recolle | Repel wore off! A wild Catch-All appeared!

"Every Sunday afternoon."

There's a wistful note to her voice, but she picks up another rock and tosses it a little harder. Three that time.

"That was our time. Till I was sixteen or so, anyway."

Freya's first rock does well, skipping three as well.

She glances over sympathetically at the shorter woman, refraining from bringing the timeline of events to its obvious conclusion. She turns her attention back to the pond. "Sounds nice. Way nicer than church family time."

She throws another, but blundered the pitch, and that rock didn't skip at all. "What kinda guy was he?"

Pen stops, fiddling with a stone while she considers the question. Dad had died when she was eighteen, but sixteen had been the end of things there, since she was a teenager with a car then.

"Dad was...he was a soldier through and through. Always prepared, y'know? Like he was waiting for something that never came. He was a good man, I think, a hard worker. He took care of us, and the people around us. Didn't matter who they were. He was there for them."

Old, young, white or black, gay or straight, he'd been a big believer in what America really stood for.

"Funny you bring up church too. Mom and dad were both pagans. They let me figure myself out that way, too, but they were part of a small group of Mithraists in their old unit."

Freya mutters Mithraists under her breath a few times, trying out the feel of the unfamiliar word. She throws another rock, this time skipping two.

"Pagans, huh. That's not something you hear everyday. Not where I grew up, at least." Maybe Recolle or other parts of the States were different. The company her mother always kept wasn't exactly diverse.

"Sounds like a good enough guy to me."

Pen nods, tossing her next rock harder, watching as it bounces. One. Two. Three. Four. Five!

Fist-pumping in celebration, she picks up another, and considers how she'd managed it the first time before answering.

"He was a real hero. Decorated. Mom too. They were both Army pilots. That's how they met."

Freya pitches the last rock in her hand, scoring four. She gives an appreciative whistle at Pen's five-bounce, glancing at her partner. Her eyes narrow in mischief, briefly, recalling that her girlfriend's been in the Retrospec building; and so Freya expresses her compliments with a congratulatory slap to partner's rump.

"Congrats. That's the entire card, yeah?"

Well that was sweet, but unexpected. Pen yelps and spins, cheeks puffing up briefly, but okay. Fair's fair.

"Yep. That's the whole card. And let me guess...you just got one off my ass."

And a satisfactory reaction, to boot. Freya's smile only grows broader, a pleased glitter in her eyes. She reaches out, drawing Pen into a one-armed around her shoulders, giving her a brief squeeze.

"You know it."

Pen snorts and leans against her, shifting to stand as close as she can.

"Fair enough. I got the same spot off Dante that way. Boy jumped a foot into the air."

The taller woman chuckles lazily. "Mm, I knew I liked you for a reason. He tries too hard."

Freya takes a moment to rest her head against Pen's crown, breathing in the scent of her hair. The setting sun felt nice; warm, but tempered by the cooling air. It's been little more than a month, but... it was already difficult to imagine her time without Penelope, or moments like this. She'd really been missing out.

"He does."

Pen's arm settles around Freya and she makes a pleased noise, somewhere between a sigh and a hum. It's easy to forget that there had been a time before Freya, and Retrospec, and all that. Back when it'd just been her and Vaan and nobody else. Or out with Asami, because that'd been nice too. Hell, it was weird even thinking that she'd dated Mako, since this just seemed to click so well.

"Have I ever said I feel lucky, just for knowing you?"

Freya smiles into Pen's hair, a warm feeling coursing through her chest. "That goes both ways, princess. I'm still trying to figure out what cosmic deed I did to get you."

Her free hand seek's out Pen's, clasping it lightly. "Don't know if this makes any sense, but... it feels like I know you, but not all that much about you. I know there's apparently nothing you can't do, but not what your favorite color is."

Pen smiles back, pressing her face against the taller woman's, her hand eagerly returning the grip with a squeeze.

"It does make sense. And there's definitely stuff I can't do, but favorite color? It's blue. What about you?"

She makes an amused sound. "Blue. Purple's a close second." Even though Freya still ached from the fight a couple hours ago, even though she was standing, this felt one of the most comfortable places in the world.

"Like what? You're a whiz with computers. You sing. You fight with different weapons. You can shoot. You can sew and carve and craft and I'm sure more, but I can't tell the difference with that stuff. You entertain. Do all sorts of outdoors stuff." Freya shakes her head gently without breaking contact, chuckling at the end, her voice adopting a playful note. "I'm startin' to feel inadequate, and that's just the stuff I know about."

She didn't, really, but Freya still readily acknowledges that Pen's talents and intellect surpassed her own. It was... admirable, the range of things her girlfriend could do.

"Good choice."

Pen thought about that for a moment, seriously considering what Freya was saying. All of those things seemed like ordinary things to her. Just the product of growing up how she had. She liked computers, she was a natural. Her mom had taught her to sing a little and sew, and her dad to shoot and do all the outdoors stuff. The rest of it was either a part of her personality, or had been given by memory.

It was weird, thinking that someone like Freya might actually find that impressive. and a little embarrassing.

"I'm...not really any good at a lot of things. I'm a bad swimmer, I can't draw to save my life even if I can photoshop like a champ, and as you know I can't climb down a building at night or reach the top shelf without a stool," she says with a wry laugh. "And you know why I use that skateboard to get around campus? I never learned how to ride a bike."

She laughs lightly when Pen includes her height in the list of things she's bad at.

"Two of those are easy fixes, pretty girl." Freya fondly presses her lips to the shorter woman's forehead. "Can't help with the drawing and your height, though."

"Hah...well I'd like that."

Almost as much as she likes being called 'pretty girl' to be honest. Smiling, she pops on tiptoe and kisses Freya's chin.

"Also...I wouldn't mind learning some of your martial arts stuff. I think it'd be handy to know, just in case."

Tonberry aside, she couldn't always count on having a spear or a minion to fight for her.

"I'd be happy to show you."

Freya unwinds her arm from Pen's shoulders, stepping back, tugging her partner along with their still-clasped hands. There's definitely amusement in her eyes. "Next thing you know, you'll be better than me."

She's guiding them back towards the playground; it's deserted, despite the warm evening, thanks to the swiftly approaching twilight.

Pen follows, head tilted, a little curious about this turn of events.

"Good. Though I doubt it. I don't think I'll ever have your physique."

Which, honestly, she probably shouldn't.

"Where're we heading?"

"Swings," Freya answers casually, before her eyebrow quirks up, and she adopts a dramatic, if exasperated, voice. "The great bingo god's demanded a race." There's even a half-assed little wave for effect.

How the hell did one race on a swingset, anyway?

"A race huh?"

Pen laughs because wow. That's certainly a thing. A ridiculous thing. But then so was the bingo game itself.

"Well alright. That we can do. I guess we're racing to see who gets to the top fastest?"

Freya shrugs. "Sure." Under normal circumstances, she was competitive. This? This was not normal circumstances, nor a real competition. There was going to be little effort from her.

She also desperately hoped this equipment designed for children would support her weight for so long.

As they reached the sand area, she hums a thoughtful note. "What's your favorite kind of food?" Continuing her questioning was clearly more important than some swingset race.

Not like Penelope felt any different. If it wasn't for bingo she wouldn't bother.

"Favorite kind of food? Korean, easily. I love spice," she chirps. "You? And please don't say bloomin' onion."

Actually do. do say that.

Freya reaches back with swat at the smartassery, but she does sound a teeny bit defensive with, "Who in their right mind doesn't like fried onions?"

She gives a little shrug, reluctantly letting go of Pen's hand to take a seat at the swings. "Hard to pick. Top three are Thai, Mediterranean, or the usual steakhouse fare."

Pen doesn't comment on the fried onion bit. She can dig it, even if it isn't her favorite friend vegetable of choice.

"That's fair. We should hit up a curry place this weekend. There's one in Tisse, serves Japanese, Indian, and Thai style."

Taking her seat, she starts rocking back and forth playfully.

"Ready to go?"

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