Ashlyn Reale: It doesn't really take long to get through this far into the park. It's just cold, that's all. Long fitted coat and all, she makes a beeline for the fountain edge, sitting and setting hands clasped onto her lap. Knees together, feet apart - tucked into delicately beaded green satin slippers. The only flats in her closet that don't fall off at every single given opprotunity.

Francesco Giardini: He's come to the Fountain and Pond for a little peace and quiet. The man's sitting on a bench near the park, a cigarette pressed between his lips as he sits there. There is, as always, a sort of cocky attention to the man...aware of his surroundings, though not concerned about it in the slightest. A dangerous attitude...good thing it's a Caern of Fellowship.

Francesco Giardini: ((gaah. Near the park = near the fountain. IN the park. Near the fountain.))

Ashlyn Reale: For her, it feels like it's been a long walk. The sigh she breathes out steams on the chill air. She seems paler than usual in the cold night, but outside of the harsh glare of streetlights, at least she's not sallow. Just pale, with chemically black curls twisted away from her face witht he clever use of bobby pins. The She looks for the moon, up and forward. There's some notable disappointment as she doesn't immediately catch sight of it, and so stands again, tucking delicate hands into her pockets.

Francesco Giardini: He glances up as he sees Ashlyn approaching, eyebrow raised. Well, well...not often you saw someone like THAT in the Park. He exhales a drag of smoke, nodding to her. His usual suit is present... Italian wool, charcoal grey, with a vest and silk red tie over a white shirt. Black cap shoes complete the ensemble. "Hey...how you doin'?"

Ashlyn Reale: "Great now that I'm off house arrest," she answers in an easy, warm voice. There's humor there. There's also a bland lack of accent nodding back to either money, or the west coast. One might shudder to think how much that natural smile has earned her, but for how rarely it's been seen lately. "You..? No offense, but it seems a bit late in the day to keep up the suit." And really, there's nothing bad about her tone. It's friendly, easygoing above all else.

Francesco Giardini: He smirks a little bit. "Well, that all depends on how late you work, I guess. Most folks, they have nine-to-five jobs...me, it's more like midnight to eleven pm." He grins a bit, rising from his seat, smoothing the suit.

Ashlyn Reale: "That sounds entirely too hard working for anybody here to catch the moon," she insists with a smile. What the hell? She drifts over the few steps it takes to offer her pale, slim hand. She walks as if no longer conscious that every strip of pavement is now a runway, that every flat surface is a training ground for casual elegance. "Better late than never - I'm Ashlyn. Ashlyn Reale, if you're the last name type."

Francesco Giardini: He takes her hand in both of his hands, bowing his head over it. He doesn't quite kiss it...just lowering his head deeply to it. He reaises his head back up, smiling pleasantly enough. "Francesco Giardini. Or Frankie, to my friends. A pleasure to meet you, Ashlyn."

Ashlyn Reale: "Lovely to meet you, Frankie." Oh, this woman's never been put through a day of real work in her life, and it shows. Her hands, her stance. Stand there and look pretty. She has a disarming smile that never makes it past the editing room floor and eyes that never stray for long in one decided color - grey, blue, or green. "Do you mind, if I call you that?"

Francesco Giardini: "Feel free." He smiles a little bit, and releases her hand. "So, what brings you to the fountain tonight?"

Ashlyn Reale: "She does," she replies with a gesture up to the sky. There's a pause, and the tall woman looks about skyward with a vague frown. "Well, I came for the moon anyway." Her hand lowers again, tucking back curls away from her neck. "And just maybe to see who's out and about at this perfectly reasonable hour."

Ashlyn Reale: "And you..?" she wonders of him, canting her head just a bit to the side.

Francesco Giardini: He looks around the area with a little shrug. "It's...a good place to gain a little perspective, you know? Just kinda come here, sit down, and get left to your own thoughts. Makes things...I dunno. Clearer, I guess."

Ashlyn Reale: "Something on your mind?" Direct, isn't she? The question softens her voice, makes this come out in a delicate way. Despite jumping right in to the subject, she has a more passive air about her when asking it, shoulders shifting. After her words are ended, she chews the inside of her lip only lightly.

Francesco Giardini: "Always." He grins a little bit at that. "Ya can find me here, seeking perspective a hell of a lot. Hell, I think I might spend more time here then at home, y'know?"

Ashlyn Reale: "I used to, yes. For a very short while." A pause. She gestures back to the bench. "Would you like to sit again? I don't mind standing - all I do is sit lately. So." She straightens up a little, hands tucking into her pockets again. "Is it working? I know, hopelessly nosy." A smile, and a little shrug from one shoulder. "Better than boring."

Francesco Giardini: He chuckles, and shrugs at her question. "Ehh...some nights better then others. Tonight's not one of the better ones, I suppose ya could say." He takes a drag off his cigarette and exhales it out of the corner of his mouth.

Ashlyn Reale: "Well, if it helps..." Her eyes roll upwards, tilting back a little to watch the sky as she speaks. Soft voiced, not entirely careless. "In ten years, maybe fifty at the most, it will be as if every problem on your mind now never existed. By thie time next year, you could have not a single need for any trouble in your head right now. And until then, you've usually got the option of interesting, if eccentric company in the park. Have you met the helpful ones yet? There seem to be dozens of them at any given point in time."

Francesco Giardini: He gives an amused snort. "Yeah, I've met a couple." He says it with sort of a smirk on his face. "Interesting folk." It's a practiced tone in his voice, sort of the 'been there, dont that, seen the movie, ask for a refund' kind of way.

Ashlyn Reale: She doesn't hide her look of amusement. Goodness no. "New to the city, by chance?"

Francesco Giardini: "Yeah. Just came up from D.C." He shrugs. "You?"

Ashlyn Reale: "I was raised here from a young age. If you haven't heard it yet without an insult attached - welcome to New York." She smiles again. It seems to be a pretty natural look to her. And hell, she's much more natural looking than she had been in the mall - it's harder to pinpoint the use of shimmering, subtle eyeshadows and lip glosses.

Francesco Giardini: He chuckles. "Thanks. Yeah, I heard it almost avoiding an insult...but then, it went fuckin' south from there." He grins, taking a drag from the smoke. His shoulders roll, letting the jacket sit a little more comfortable on his shoulders.

Ashlyn Reale: "Yeah?" she asks for the story of that encounter with just the one little syllable and the tilt of her head. She focuses her eyes onto his - and it's still hard to tell, even eye to eye, if her eyes are grey or blue, or what. Ah, well.

Francesco Giardini: He nods a little bit, with a chuckle. "Yeah...some fuckin' guy started to be nice and shit, but then decided it'd be a good idea to mention how there were too many Ethnic groups here. I mean, do I look like I'm starched-white, cornbread American or somethin'?"

Ashlyn Reale: "You look healthy," she assures. "Come on - New York City is the cultural melting pot of the country. It's our pride and joy. It's our baby. Fuck 'em if they can't take the falafel stand between the Thai place, across from the Indian place where the Chinese laundry used to be."