "C'mere."

Turning slowly, Warren meets Fern's gaze a moment before he slowly walks over, almost like a puppy who did something wrong. "Are you going to poke me again? Because if you are, just let me move my tie? It's Italian silk..." and poking might be bad for it. Or the oils from the skin will stain it. Or some such silliness.

Fern manages not to smile, but it takes a firm press of her lips. "Just don't give me a reason to, Bossy McBossypants." She waits for him to near before she turns again, her attention directing back out over the water. There's silence for a few beats, before she says, "I like the water. Do you?"

Warren does step closer, but keeps a healty distance...arm's length. Just in case. "I can't promise that," he admits before he also looks out at the water. "I do. I've been sailing since I was a kid...I mean, not in this weather, but when it's nice and the water's thawed. I've thought about sailing down the coast one summer..."

Fern glances sideways at Warren, judging the distance he's left between them. As he talks she smoothly sliiiiiiides a bit closer to him. She doesn't turn her head to look at him, and after the glance she watches the water, choppy from the wind. She's got pretty good sea legs, and doesn't fight the rolling of the ship's deck, instead moving easily with the motion, one hip against the railing to brace her. "A sailboat, hm?" Of course he can afford a sailboat. He's probably got yachts at his disposal, too. "I've never been on a sailboat. We had a little rowboat that we took out on Cinnamon Lake every summer."

Blue eyes squint briefly at the sky before they flick to the side, noting Fern sliding a little closer. He doesn't move from his spot. He also seems perfectly at ease on the boat, but he's been on them many a time. "Mine's kept at a lake in Westchester. For now. I might move it...I don't know yet. Kurt likes pretending he's a pirate on it."

Fern not only turns her head to look at Warren, but she turns her whole body a quarter turn, facing him, still with a hip braced on the rail. "If it's at a lake in Westchester, it'll be harder to sail down the coast." Thank goodness she's here to tell him that. She can't hide the smile this time, pretty easily able to picture Kurt playing pirate, looking like his blue self and not Errol Flynn. It's fleeting, and she sobers again, head tilted so she can look up at Warren. "So you two are pretty good friends."

"Well, that's what trailers are for. I mean, you have to get a boat to places...and from places...and sometimes it's not one you can just sail through rivers, you know?" Warren glances back over at Fern as she turns to him some. He also turns to match her posture and tries to figure out just what that smile of her's means. "Yeah, I guess we are. We're both pretty obvious...he's pretty flamboyant where I'm really not."

Trailers, sailing through rivers. Fern cannot relate. "No, I don't. We could carry our boat." Well, several of them could carry it, but saying it like that doesn't stress the difference enough. She looks at him assessingly, then nods. "Yeah, you seem really different from each other." Before she can say anything else, the ferry hits a particularly rough patch, and she wobbles, arms uncrossing so she can grab at the rail with one hand, but she doesn't quite find it.

"I can't carry mine. I tried, but it's still too heavy." Warren might be joking. Maybe. As far as him and Kurt being different, "We both like nice things...he's cultured...he tries to pull me out of my shell. I don't know. When I was in the coma, apparently he read to me every day. I guess I'd rather have only a couple of friends like him than a bunch of friends who are superficial and only like me for money."

At the rough patch, his wings spread out to compensate for the movement and he sort of instinctively reaches out to grab onto Fern, as if to keep her safe too.

Although she missed the railing, Fern find purchase on Warren's arm as he reaches out, stepping closer to him and bumping lightly before she regains steady footing. Something in particular that he said sticks, despite the jostle, and she looks up at him, head tilted back. "Coma? What happened?" There's a concerned frown pulling at her lips, and she doesn't step back immediately.

What does he do? What does he do? There's a girl in his arms! Crap! Warren tries not to look like the proverbial deer in the headlights. "Huh?" Oh, she asked him something. "I didn't tell you? I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was at a museum function and...Thor ended up fighting some guy and his minions. I tried escaping from the hostage situation with a couple of others and I got smacked by some bad magic thing...ended up in a coma."

He's not really very successful hiding his panic, and Fern has to take another look at him, an intensity in her study. She still doesn't step back, but now it's not because she hasn't thought to. There's something.... intriguing about this young tycoon, painted in everything she's read as this gadabout womanizer, actually seeming not so sure of himself for a few moments. Her eyes drop from his, settling on his lips for a second as she wonders, if she kissed him, would his head explode? And it's the realization of what she just thought that makes her blink and step back, coughing and straightening her coat. "Thank you. For catching me." Turning back to face outward, Fern grips the railing with both hands. Her head swivels to look at him, fingers clutching the cold metal, and she asks, "When did that happen?"

If she did, he might just explode. Warren steps back when Fern moves back to the railing. "You're welcome. You all right now?" He doesn't move too far away though. She didn't attack him, at least. "The coma? September and October...I mean, the party was in September and I woke up in October. So about six months ago? I was doing rehab for a couple of weeks...I don't like muscle atrophy."

Fern nods, having to let go of the railing with one hand to get her hair out of her face, red strands tugged mercilessly by the wind. "I'm all right, yeah." The hand goes right back to it's grip. She nods, "That's a long time." Beat. "I'm glad you're alright." The ship's horn sounds to signal their momentary arrival at the dock, nearly deafening but a sound she's grown somewhat used to. She waits until the bleats are over before she moves, one hand swinging to point at the door, the other still holding the rail. "I should... ah.... go."

"Thanks. I am too...it was a magical thing, so luckily no brain damage...that I know of." There's a bit of a grin at that but it fades quickly. Warren glances up at the horns but then looks back to Fern, "Why are you going to the Island anyhow? Aren't you working in Brooklyn?"

The questions bring a sheepish smile to Fern's lips. "I just like the boat ride." She's going to be getting right back on the next ferry out. That seems to about sum things up for her, and she lets go of the railing entirely, taking a step away before she stops. She turns to look at Warren again, her head canted. "You know I probably can't date either of you, right? I'm no Yoko." She won't be breaking up the Mutant Beatles!

"I still owe you a breakfast. One pancake doesn't really count," Warren offers. "I still have some time." He watches Fern some more, obviously trying to think of what to say to that. Finally though, he comes up with, "You can date whomever you want. I would really like to date you though, but I understand if you don't want that. I don't know what Kurt's plans were. But if you choose him, I will be supportive. If you choose me, I know he will be too. If you choose neither...well, it's all your choice."

Well that's a change from him practically ordering her to date his best friend. Blue eyes, almost matching his own in hue, hold levelly on Warren, and Fern sways lightly with the boat's motion. Finally she digs her hand into her pocket, pulling out a small pad of paper and a pen. She scribbles her number and name, tears off the page, and offers it out to him. "You do owe me breakfast. And lunch. Soon. But not today." It's been quite the tumultuous day already, and she needs some time to ponder. Her smile slowly comes out, like the sun from behind a cloud. "I'm not going to apologize for yelling at you. You totally deserved it." One hand lifts, fingers wiggling in a wave, before she turns to pull the door open and disappear inside.

The number is taken and placed into an inside-pocket of his coat. "Well, the lunch place is back in Manhattan...so I would imagine not, although I could always fly you over." But not today. Warren nods at that. His own smile is a bit more hesitant, but it's starting to be there, "I know I deserved it. Not many people have actually yelled at me before."

Fern pauses in the open doorway, looking back, her smile brighter. "They're afraid of you. I'm not." With that she's gone, the door shutting behind her.