(2018-12-23) Peace be upon you
Sully runs into a bridge troll during a jog around the campus.

There's a windchill warning in effect tonight, and it looks like the clouds are gearing up for snow. More snow, that is. Some guy is shoveling and sanding the path atop a little ride-on machine. Headphones on, music blaring. And an older man in a coat and scarf is standing just under cover of the bridge that spans the north and south campuses, smoking. Something with a warm, spicy scent, scissorced between two leather gloved fingers while he peruses something on his phone.

Regular footfalls announce the approach of a runner making her way along the walking bridge. Sullivan Tremble is a petite brunette with a high ponytail and large hazel eyes. Earbuds tucked into her ears trail wires that vanish into the collar of her long-sleeve tech shirt. She wears a pair of black running tights fitted to a fleek frame, headband, gloves, and earbuds. Lightweight running shoes are quiet, footfalls regular and unhurried. A flush across her cheeks and light sheen of sweat hints that she's been at this run long enough to get her heart rate up. She slows as she reaches the footbridge, weaving around a lonely pedestrian before she approaches the lone smoker.

Sevin looks up from his phone as the pedestrian passes him by, and then the jogger going the other way snags his attention. Gazes meet, just long enough that he feels compelled to offer a flinch of a smile in greeting, and then return to whatever's got him so engrossed on his phone. Scruffy-looking fellow, clothes aside. Looks far too old to be a student here.

Maybe it's that brief flicker of eye contact, or the way it almost looked like it pained him to smile, then drop his gaze to his phone, but Sullivan chooses that moment to slow again, perhaps a yard and a half away, to slide a small water bottle out of a small web belt, where it was nestled against the back of her hip. She tips her head back, "Little cold for a smoke, no?" And then squirts her mouth full of water, or coconut water, or electrolytes or whatever it is she's drinking. Her jaw's a little sharp, throat working to swallow. Smatterings of tiny scratches cross her pale skin, fine healing lines at cheek and all along her throat and to her collar, probably more, but it's hidden. She caps the tiny bottle again, and slips it back from whence it came. One foot's kicked up on the railing of the walkway, and she leans in for a long stretch, forehead coming down nearly all the way to touching her knee. At least she's not looking at Sevin when he has opportunity to answer, or not, as he may.

Sevin keeps his eyes on his phone. Or appears to, anyway; a very keen eye may note that he's engaged in a nearly perpetual surveying of his surroundings, and keeping of tabs on people nearby. Paranoid? Maybe. "I don't mind it," he offers after a long pause. Long enough that it seems he may not be planning on answering at all. There's a nod toward the building on the south side of the bridge. "Campus security office in there, by the way, if you ever need an escort at night. Not everyone knows about that." Tappatappatap on his phone.

That last comment prompts a chuckle from the brunette. She drops her foot from the railing, turning to glance at Sevin while her muscle recovers from that deep stretch. She reaches up to flick out an earbud, which doesn't bode well for Sevin's solitary smoke. "Do you think I need campus security?" She turns again, this time bringing up her right foot to the railing. She takes a little longer getting into that deep stretch with this one, her palms lightly clasping either side of her calf. There's a very slight wince before she comes down all the way, her ponytail trailing over her shoulder to fall across her cheek. "You seem vigilant enough for both of us." There's a little dryness in her tone when she says, "Thank you, for the sound advice."

Sevin looks up again, pale green eyes meeting Sully's, his own obscured by a waft of clove smoke that he makes a modicum of effort to exhale away from her. He noticed the knife. And he noticed the scratches on her face. These two facts are indisputable, though he doesn't say a word about either. Simply: "My pleasure." Which is ironic, given that his expression does not even begin to approximate warmth. Much less a smile. His phone is tucked away in his pocket eventually, clove dragged from, and something squinted at through the glass. Probably just a hawk on the hunt.

Sully straightens out of the stretch, carefully stepping her foot off the rail to stand. Her ponytail sweeps over her shoulder again, and her own hazel eyes look askance at Sevin. She doesn't seem bothered by the smoke in the slightest. "Mmmhm." She takes a moment to adjust her fitbit at her wrist, and turns her arm to check her progress. Whatever she sees makes her shake her head slightly. "Your words say one thing and your face another. You must be like catnip to the college girls." She kicks her left leg back, catching her foot with her hand, pushing her laces into her cupped hand in a standing quad stretch. That's held for a moment, and then she swaps legs. It's near the end of this stretch that she murmurs, "Masaa al-Khair," and reaches up to slip her earbud back into her ear.

Sevin's attention is drawn away from the wheeling predatory bird, and back to Sully in her black tights and fitbit and casual weaponry. And a brow ticks up fractionally at her comment. Neither confirmation nor denial in that subtle motion, though perhaps a tinge of amusement that reaches his eyes. "Masaa al-noor," he offers on the heels of her passable arabic, his own rolling off the tongue with that characteristic throaty gruffness that the language affords its native speakers. He starts to say more, but then her earbud goes in like she's making to start off again, and he returns to his smoke while idly watching her reflection in the glass.

Sullivan finishes the minor adjustments to her wardrobe, tightening her little running belts mostly hidden under that thermal. She tightens her ponytail, adjusts an earbud, and flashes a grin at Sevin's rough tones return to her the proper reply to such a well wish. "Goddamn that's hot every time." She can obviously still hear him. She starts up a gentle in-place jog, then moves off to pass Sevin, slowing again to stop in front of him. She turns her head and says, "I'm sure campus security would be willing to walk you to your car if you asked in that accent." She lingers in his personal space just long enough to say that, and then she glances along the path, notes the position of the snow-clearer, and checks her fitbit one last time before she sets off again.

Sevin watches the glass, eyes slightly narrowed in a manner that exaggerates the rough grooves marking the corners. Like he's spent a lifetime squinting into the sun, in a place that had one year-round. The grin garners a small smile and a salute with his clove, and then an honest-to-god chuckle at the campus security comment. He doesn't seem to have any problem with the breach of personal space, and turns slightly, switching his focus from reflection to woman as she checks her fitbit and sets off once more. She's got good form, and no sense in letting that go to waste. "Be safe," is all he offers in parting, switching back to his muddied english. It's no offhanded farewell; the two words are touched with concern.

Off she goes, running shoes light on the salt-crusted pavement. Crunch, crunch. And then Sevin says that last bit. Sully turns at those two words, taking perhaps a jog of a yard away, and she returns, bouncing in an in-place run where she is, now in reaching distance, though a more polite ways back. God, this woman just won't stop, will she? A man can't even smoke in peace around here. She flicks an earbud out, and asks, "May I borrow your phone?"

Sevin is just settling in to his thoughts again. Peace and quiet; cool, crisp air; spicy clove smoke burning his lungs and hastening his impending departure from this mortal- "Beg your pardon?" He genuinely didn't hear her, but there she is. Watching him, waiting. Earbud out, hazel eyes expectant. He returns her gaze without quite making eye contact, confused.

Sullivan waits, long-lashed, hazel eyes scanning the running bridge. She glances briefly over her shoulder, but her peripheral attention remains on Sevin, and she doesn't stop jogging in place, though it's barely a bounce side to side, just keeping her muscles warm. "Your mobile. May I borrow it?" Her fingers clasp the earbud she flicked out, ready to put it back at a moment's notice if he's less then amenable to a favor for a stranger on the walking bridge.

"Oh. Well, sure." There's a little tic in his jaw, like maybe he's irritated at the continued intrusion, but he digs the thing out and taps the power button. A few keystrokes to unlock it with his password, and whatever was on the screen is notably dismissed with a swipe. The device is turned around deftly and held out between leather gloved fingers, and he even tries on a smile.

Sullivan waits patiently, just doing that rhythmic in-place bounce. Her ponytail is entirely too cheerful fo a woman in her late 30s. She reaches up and hooks her glove's middle finger with her teeth, pulling it off with a tug. She leaves it dangling from her mouth as she reaches over to take the phone with a small, pale hand. There's the faintest of tan lines on her ring finger, which will likely be gone with the winter.

The windchill out here is, as promised by that weather report, enough to leach the heat from uncovered extremities in a few minutes flat. Even under cover of the glass-walled bridge, it's cold as fuck. Sevin relinquishes the phone after a pointed moment spent studying her hand. His clove is brought to his lips again, drifted there a moment while Sully does whatever she needs to do with his mobile, and then a lazy stream of smoke pours from his nose and clouds the air between the two of them like time stood still. He's either contemplating his grocery list, or watching Sully to make sure she's not poking around his stuff.

Once the phone's release to her custody, Sully's dextrous fingers travel over the screen with practiced speed. She glances up mid-keystroke, brown-flecked green eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips. She smiles, just a quirk of the corner of her mouth, then finishes what she's doing. She makes no calls. Her nostrils flare slightly as that warm scented smoke tickles across her face. Her little smile increases a hitch, but it's barely perceptible. She might be looking up something? A moment later, she turns the phone back to his custody, screen turned off. She even buffs it lightly against the back of her other hand, still gloved, to remove any fingerprints from his screen. "Shukran." Her palm up, she waits for him to take it back.

His phone. His contacts. By the time Sevin realises what she's doing, she's already done. He's not entirely sure what she was messing with in there, but something.. shifts in his expression. What was, a moment ago, an ease bordering on diffidence, turns to steel in the blink of an eye. His clove is tossed to the ground and obliterated with the heel of his boot. His phone is snagged with one hand, and Sully's wrist with his other. Just in case she has thoughts of flouncing away after that. "What the fuck did you do to my phone." His voice is like a shot and his pale eyes dare hers to look away; that isn't a question, it's a demand.

Sullivan's slim wrist is snatched in that steely grip. Her left hand tethers her to him. Welp, she's not going to be prancing off with that high spirited run of hers. She rolls her wrist lightly, once, to test his grip, but does not pull away from him. If anything, her eyes focus a little more, and she drops her right shoulder a little. She takes in the change, the clove tossed down. She just barely checks an instinctive reaction. She does stop bouncing, but remains with her weight up on the balls of her feet. "Unlock your screen, love." Though there's strength in her wrist, she still leaves him grasping it without fighting. "And then use it." Her eyes meet his, and she stares at him. Hers is a challenge too, not backing off despite the change from mildly indifferent to razor focus. "Or don't. Gentleman's choice." She tips her head a little, "But you should make a decision quickly, because my patience runs out fast."

He does have a pretty strong grip for an old man. A relatively scrawny old man, at that; he's no muscle-bound meathead, that much is clear. The roll of her wrist results in a little jerk to tug her in closer. Presumably, where he has better leverage. And then with his other hand, he unlocks the phone adroitly. Flick of his eyes to Sully, then back to the phone screen. They're ghostly pale in the dark, those odd green eyes. Not at all in keeping with his swarthy complexion and foreign appearance. The newly-added contact is tapped, and the phone brought to his ear. Sully's wrist is kept captive, and he watches her while it rings.

Sullivan's jerked in closer, body nearly bumping his. She watches him with that irritatingly secure little smile. She takes a moment to peruse his features, dark hair, swarthy skin, black lashes, warm green eyes, scruffy jaw. She breathes in a deep breath, soaking in all that's left of the clove smoke lingering about him. "If you leave a mark, I'm going to be a little upset with you."

And then her jacket begins to go off softly. It sounds a lot like: ringringringring ringringringring bananaphoooone. Her expression doesn't even twitch.

Heat radiates off the man. Heat and spicy clove smoke. A sliver of a red tie under a grey vest, partially glimpsed behind his unbuttoned wool coat. He meets her gaze in that heartbeat of a moment before her phone starts to ring, and it's as if he's on the precipice of some dark chasm. The glint of his eyes in the dark, the tension in his jaw, liquid violence.

And then that sound shatters it all like fine china hitting the floor. The utter absurdity of that ringtone causes him to huff a breath that practically crystallizes in the chill air. His grip begins to tighten as if in reflex when she starts bitching at him, then is relinquished entirely, hard enough to likely cause her to stumble. The ringer's slid to 'hang up', and he tucks the phone back into his coat. And abruptly begins to walk off, without another word. Back down the bridge, north side.

Sullivan's gaze drops to his chest only briefly, then comes back up to his face. She turns her wrist in his hand even as his grip tightens. Her eyes just narrow when his eyes go dark, that jaw tightening. She takes a slow, deep breath, just in case she needs the oxygen in a moment.

She does stumble back when he shoves away, though her lightness on her feet keeps her from falling. She rights herself, crunching salt under her shoes as she does so, and rolls her shoulders, shaking off that tension that ripped through her body. Yes, she does watch him go, rolling her wrist. She waits till he's gone quite a few steps, her gaze sliding down the back of his coat, eyes bright. "Assalam alaykum." She reaches up to slip her earbud into her ear. Sully shakes her head a little and turns, a grin on her lips, to return to her run. Ponytail's still perky, gait light and even.

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