outofspace | (no subject)

It's odd, if not entirely unexpected, how everything just seems to go back to normal as if nothing ever happened. That often tends to be the way of things around here, Therese has found, Darrow's residents bouncing back from the latest trauma startlingly fast. Usually, though, it isn't nearly everyone having been gone for weeks that they all have to recover from. Those who were gone don't seem to think they ever went anywhere. Those who are left — well, she can't speak for anyone else, and she can't say she liked all that quiet, but she's still thrown by the sudden shift, the return back to normalcy.

Mostly, and more unexpectedly, she's found herself with a barely noticeable discontent. It's strange in its own right, really, when usually she's fine just to carry on as things are, not looking for much or attempting any big changes. And she's lucky, she knows, to have a job doing what she loves. Lately, though, going back to taking pictures for the paper, she keeps thinking about the weeks she wasn't doing that, her photography on her own time and her own terms. She's always felt a bit too daunted to try to do anything of her own, but it was nice, not having that structure.

Something to think about. She wouldn't be able to stop if she tried.

As usual, she's spending her day off out with her camera, taking pictures in the park, newly filled with people again. In that regard, at least, it's nice to have things go back to normal, and nice, too, to have the freedom she did a few weeks ago. Smiling faintly to herself as she lines up a shot, she then suppresses a wince when someone walks into the frame.

"Sorry," she says, as if she's the one in the way, which she very well might be, really. "I was just trying to —"

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"Sure," she says. She waits for the woman to take the photo she wants, however many of them she wants, before she continues. "You'd think most people would at least notice when someone talks to them," she says, referring to the way the woman had apologized to try to get their attention.

"You would think," Therese echoes, nodding in agreement, a touch sheepish. Sometimes, when she's actually taking pictures, she manages to think that she's alright at it, even good. In the moments in between, though, especially like this, having been interrupted in the middle of it, she finds that it feels silly, like something she shouldn't be taking so seriously, too frivolous to be worthwhile.

That's nothing to dwell on now, though. "It's amazing how many people just don't pay attention."

"Sometimes people don't like what they see if they look too close," Daisy says with a shrug. She steps closer, until she can see what it was this woman was looking at. "Sometimes, what they're looking at just reminds them of something they're missing. Literally or figuratively." She glances at the woman, then ahead of them again. "D'you mind if I ask, what about this particular view made you want to capture it?"

It's a simple question, but Therese gives it a moment's consideration all the same, expression thoughtful. Even though she doesn't think it's anything more than idle curiosity, there's a part of her that always feels a bit like a fraud — decent enough at what she does, but certainly not any kind of artist. She doesn't want to answer in any way that would make herself sound ridiculous. "The colors," she decides, to start. The trees are bright green, everything in bloom, and it won't be long at all, just a couple of months, before that's not the case anymore. "And the people in the background. Everything was so empty for a while, it's nice to see this place full of people again."

She nods, taking the words at face value. It seems fair enough; the colors are eye-catching, here, and so they clearly caught her eye, as well. Daisy isn't much of a photographer, herself. She might not be good at determining what constitutes art from a creative aspect, but she can appreciate when other people do it.

"Fair enough," she says. "It is sort of nice to see people about again." She jerks her chin in the direction the person had gone after Daisy'd shouted at them. "Except when they get in the way, anyway."

"Except then," Therese agrees with a quiet laugh. She likes seeing the city full of life again, but it does pose the occasional inconvenience. It's probably strange, when she's never exactly been social, more uncomfortable around large groups of people than on her own, but then, she was living in a city before she got here, too. She got used to that, and the anonymity of it. Even without her photography coming into play at all, Darrow being so empty was just unnerving.

"Mostly they don't, at least. Not like that, anyway."

She's pretty, when she laughs, Daisy thinks. She looks out towards the view again, taking in the sight of people walking against the backdrop of the park, and, sure. She supposes she can see the artistic draw, here. A moment captured in time, a snapshot — literally — of city life in a city park. She turns to the young woman again, this time with her hand outstretched.

"Daisy," she says. "Glad I could help you get the shot you wanted, at least."

"Therese," she replies, reaching out to shake Daisy's offered hand. "And I really appreciate it." Telling off strangers is very much not her strong suit, but she suspects that's fairly self-explanatory. She knows that she's quiet at best, perhaps awkward at worst, not very good at speaking up for herself. That's even truer with something like this, when it's easy to tell herself that it's pointless to pursue anything artistic.

"Well, now that you know all about my taking pictures," she adds, a bit self-deprecating, "what do you do?"

"Research," she says. "Sort of. I work at the Archive. We sort of... collect information about all us immigrants, and look into weird stuff that happens to keep a record of it." She shrugs. It sounds fancier at a glance, she thinks, than it actually is."

She doesn't mention that she's also, technically, Archive security.

"Oh, I don't know it," Therese says with a shake of her head, though that's not surprising. Generally speaking, she sticks to what she knows. Work changes that, sometimes, but while keeping those records sounds interesting, it doesn't seem like the kind of thing she would usually be sent to take pictures of.

"That sounds fascinating, though. And there is a lot of weird stuff that happens here."

"So much weird stuff," she agrees with a short laugh. "Did you see the worm thing? A couple summers ago?" Honestly, looking at Therese, she doesn't seem like the type to have been at the festival that had all taken place around. Perhaps for the sales stalls, or the like. But Daisy doesn't think Therese is a 'music festival' type of person, for some reason.