The Brightness of Experience

Grace
It is not quite the time of year to be wearing a coat, but Grace has one on anyway -- a sharp red number with black plastic strips along the seams. She expects to be here when the sun has set for real and things get more than just a little chilly.

She is also lying down in the grass, her feet dangling into the pool that is the Node, her shoes and socks a safe distance away, so they can't tip into the water and ruin her day.

As usual, any approaching person will find her with her head squarely in her phone. Even here, she needs her internet like she needs her caffeine. And she's even wearing her special coffee-bean stud earrings today, to drive home her love of the latter.

Mr. Evian
Caleb has acquired a dog.

He put the dog in his pocket one day, namely because he had no idea what to do with aforementioned dog when he picked it up and didn’t quite want to put it down. People were talking and migrating. He wasn’t sure of the social protocol to keep going or engaging so he just… yeah. Caleb has a Chihuahua now.

It’s a tiny thing. Tiny, tiny thing and that is the first herald of Caleb’s approach. It is a small ball of fluff bounding over to the node at what would be a pretty reasonable speed were it not for the fact that the dog is so. Damn. Small. It has tiny legs and tiny paws and tiny everything (except a giant head because it’s a Chihuahua and they have huge heads in proportion to the rest of them). He decided that he didn’t want to wear shoes.

Where he walks, the world seems more alive. Grass seems more robust, healthier, happier.

The Chihuahua decides to attack Grace’s elbow, as soon as it gets there. Or if it wasn’t so far away.

Grace
There are the tiniest of barks. That's what initially draws Grace's attention away from her phone -- the yips of an excited chihuahua. And when she sees it -- it? Him? Her? her eyes alight with happiness.

This happiness is not abated in the slightest by the fact that it begins to gnaw her elbow.

"Oh. My God. You are so cute, I don't even mind the fact that you're attempting to eat me," Grace says, in her talking-to-cute-animals voice.

Mr. Evian
He hungers! Oh, how he hungers. And tries to get at Grace’s elbow and only succeeding in  flipping over on his back and sticking his tiny, tiny legs up in the air. I’m so vicious. Look at me, arrrrr

Wiggle wiggle wiggle.

“Ahhh, dog, why? Why are you trying to eat her?”

Hi Grace, this is the random awakened guy you met at the book store.

Grace
"I have a flavor, apparently," Grace says, reaching out with a finger to boop the dog on the nose. It'll probably be a bitten finger. She doesn't much care. "And that flavor is delicious! It's delicious, oh yes..."

There is a saying that states that the closer one is to a cute animal, the more inane the average human's statements become. Grace isn't average, but at least she's somewhat human.

Well, somewhat. She is also almost entirely ignoring Caleb in her complete focus on cute dog.

Mr. Evian
It wouls appear, however, that Grace is in the presence of non-humans. Which, of course, consists of the dog (who did try to eat her finger) and Caleb, who plopped down somewhere between the dog and the house, and is content to watch the Chihuahua try to play with Grace.

And he tries, he has his little mouth around her finger and has forgotten that he is trying to eat her and, instead, decides he is going to start licking the finger. His little eyes try to focus on her, and by the time he forgets what he’s doing his tongue is hanging out. The term, Caleb had learned, wasblep.

The dog looks between Grace and Claeb, trying to figure out very clearly what it was that he was doing here and what he was supposed to be doing.

Grace
And so, Grace wiles away a little time being utterly enchanted with all things pertaining to the cute dog -- its adorable ears, its stubby tail, the way it shows its tiny affection.

It takes her a while longer for that attention to shift to the dog's bipedal companion.

"You're ah... Caleb, yeah? This dog is unbelievable. So tiny! Does he have a name?"

Mr. Evian
“I don’t know how to ask him his name,” he says with a sigh, “he must have one, but I’ve just been calling him dog. I have been waiting to ask Annie to ask him, but she must have better things to do than ask her houseguests’ dog companion what his name is.”

“You’re Grace?”

Grace
"Hmm," Grace says, with an upturned mouth. "You know, if he has a name he calls himself, it's probably unpronounceable by people. Some combination of yips we'd never be able to imitate. If you chose a human name for him, it wouldn't be the first time someone didn't get to pick their own."

She puts her phone down at last, stuffing it into one of her shoes.

"I'm sure he'd love whatever name you came up with."

Mr. Evian
A phone!

Grace’s hand moves and the dog bounds over to try and catch the phone, because it will be his phone. Yes, yes it will be his phone and then he will be living with it and it will be his and then? And then?! Oh, damn, the hand is there again, time to try and eat the hand again.

“Names are so important, though. I got to choose my name, or at least most of it, I suppose it would be more like a nickname. I’m sure he has something he calls me.”

Mouth curls up at the corners, “what about Bill? What do you think about a name?”

Grace
"Bill's cool," she says, laughs when the dog goes after her hand again. Man, she must have dog magnets in her fingertips. "Bitey Bill."

"You got to choose the name Caleb? Why Caleb? I mean... what drew you to that name?"

She swishes her feet around in the Node's waters, a calming kind of noise.

Mr. Evian
"I read a lot of Christian mythology and I thought the idea of being one of the few people who was able to see the promised land after a long, long journey seemed really appealing. I found him interesting as a character, and it means bold. Or dog. Dogs are known for being loyal so... why not be known for being bold and loyal?"

Bill, as he has been dubbed, concludes that he needs to eat her fingers. Makes his vicious, vicious little sound and tries to pounce on her with his little, little paws. Bitey Bill is not a bright dog by any stretch for the imagination.

"Why did you pick Grace?"

Grace
"I didn't pick Grace. My mom did," she says, with perhaps a little more venom than is really warranted.

"But hey, that's not a bad reason for a name there. A bit of the Cynic about you? I don't mean that in a bad way. I have a lot of appreciation for Diogenes."

Mr. Evian
"Humans have complicated every simple gift from the gods," he says with a smile, a nod to the fact that he understood, "and I can appreciate the need and desire for independence. I wish I knew more about Diogenes, but my knowledge is lacking. Most of my education in the subject was directed entirely around history."

A moment, then he smiled, bright and pleased, "I like the name Grace. It has a lot of meaning. It flows off the pen."

Grace
Grace rolls her eyes. "It also doesn't describe me in the slightest. But then, how are you supposed to accurately describe a person before they're born, like, you know, when most names are given?"

She kicks at the water, then, raising a foot that's starting to go all pruned.

"I've had nicknames," she says, smiles then at a memory. Blackberries and rain. "One guy I know always calls me Kit, like a fox cub? It fits me better."

Mr. Evian
“Then stop being called Grace and start being called Kit,” as though it was that simple. For Caleb, it seems to be that simple- if you don’t like your name, change it. Simple enough.

He looks at her again.

“Why do you think that Grace doesn’t fit?”

Grace
"'Cause I'm about as graceful as a newborn giraffe, both with words and on my feet? I don't know. It just doesn't."

She attempts to pet the newly-monikered Bill. It'll probably result in another play-bite, but that's just so adorable anyway.

"I guess somebody showed you where the Chantry is, eh? I mean, obviously. Or you wouldn't be here..."

Mr. Evian
And it does. This is Bill. Bill’s response to anyone trying to love him is to try to eat them, then realize that he likes pettings, which ends in him licking and nuzzling and bouncing like a popcorning guinea pig.

“Margot brought me here,” he replied, “and Annie said I could stay. I’ve started on the westmost shelves in the library and I’ve been working around. If I keep at my usual pace I should be done with it in… eight months? She has a lot of books.”

Grace
"Aww. Margot and Annie are nice people," she says, "And you... you are just precious. Precious!"

A beat.

"The dog. I mean the dog."

She sighs contentedly at Bill's little bouncing antics. This is, well, just what she needed, really.

"I've been meaning to set up a place like this near the city. No Node, of course. I don't know how to make them, or if that's even possible. But Annie's said she'll donate the library in digital form, and I'll have space for people. I just haven't gotten around to it, because..."

Mr. Evian
"Because..?"

Grace
She paused there because perhaps the next words will break the spell of calm on this place. It's hard to talk about.

"Well, because I'm busy. There's been murders and disappearances I'm investigating. I'm really glad you ended up here, to be honest. It's safer."

Mr. Evian
He thinks about this. It's an odd thing, because the way that he looks is at once distant and a little like one would expect a toddler to look when they're processing a very complicated thought.

"I don't understand why someone would actively want to kill another person," he says, "there's a sacredness in living, in how much effort and energy it takes to become alive. It seems like you'd be destroying art."

Grace
She frowns a bit, as if trying to figure Caleb out -- a mirror of his own toddleresque quality.

"There's many reasons. The noblest of which is to end someone's great suffering. But I don't think these deaths were so noble. For one, if they were, we'd already know why the people died."

Mr. Evian
"But... if it's noble then it's not murder. Murder is harmful- ending someone's suffering isn't harmful."

A second, a beat as he pieces through what is going on, and what he knows.

"How did they die?"

Grace
"In one case, hypothermia. In two others, gunshots to the head and chest. In three others, we have no clue, and can only guess that they might be dead. They just never came back home."

She pets Bill again, Bill the oblivious. Bill the bitey. It makes things easier, somehow, when there's something that simple around. Bite and bounce and lick, in that order.

"It's all gone down in Colorado Springs, but yeah. From all accounts, they were all fresh Awakened Mages. That has everybody understandably worried that it might spread to here."

Mr. Evian
"Maybe people didn't want them anymore," he says. Doesn't insist, but offers as though this was a very real possibility. That life can be sacred on one hand but so easily tossed aside the next.

He nods, "I think things are okay here. Everyone seems to be really nice and Annie has a nice house and people are welcome here. There is a lot of support."

Grace
Maybe people didn't want them anymore. There's a sad statement. It has her petting arm going limp, to Bill's dismay. "I don't think that was it. They were missed."

It's possible to not be missed. The concept isn't really lost on Grace. On the contrary, she knows it too well.

"And, I'm glad to hear that you have the support you need here."

Mr. Evian
A second passes, and he sits with the idea that someone missed these people- did he know if he was missed? Did he know if his creator really cared for him, if he was more than just lab equipment? Why would he have been given away so easily, he wasn't ready to go and yet... the longer he moves on the more he wonders if he should have feelings about his state.

"What's a Mormon?"

Grace
"Er..."

Bit of a non sequitur, that. It has the train of Grace's mind a bit derailed for a second, as she tries to come up with an answer that makes sense.

"It's um... an offshoot of Protestant Christianity? Started by Joseph Smith, I think? They believe in angels a lot, and abstain from coffee, which is like," she huffs out a laugh. "A holy sacrament to me, so I'm obviously not Mormon. Why do you ask?"

Mr. Evian
"I tell people I'm from Utah and they keep asking if I'm a Mormon and at first I thought it was like being an alien? And then I wondered if it was an ethnicity? And I don't know what my ethnicity is, so I thought maybe I'm a Mormon?" he shrugged, "I figured you would know."

Grace
"Caleb, where are you from? I mean, besides just Utah..."

She sighs, sits up from her awkward lying-down-and-petting-chihuahua position.

"Eh. I guess you don't need to tell me if you don't want to, I just... I don't know anyone from Utah who wouldn't know what Mormonism is. Sometimes the question of where you come from doesn't just mean a location."

Mr. Evian
"I've been with a member of the Society of Ether for the entirety of my existence up until now," he says, shrugs and says this as though this is normal. As though spending time with awakened society was just how people lived their lives.

"We spent all our time in Eden, and then I left and came here," he said, "it's a lot more lively than being there."

Grace
"So... Isolated, like? Your whole life? They obviously didn't teach you everything you needed to know, did they? Like, well. For instance. What's a Mormon."

There's better ways of putting all this. Grace winces at herself for it, and resumes petting the bouncing ball of fluff, although she can't help but plaster her worry over Caleb all over her face.

He's just so... sheltered.

Mr. Evian
"Mormons never really came up. I have a basic introduction to numerous subjects, though. History, theoretical physics, the American legal system, superstitionist theories, gardening," he could go on and on, "and I know how to disassemble and reassemble most conventional electronic equipment to cannibalize for parts."

"Science doesn't need to be completely expensive."

He pauses.

"Are Mormons going to come up a lot?"

Grace
"Maybe. That and murders. There's stuff you can't easily just... learn out of a book. And as such, you're about to learn a lot. Not all of it good. Most of it, completely bizarre."

She swings around, and grabs her pruny, wet feet, so that she can more easily look him eye-to-eye, even if she rarely actually manages to do so.

"But... Someone told me once, that your eyes get opened to the beauty of the world along with the ugliness. There will be good things to learn, too."

Mr. Evian
"I'm finding that... the people you interact with and see... they're a lot more interesting than the magick of it all. This... maybe we're drawn to what's new."

Grace
"I did mean the people you interact with and see. There's not a whole lot of difference between that and the magick of it all, when you get down to it. I mean..."

She stares up into the sky, the stars starting to come out -- and from a place this remote, you can see them so clear.

"What Margot and Annie did for you, the support you have, that's beautiful. The ones who hate and kill, not so much. But they don't get to dull the brightness of experience."

The Mall of Doominess

Caleb
Bookstores are not, in fact, libraries. Sure, they encourage you to actually enjoy the books before you buy them but they don't actually ever really intend someone to finish the whole book before they purchase it. It doesn't seem like the best idea. It doesn't seem like a good business model but nobody would sell any books at all if they were shrink wrapped and kept on shelves like they were there just to be protected from dust, like all of them held pornographic ideas that shouldn't be given to people who aren't truly capable of understanding them.

No, who decides what we should be able to handle in our books? Who decides but those who manufacture, but those who bring out the product and sell it to the consumers, because even in information there is consumerism. There is a trade of something monetary for something intangible- the story. The idea. Something that you can't really return, and in effect reading a book in the book store was theft because you took what was truly of value and left its husk; it was peeling the banana, eating it, and then leaving the peel behind. You took its substance and left only the means that it was used to trasport the best parts to you.

Caleb, you see, had a concept of theft. You don't take something that isn't yours but information, but the words, the things that make up books don't really belong to anyone. So, he didn't seem to have a real problem with them. So there he is, forgettable but sprawled out in the aisle of some indie bookstore with aisles as thin and lacking in personal space as a piece of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture. The books are in some particular order, not arranged in the traditional way but in another traditional way- this particular place decided to play with the Dewey Decimal system instead of the standard layout of a place that has the fiction dominating a place.

He's in the eight hundreds. Somewhere between 820 and 830 in a dingy drab olive Army surplus jacket and a pair of tennis shoes that look like they've seen a couple marathons and survived to tell the tale. The staff leaves him alone.

Grace
The mall is not Grace's cup of tea.

It is a temple. A bastion of hyperreality, dedicated to the gods of consumerism. As if churches weren't already bad enough, these things show off what they're really about. Money. Buying. Selling.

Of course, they do try to hide that, a little. Everywhere, there are pictures of happy, beautiful people. If only one consumes enough, one might become like them. Nice, sunlit, happy. It makes Grace want to puke.

About the only thing this place has to offer her is the bookstore, which if any other place in town were selling "Structures: Why Things Don't Fall Down", then she would have gone there. Sometimes, you have to grit your teeth and participate in the fallen world, just to get what you need.

First thing she's going to do is scan this text and upload it somewhere, because fuck having to pay for information...

Grace
[Awareness!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Caleb
[Do I feel a people? Per+aware, -2 because arcane]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Caleb
There is a feeling of something. Something that makes him look up from the books that he may or may not (definitely not) be purchasing. A feeling that makes the wind blow without it actually blowing. A feeling that is slight, a wrongness or a rightness but nothing strong enough to be felt beyond being off. And yes, there is something off in the air. He looks up from English literature and poetry and words, words, words to feel a shift in the winds.

Ultimately, the stag concudes that the snap in the branches is not enough to warrant him looking around too far for too long. There is a spark of creativity, a spark of something that has a keen edged mind and an ear for change. Something that glides along the cutting edge like a whet stone and rolls away the layers of dust and grime to peel back into something new. Not a literal peel. Nothing painful save for the pain that comes with change, with seeing the world grow and blossom outside of yourself.

Olive
[ah, what the hell.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6) ( success x 1 )

Olive
This bookstore may as well be a library, as far as its layout is concerned. As far as its patrons are concerned, it is a little slice of heaven that smells like binding paste and leather. The occasional waft of secondhand smoke clinging to a flannel shirt or perfume on a stranger's wrist.

She is not far from the 800s herself, having sat herself down cross-legged in a corner. Small space like that almost makes the girl invisible. She is short and her braids make a curtain if she tilts her head the right way and she is reading through a stack of poetry volumes trying to decide which one she wants to take home with her and read until it falls apart.

Grace can tell she's there, still as a fasting nun and as peaceful besides. She looks up at the tennis shoes' passage and lets her nostrils flare though her physical senses are of no use here. For now the slim volume stays open.

Grace
Shit. It's happening again, isn't it? Confluence. She looks up at the ceiling, and glares at it. Universe, you can be creepy sometimes. For fuck's sake.

They aren't people she knows, the resonance isn't familiar. But it's there.

Where once she might have turned tail and fled due to the danger of Technocrats (and there is a danger) now, she wants to stay. At the very least, figure out what these people are about.

There are people here. More people than Mages. Who is who? She looks around, eyes not lingering on any one person for too long, lest they actually look back at her.

Caleb
(Do I physically notice Grace? Per+alert -2 (arcane), wearing glasses so diff 6)

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

Nicholas
Nick is here looking for a present.  Nick has been trawling bookstores looking for a present for months, and none has yet happened upon him.

He is not here, as one might expect, for his wife.  If he were here for Pen it would not have taken him months.  His Hermetic sister (he has two of them see) is the one who is very difficult to buy for.

And normally he probably wouldn't be setting foot in a mall except maybe to try to find a new pair of shoes or a belt, and he probably wouldn't be looking in a bookstore in one, but: desperate times.  (One of his old mentors has told him, often, how the Technocracy has taken to building shopping malls on wellsprings and nodes, and Patricia often spoke of these things with distaste.  Perhaps he might have some bias.)  And so here we are.  The place had come recommended by people who are more knowledgeable about such things than Nicholas Hyde.

He's not there yet, but still walking down one of the aisles with his head down and his hands in his pockets, his thoughts elsewhere.  Sooner or later he'll turn into the bookstore, once he finds it.

Caleb
pokepoke

There is a person on the other side of the shelf, and he isn't meaning to poke her but the book shelves are hollowed things and double sided, so pushing a longer book back to be flush will, in turn, cause another book to be shoved backwards. He pushes again, not quite noticing the place of poking until he realizs he's prodding some be-braided person in the shoulder with a book about... uh... something.

The poking ceases. "Sorry," he whispers, and sounds like an announcer at a golf tournament.

And looking up from that poke he notices a singularly normal and unremarkable piece of wall furniture like himself... but this one is staring at the ceiling. His brows knit together and a frown comes across his face. He looks up at the ceiling, and then back at Grace-

"... what's wrong on the ceiling?"

Olive
Were Grace to have looked at her for very long she would have seen Olive looking right back at her. But Grace decides to look at the ceiling instead and Olive decides well maybe she ought to stand up but then a book comes tumbling off the shelf and bounces off the faux-leather shoulder of her jacket and onto the floor.

Sorry.

She whispers back, "No worries."

And, on knees and one hand, reaches out to rescue the book. A glance at the spine and a glance up at the place from whence it fell. Up onto her knees. She starts to shuffle-walk on her knees around the bookshelf without getting to her feet, which are clad in black Converse sneakers, because of course they are.

Grace
When looking for the weird, don't worry. The weird will come to you. Someone talks to her, asks her what is wrong with the ceiling, and it's...

"The universe. It's wrong."

Way to inspire confidence in people, Grace. Bravo.

"I was just telling it off."

Caleb
"Why do you think the universe is wrong? That seems like a bold statement," he asks this, not in an accusatory way, but rather like someone who was seeking information, like he may well have been holding a notebook instead of a lap full of English literature.

He looks back at the shelf- from the shelf to Grace and back at the shelf. He leans a little to the side, trying to get a better look through the shelf and concludes that this isn't working. Caleb then decides to scoot to the other side to get a better look at people whilst still talking to Grace.

It's not Graceful, though. He doesn't get far with his butt-scooting.

Grace
"Because. I never come here. It's slimy in malls. But every time I do, I run into somebody."

Well, yeah. It's not that uncommon to run into people in malls. Malls are typically full of people. But not Mages.

"What's your name, Mystery Man?"

Nicholas
Nick rounds a corner.  Nick passes the bookstore, in spite of the fact that the windows are lined with bookshelves and old pulp advertisements; this is how deep in thought he is.  Or how distracted by something else he is.  You decide.

Nick ends up somewhere far down the way and realizes he has no idea where the bookstore is.  He consults one of the floorplan maps available of the mall stores, and tracks his path back to the place with a fingertip.

Back he comes.

And then, finally here he is, passing through the front archway.

Caleb
"... if you didn't run into anyone at the mall, I think it would be because the mall is closed."

His brows knit together again. He scoots over again and again before finally deciding to give up on that, get to his knees, and meander to the other aisle where the woman he poked with the book was. He keeps talking to Grace.

"I'm Caleb, what's your name?"

Grace
"Grace," she says. Her mouth curves up a bit when he calls her on the absurdity of what she's saying.

"Well. I run into people all the time. But few who resonate."

She doesn't quite stop saying the absurd, but yes. There is a point to this. The average person overhearing their conversation might come to the conclusion that Grace has a few marbles missing, but she's okay with carrying that burden. She follows along as Caleb walks.

Nicholas
[Alertness?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Nicholas
There's a voice that is beginning to become familiar; many of Denver's voices are, finally.  Regardless: Nick hears Grace, and he hears Grace talking to someone he doesn't know.  By the time she and Caleb are nearing Nick he is at one of the bookshelves in the metaphysics section, arms folded as his eyes scan the titles.

He is not content with whatever he sees, apparently.

Nevertheless, he hears them and so he pokes his head over the top of the nearby shelves to look for them and determine whether Grace is in the mood to be interrupted, and for how long.  Not every social outing welcomes add-ons, after all.

Caleb
"... is everyone else inaudible?"

He... does not get what she is saying. It's clear on his face and he shifts awkwardly from one side to the next, off in his own little bubble of being vaguely oblivious and having, well, missed.

Grace
Grace notices Nick hanging out there. She doesn't understand why he might be hanging back. At the most, she attributes his reticence to something that makes sense to her. The last time they talked, she had to get away before starting a fight. Maybe he just doesn't want to poke a bear.

But Caleb, he is a mystery. A new thing to turn over and see if it is a threat.

"Inaudible to the sixth sense? Yes."

Caleb
[Do I notice Nick as a human person?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )

Grace
[He is not a human. He is a meat popsicle.]

Caleb
"All people resonate in their own way in both a mundane and metaphysical way, they just don't know it yet. They're just not loud enough yet," he says, muses over it and seems like a thoughtful baritone instead of a stern and dismissive one. He doesn't seem to be a dismissive sort. Caleb takes a look around again, past Grace to Nick to Grace noticing Nick.

Nick gets a smile, and a wave. Obviously, Nick and Grace know each other, so they should want to be together and talk, right? Of course right. He smiles like a pleased golden retriever.

Nicholas
Resonance.  Sixth sense.  Nick can catch those words from where he's standing.  And he does indeed remember how things left off last time with Grace; he of course knows that Grace and Pen had a conversation outside the bar, because there is little he and his wife don't share with each other.

Nonetheless, Grace's friend gives him a smile and a wave and Nick, too, smiles and waves at the two of them.  "Hello, Grace," he says, and takes a few steps so that he can find himself on the conversation's periphery.  There is a glance toward Caleb, a friendly incline of his head, a once or twice-over.

Grace
Ahh, good. Caleb is not a complete newbie. She was beginning to wonder.

"Nick. Hello. This is Caleb. I found him just now, wandering the stacks."

There is no friendly smile to greet him, not anymore. Just sticking to the facts for now, because that's how things go. There is more to discuss than just Caleb, but perhaps it's best not to do that in front of someone who might be a Technocratic plant, for all his talk about metaphysics.

Caleb
He leans forward, puts a hand on the ground, and stands up to his rather impressive height of... average. He's a couple inches over five and a half feet tall. Dark hair, dark eyes, and of an indeterminate ethnic origin.

There is a strange sort of tension, though, or rather he does notice the lack of smile from Grace.

"... you're not friends, are you?"

There's always a delay in his voice, a delay when the baritone is talking because it seems like he's taking the time to process what is going around, as though the world is full of data. As though everything is worth noticing and everything is worth latching on to.

Nicholas
"Nice to meet you, Caleb," Nick says, and he extends a hand toward the other man.  "I'm Nick Hyde."

He is not as suspicious of Technocratic plants: at least if one takes him at face value.  His regard for Caleb seems warm enough, at this point.

That is, until Caleb asks a very direct question and Nick's brows furrow in a wince.  He glances sidelong at Grace.  "We're on the same side and everything," he says, "but there's been a little tension recently, yeah.  It's nothing you have to worry about, Caleb."  When talking to people with observation skill but little tact, sometimes honesty is best.

Grace
"What Nick said," she says, because he's better at explaining things by far.

Then, she pulls out her cell phone. Types away at it for a bit.

Grace
Nick's phone alerts him however it is set to, with the following text messages.

Some shit's gone down. I need to tell you about it.

Meet me at Auraria Student Lofts, apartment 203, after the bookstore?

Caleb
There is a hand to shake! Ah, he knows what to do with this, and he reaches forward to take the hand offered and he grasps- firm and comfortable with work. His hands aren't soft. Up down. Up down. Stop. He nods once it's done, a confirmation to himself. Aha! Done right!

"Oh," he says once Nick gives his appraisal of the situation, and there is a lag in that moment before he replies, "I'm sorry that happened, I hope things get better." It's a genuine statement, devoid of all things resembling sarcasm not unlike when you're talking to a four year old. It's rare to have that lack of guile.

Grace isn't saying much, just three words and then whips out her phone.

"Oh! Where did you get that?"

Surprise, delight.

Nicholas
It's rare to have that lack of guile, and the slight curl at the corner of Nick's mouth indicates that he might appreciate it, even.  "I hope they do too," he says.

There is a vibration there in his pocket, and Nick after a moment pulls his phone out of his own pocket and glances at the screen.  He tucks it away again moments later, glancing amused between Caleb and Grace.  "I was here to get a present for my sister, actually, so I can't really stick around.  I'll hopefully see you around though, Caleb," he says.

Grace
He's getting a present for his sister, can't stick around. Sounds like an excuse, maybe, but whatever. That's not important at all. His knowing what she's discovered, that matters.

Caleb asks where she got her phone, and she says: "Online. Amazon."

Amazon has everything, and despite it being a similar interface with consumerist religious practices? At least you don't have to deal with actual people.

"It's a OnePlus Three."

Caleb
"That would be cool, I hope to see you around too, Nick Hyde," all one name. "There's some cool books here, there is probably one she'll like."

Grace tells him it's a OnePLus three... which makes Caleb's brows knit together and makes a frown cross his face.

"So... it's... a four?"

Nicholas
"Hope you both enjoy your day."  Nick waves at the two of them and then circles back around to the other end of the stacks, wandering farther into the bookstore.

Nicholas
Once Nick has left, Grace receives a reply text:

Another day, maybe.  Don't have long today.  I'll text you later and we can meet up in a couple of days.

Grace
There's something off about Caleb. Which is a realization not unlike the pot's upon figuring out that the kettle is black.

"I think maybe that's what they were going for, when naming their company OnePlus."

"You're new here," she says, with a fair bit of confidence. She knows everyone in Denver. "Where are you from?"

Caleb
Where was he from? This makes him think. Makes him legitimately think. While doing so the young man moves to start picking up the books he;d strewn out on the floor and putting them away carefully. There's no hesitation in knowing where they went, though. It's the Dewey decimal system, he doesn't have any difficulty with it because the locations were obvious.

Where is he from?

"... like, my home town?"

Grace
Grace shrugs. "Sure."

"Home town, the last place you visited before coming to Denver... Whatever. I'm curious. Unless you don't want to say."

Caleb
"Fifteen miles outside of Moab. Have you been? Utah's really nice, I caught a ride down here with a couple truck drivers. Where are you from?"

Grace
"I'm from Phoenix, Arizona," she says. "So, pretty close to where you started out, I guess."

Poor kid. As guileless as he is, to have hitched his way here?

"No car, huh? Do you need a ride somewhere?"

Caleb
"No, I don't have anywhere to be. Thank you though," he says to Grace. She says she's from Phoenix and he nods once, twice, a third time as though he needs to log that away in his memory.

"I think I might stay in Denver for a little while. Should I?"

Grace
She grimaces a bit, looks down to some detail on his clothing. "Maybe. It's not any worse than other places are, but... It can be pretty awful. We'll try to keep you safe."

Hi, welcome to the hellhole, just like the hellhole you're from! Want a basket of cookies? Some pumpkin bread?



Caleb
"Safety isn't a guaranteed part of the human experience."

Not hard. Not harsh. Just fact, like he was reporting some grand truth that was clear and curt and concise. The human experience was not rife with safety, this was a myth. He doesn't sound jaded or edged or woeful or pained. His clothes aren't new by any means. That coat looks like it's walked more than its fair share of marathons.

"Don't worry about it."

Grace
"Don't tell me what to worry about," she says, little lift of a smile.

"It's never guaranteed, no. But it can be... lured. With promises of cake. Or maybe safety likes whiskey?"

She banishes that notion, a moment after saying it. "No. Safety doesn't like whiskey. Hah."

Caleb
"I don't think I've ever had whiskey," he muses, "what's not to like about it?"

Grace
"Never? Really? Hmm. Well, it's alcohol, so it can make you feel like doing unsafe things. But aside from that...."

Mmm. Moab. Utah. There's a reason why somebody his age might not have ever had a drink before, right?

"It burns when it goes down. The first drink, heh."

Caleb
"... none of that sounds pleasant at all, I think that safety might be right in avoiding whiskey."

He makes a face like he's really not to sure about this whole whiskey thing. He's doing to have to think about it, and the thought it clearly written across his face that, perhaps, this should be something he should avoid.

Grace
"Up to you, man. My drug of choice is caffeine. You have had coffee, right?"

Mormon test. They are abstinent when it comes to all things addictive.

"Well, that and weed. It's even legal here, so..."

Caleb
He shakes his head no. And then, again, for the legal weed. He blinks a couple of times, puts his hand back in his pockets and shrugged.

"We didn't really have that stuff at home. I didn't have chocolate before I left, either."

Grace
"Do you wanna?"

Look at Grace, right now. Pushing drugs on the poor sheltered newbie. Drugs like chocolate. And coffee. Her face just lights up at the prospect of introducing somebody to coffee, of all things.

"It's okay if you don't."

You'll just ruin her day, is all.

Caleb
"Okay, that sounds good. Just let me get my backpack from the front- do you know a place that makes coffee?"

Oh, does Grace Evans know some place that makes coffee? HA.