Frisbee [Israel & Yuri]

A beautiful cloudy morning, just as he preferred. This is the best weather for a 6:02 AM walk in the park. The frozen air kept the mind sharp, and that was the state Yuri refused to not be in. It helped him noticed the frisbee at the top of a pine tree. He wanted it. He didn't just want it down, he wanted that frisbee. Shaking the tree did not free it, as it was too big, to heavy for a human to move. He tried throwing rocks at it, but the needles were inducing too much resistance. 'I will get that frisbee. Nothing will prevent me from obtaining it.' He was going to keep it.

Despite many different attempts, nothing got the frisbee down. There was only one last thing to do. He grabbed a branch and lifted himself into the air, pulling himself into a sit. Using another branch as support, he stood up, and began ascending. It wasn't very difficult to reach the top. Before long, the frisbee was within his grasp. How wonderful. He stuck his face out through the pines, now deciding to take a rest up there, and observe the Backlight. The cars went beep, and no one was getting shot.

Oh, how Israel wished there were more hours of darkness. It had become morning already, and Israel had just finished his latest 'artwork'. People like him were oft considered to be an evolution of that child who drew on the walls in their house, but he knew that wasn't true. If film critiques or latte art could be given artistic merit, then why not graffiti?

There were few better places to vandalize than a park bench. Quick, inoffensive, and noticeable enough to leave an impact. Israel found that parks as a whole were a good site. As he was putting his spray cans back into his bag, he spotted a man. He didn't seem much older than Israel, but was even thinner and paler.

Iz saw that the man had a frisbee in his hands. Strange. There was nobody around to play with. He had crazy hair too, like he hadn't combed it in weeks. Was he... homeless? Nah, that couldn't have been it. He dressed too nicely. Less modern homeless man, more... Rastafarian Sherlock Holmes. Iz walked over to him.

"You wanna play Frisbee?" Iz offered the man, footbraking his skateboard.

"Perhaps!" he shouted back from the tree. With a swift throw he sent the disc into the opposite direction of the wind, causing it to turn around and crash onto the ground at the base of the tree. He began his descent, which took approximately one and a half minutes to complete. "Good morning, skateboarder. Is this your frisbee?" he asked, pointing towards it. "It was at the top of the tree." He considered the possibility of the skateboarder lying, and claiming it as his own, and was prepared to, if he deemed so, bring it back to the top of the tree and throw it well out of sight, so that it may never be reached again. Such is the fate of those who attempt to steal. They obtain nothing in the end.

The weirdo in the tree yeeted the frisbee into the ground near Israel. He seemed to... struggle getting off of the tree, his spindly arms barely supporting his weight. "No, it's not my frisbee. If you found it and you're not going to use it, then you should probably try and find the owner." Israel chuckled internally. He personally wouldn't seek out the owner of a lost tree frisbee. That type of thing wasn't in his nature. He supposed few people actually would end up tracking down the frisbee's owner.

"What's your name?" Iz asked the strange young man. He had an air of self-importance that Iz couldn't quite pinpoint. A manner of speaking that was equal parts condescending and wise. Not to mention his strange reference to Israel as simply 'skateboarder'.

Finding the frisbee's owner? Such a kind suggestion. The skateboarder was clearly a kindhearted person. "That would be a good choice. However, there is no way to discern the owner. Fortunately, anyone who would bring a toy to a park would most likely be an often enough patron to return here within the next few days. If I leave it here, the chance of the owner reobtaining it is much more likely than if I sought them out on my own." Yuri dropped the frisbee on the ground. "While there may be other options that appear more charitable, realistically, leaving it right here is the most considerate." The man of the skateboard then asked for his name. "My name is Yuri. What's yours?" With his return of the question directing his focus towards the skateboarder, he noted that his outfit didn't seem to match the way he expressed himself. The 'Cool Kid' appearance, of stylish jackets and shoes, his knit hat even displaying the iconic symbol of anarchy. Such an outfit would only belong to a troublemaker. Despite no valid reason to, he decided he would hesitate to trust this man.

What a strange dude, Iz thought. He was lanky and had pale white skin, with empty sleepless eyes. That made two of them, Israel supposed. "If you leave it here, there's also the chance that someone else will pick it up. I know it doesn't matter much, but I don't have anything better to do. And so it would seem, neither do you." He snickered lightly. He supposed he could waste a while trying to find the frisbee's owner. It wasn't as if he could do his works in the broad daylight.

"My name's Iz. I'm... an artist. I also work at a skateshop, but I've got today off. I have... literally nothing else to do that's mildly interesting. There is that new Featherman movie, but I'm not a big fan of the new movies anyways." He walked over and picked the orange frisbee off of the ground, looking for an identifier. He was not a master detective by any means, but he did note the strange state of the disc.

Dirt and grime stains were present, but that was the weird thing. It had rained the night prior, meaning that the disc should've been cleaned overnight. But it was dry, with the caked on bits of mud and grass creating a crusty shell over one edge. It had been used earlier that morning, definitely. He made note of this to Yuri.

For there to be a possibility someone else would pick it up? That did exist, he acknowledged. When the skateboarder introduced himself, Yuri did the same. "Nice to meet you, Iz. My name is Yuri." Featherman? He hadn't heard of such a movie. He mistook Iz to say he didn't like watching movies in general. "I'm glad you think that way. It's good to opt instead for productive deeds. I applaud you."

The one known as Iz raised a legitimate point. However, it prompted him ask another question. "If it's so dirty, why was it being used? I would assume one would clean it, though not all would. It depends on the individual, of course. Since it was found in the tree, perhaps the owner saw how dirty it was and didn't want to clean it, so they threw it as far as they could for the purpose of fun. Does that sound plausible?"

Israel turned the frisbee around in his hands once more. "Well. I can't find a name on it." He said. "I guess we can set it somewhere where they'll find it." He took a sticky note from his satchel, and put it on the frisbee's front. He didn't figure that the park had a lost and found, due to it's relatively low staff influence. He took out a sharpie, and wrote on the sticky note. "If it's not yours, don't take it." It read. A stern, but nonetheless nonthreatening note. It would work just fine. He walked over to the tree where Yuri sat, and tucked the frisbee in-between it's gnarled roots.

He turned his back to walk away, before turning around and looking at Yuri. "I'm sure I'll see you again, Yuri." He saluted with a single finger, and smirked lightly. Yuri intrigued Israel greatly. A strange person, with many similarities to himself. He felt the similarities, sure, but his intuition told him there were key differences about the ways they thought. Israel hadn't met many people since moving here, and Yuri was an interesting pick to be one of the first. He'd be sure to remember him.

---------> Israel exits...

Israel leaving his note was most likely the best thing to do. How wonderful. Upon hearing his departure message, Yuri smiled and returned with "Farewell then." After everything, he considered that Iz was most likely a good, upstanding person. He seemed trustworthy enough. With nothing left to do here, perhaps it was time he took his leave.

EXIT