River
There is a taquería in Federal that smells like smoked meat and limes when someone opens the door and walks out of it.
River doesn't know what's good here. Hasn't figured out what is worth eating and what is worth not eating, but she just got off work and she wants food. they had a lunch client come in. Had tall men in slick suits yammer on about fortunes and their most recent investments. What buil;ding they were going to buy next. River hadn't cared, but she had listened just long enough to one of them that his name stuck to the back of her mind. Jeffrey Ulrich. She remembered it, because something about the man unsettled her. It wasn't something, you see, if was a stain on the place where his cufflink met his suit. She'd think about that stain later.
But not right now. Because, right now, River Vasquez was hungry, and following the intermittent smell of food as the door to the restaurant opens and closes. She doesn't trust a taco place that doesn't have signs tht are also written in spanish, call it a little food racism on her part but we digress. She's carrying a purse the size of California, and her heels click together in the bag. She's got on a pair of flip flops and some yoga pants. Her toes are painted pink with some gold sparkling accent.
She's got gold on her collarbone. Gold in her hair, the top she's wearing is large and white and sits largely off the shoulders. River had sucked it up and put a bra on after work, too. The bra is pink, the straps cross in the back. Her hair is thrown up in a ponytail and she approaches the taquería with trepidation. What if it's bad? What if she's *gasp*
disappointed and has to get food somewhere else?
Questions, questions.
Elliott Chandler
[How distracted are we by Resonance today?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 6 )
Elliott Chandler
Sometimes, the best things we can do for ourselves is to slip out of the lives and expectations and barriers we have so carefully crafted. Sometimes we shed our skins to find love and hope and everything we have struggled for all along. Some things you cannot claim with desire or intent or even blood.
And so, in some ways, River does not encounter Kalen Michael Holliday. That is, after all, as much title and vow as it is an identity.
He might be about to shed that Name. That title. That vow.
Today, he is wearing a vintage corduroy coat in a rich brown over blue jeans and a cream long-sleeved tee-shirt with a steampunk lion on it. He is not wearing the customary weight of the Order and duty. That, after all, is not what this Elliott is for. He is, instead, reading a book about spirit photography and half-ignoring a plate of chicken tacos with a mole sauce and extra red bell peppers. There is also a mango margarita, which he is ignoring less than the tacos but more than his book.
His eyes, so pale as to render their color indistinguishable at a distance, rise upward from the pages of his book to regard River when she comes in. There is no increase in tension. No hostility. There is also, at least not yet, any sign of friendliness. Instead, for the first few seconds, there is only curiosity.
River
[ DO I notice anything?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )
River
What walks through that door is springtime. Something warm and glowing, something radiant like the sun's first rays, something insistent like the sun that would always rise. Would always come along until it burned out of the sky. The sun does as the sun will- it is dependable that way; springtime is only capricious to those who are short-sighted.
She walks in, not too tall but not too short, with her giant pink purse which she adjusts a little uncomfortably as she takes in the number of people in the room and the general aura of the place. It doesn't send her turning around though, sunshine creature that she is. And while she is making her rounds around the room, taking her walk up to place her order and hope for the best, her attentions fall twice on a table.
She doesn't know Elliott. Has never met Elliott but what she can tell of the man is that his eyes are pale. That he's reading a book, and her eyes drop to it- most decidedly dark at the distance- before looking back up. No hostility from his direction, but not friendliness either. More like she is being regarded by a cat on a porch.
River concludes that she rather likes cats on porches, and she smiles at him. Opens her mouth to say something but loses her nerve
immediately and goes back to ordering food.
Lengua tacos. Lime and chilles. Standard margarita on the rocks. She has a thing for
green today, and she's fishing out her ID to actually confirm that she's old enough to buy alcohol.
River is covered in freaking glitter, there is doubt.
Elliott Chandler
He waits, still except for his eyes which continue to track River as she navigates the process of ordering tacos and a margarita.
Perhaps he is judging her. Maybe the glitter. Maybe the oversized purse. Maybe the strangeness of preferring tacos with more lime flavor and less chocolate flavor. Maybe that she would have spoken, but then withdrew.
Or perhaps he is only waiting.
Once River has navigated her way through ordering tacos and must instead navigate her way through choosing a table he nudges the chair opposite him out a little. Like an invitation.
River
She does turn around, finds herself faced with the arduous task of figuring out where to eat, determining whether or not she's going to eat alone and movement catches her attention. She's passing by and the man she had been looking at- who felt
different but she certainly wasn't going to say anything about it just yet- nudged a chair out from across from him. River slides into the chair like she was intended to be there in the first place. Like this dance of being sociable with strangers wasn't difficult in the slightest.
She puts her purse on the ground and he can hear the sound of plastic on plastic clicking together, like River had discarded a pair of incredibly high heels in favor of flip flops. She carries a big purse for a reason. Probably has a couple books in there, too. Books, her shoes, some lip gloss, a cell phone (and
another cell phone). She crosses her legs at the ankle. And perhaps he was, or is, judging her.
River smiles at him anyway.
"I'm River," she offers. It's not true, she's more sunshine than water (though she has been water. Been ice and snow. She's been a subtle, yearning harvest punctuated with the decay of overripe fruits. And back again when she was all sunshine and unchecked, terrifying growth. River is not the people she has been in the past, just a new iteration of a cycle.)
She's not from here, though. Or, at the very least, she has not spent the majority of her life around people who speak English. River Vasquez might have been born in the United States but the world she's seen is much, much different than the one most people think of.
Elliott Chandler
Elliott likes Spanish. He likes the cadence and the sound. He likes the people he has been when he has spoken mostly Spanish. He loves the way Neruda sounds in Spanish in voicemail messages he has saved against his better judgement.
And so, without much thought when he catches the sound and the flow of River's voice he switches to Spanish. Reaches across the table to offer one hand to River and smiles a little. "Elliott." His head tilts a little. Curious still, more than, strictly speaking, overly friendly. "Have you been in Denver long?" It isn't that she doesn't seem like she is from Denver that prompts that question so much as that he seems to trip over new Magi within a few weeks of their arrival. Or, at least, someone does.
River he has neither seen nor heard of.
River
She takes his hand and gives it a shake. Doesn't linger, but her hands are warm. Her nails are short, but well-manicured. She is not reserved with her smiles, does not seem as though she has qualms about giving them to others, does not make a person work for them. Instead, they just come, like a joy she shares with others for the sake of being shared.
"Elliott," she repeats. Commits to memory.
Has she been in Denver for long? She shakes her head, retrieves her hand and knits her fingers together in front of her at the table. She is comfortable with her space, and comfortable with the space they are sharing. He is in his space, she is in hers, and he's not making any overtures like he wants to invade
her space.
She puts up a hand and shakes her head. The switch to Spanish is one that is entirely natural, and completely comfortable.
"I think I've been here... two weeks? Almost? I'm still trying to figure out which restaurants are good, so here's to adventure?"
Elliott Chandler
"There are no few good restaurants in Denver. This one is a good choice. There is a particularly lovely champagne bar.
"I can't really help you without knowing more about you." In more ways than restaurant recommendations, really. He doesn't say that. Not yet. Interrogations are...well. What they are. It is harder to maintain an illusion for any length of time than to respond correctly to a direct series of questions.
He has, already once in Denver, based his judgments more on the way someone has touched him while they are dancing and the way that-
His expression softens a little, warms a little, and it is not so much for River as for the things she reminds him of.
River
"Well," she starts, knows where the burden or proof lies and knows that this is a very careful sort of dance. Give away too much and you've painted yourself with a target. Give away too little and you're on the outside. Somebody else always handled these kinds of introductions. She thinks back to getting stood up for coffee and taking the time to read about mountains instead.
"I am a dancer," she's covered in glitter, she's pretty, and she has obscenely tall heels in her purse. Elliott can likely put two and two together. "I don't like coffee... I have very delicate work that pays in good karma?-" she thinks about where else to go from there "-my best friend is a bioengineering doctoral candidate? I think that is what she is studying now?" She gets lost, that much comes across in her voice clearly enough, "I like weeds because I think they are
tenacious and I like snow because it's pretty."
A beat.
"I've never actually
seen snow, though."
Elliott Chandler
Elliott laughs. And this is still, even now, evaluating River, very much Elliott. In no small part because he is evaluating a potential new friend instead of a potential new threat. Same general process. Different general frame of reference.
"Don't worry. You will. Possibly more than you care to." The corners of his mouth twitch a little. Amused. "I am, originally, from a much warmer climate. I can help you supply for the winter, but I will warn you that there is nothing that will prepare you for it." There is a breath that is almost a laugh. "Or the delight with which some people embrace it. Which is charming, but...I wonder sometimes about their survival instincts.
"I have managed, in the few years I have been here, figured out optimal places for walking in winter so as to both see snow and never be more than two blocks from hot chocolate."
River
"I've always wanted to have a reason to like hot chocolate? I moved here from San Diego.... seventy six degrees is too warm for hot chocolate, but even then it is still pretty good?" What was there that could be bad, River? It is chocolate. It is drinkable, warm chocolate. Then again, snow (theoretically) made for a good excuse to get it, and then had yet another selling point: fire places.
Her imagination wanders. It's clear that her imagination wanders while she's wearing this quiet
oooooh expression, tunes back in to look at Elliott like he is one of those guys who runs a TV travel show and knows the ins and outs of Places With Snow.
"I think the only down side is that snow necessitates wearing shoes," her nose scrunches up. Eventually her margerita comes and she picks it up with both hands, "I don't really like wearing shoes. I like
buying shoes, but I do not like wearing shoes."
Then, she looks at Elliott, eyes wide like she had just realized something.
"I have to buy a coat. Where do you buy coats here?"
Elliott Chandler
"That depends on what manner of coat you like." His eyes sweep over River again, evaluating. Glitter. The oversize pink purse. The shoes hidden from his view that he noted earlier. "I think I may know someone who can help you find something more like your style. But, if style isn't an issue there are a number of places to get very warm coats with slightly more pockets and slightly more durability than might match your current outfit."
He smiles a little. "If you plan to stay, you may want a coat like that. And some of those fascinating snow boots that are more like hiking boots than clompy moon shoes. I've found them useful, at least on occasion. When running and having things at hand becomes suddenly relevant. I expect you are familiar with the phenomenon." He expects. Of course he does.
Steel
Some come here for the food. Others for the alcohol. Others still for the company. It may not be one of those places where everyone knows your name, but the attraction of decent food and booze and drag people in, and they drag their friends.
Steel is not one of those people. There’s a flurry of movement as she pushes through the door, swinging it closed quickly behind her. There’s barely a glance over the room before she notices the restroom doors at the back and makes a move towards them. She spares a glance back to the main door before ducking into the men's room.
River
"I need something that will survive the occasional impromptu five K race. When I am actually wearing clothes I like to have pockets. I've dreamed horror stories of winter and finding yourself suddenly without the things you need on hand- my choice in purses is not just for carrying around a costume change," but it did carry around a costume change. If one could consider gold hot pants and a bra that counts as a formality only as a costume change. We digress.
"I think we're staying here, though," she tells him, smiles anyway because... well, Elliot smiled and she liked his smile. Looked at his eyes for a moment to try and pick out what color they were. River never shyed away from eye contact. The word, you see, is comfortable. She's
comfortablewith it. "And I need to get a new-" she gestures, has a little finger gun for a second and gestures to her bustline. Looks a little confused like she's completely missing the word. She knows the word. Knows the word in nine languages and all of them are failing her, "thing? That holds the thing?"
She needs a new shoulder holster, because where the holy Hell was River going to put a hand gun? She waves away.
"That can wait, though. If you don't know a place, I understand. I still haven't even found a range yet."
Elliott Chandler
Steel enters. Steel vanishes into the Men's room. Elliott's attention remains on River.
Thing that holds the thing. It takes him a second, but then he smiles. "Oh. That I can help you with. My tailor is even, by now, accustomed to my demands that coats both fit appropriately and fall so as to conceal the thing that holds the thing and the thing that the thing that holds the thing holds." He is, undeniably, playing now. No sense of malice in it, only amusement.
"I use a private range though, so I'm little help on that score. At least for now. I may be able to bring you along sometime, once I've gotten a chance to know you a little better."
Steel
Another figure appears at the door, although this one doesn’t come all the way in. This one, a broad male with a shaved head, a scar from some sort of sharp sound crossing the bony part above and below his right eye, and currently no sense of humour. And he seems to be searching for something. Or, given the entrance a few moments ago, someone. His glance runs across the room and, like the previous figure to enter, catches sight of the restrooms at the back. He strides through and disappears for a moment, checking inside the ladies’ room. He doesn’t stay long, doesn’t order, doesn’t stop to meet and greet. He leaves as quickly as he arrives.
Farrah
Which means he crosses paths with Farrah. A young woman of average height with a head of springy curls and a face full of freckles who throws some serious shade at him as she avoids jostling him in the doorway.
Then she walks in in time to hear
--gotten a chance to get to know you a little better.
Then she saunters up behind River and puts her hands over her eyes.
"OooOOOoooh," she says.
River
[Int+streetwise- hey big fella, where do YOU belong?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
River
She laughs, cheeks pink and her hand covers her mouth, as though she is accustomed to not making a lot of noise and failing because she has a laugh that covers distances. She doesn't sound like bells, she sounds like a living, breathing person who is amused by things.
"The thing that holds the thing that holds the thing is
especially important. True facts," she says with a sage nod, as though she was an authority on things that hold things and those things that are held. "And that's fine, don't worry? Maybe we should just focus on things like book signings and hot chocolate before, you know, escalating a potential friendship to shooting things."
She looks at the guy who came in, distracted and then there's hands over her eyes and she puts her own hands on top of those hands. She doesn't get enough to make sense of the guy who came in, but she laughs and English comes easily enough.
"Eh! I'm
blind! It's all over!"
And then she said something in Arabic that actually equated out to half-formed gibberish in another language, but largely.
OhmygawdI'llneverseeeeeeeyouagain!
Elliott Chandler
"Oh, you shouldn't plan to wait. Pretty much anytime I leave my house I think there's something like a ten percent chance it escalates in some way or another. Though, admittedly, I don't think I've shot anything in awhile." Anyt
hing, he says. Not anyone. In a tone that indicates no real concern for the possibility of this encounter escalating into a shooting match.
That would be an adventure. Particularly since he is not armed. Not with a gun, anyway.
Is he terribly concerned about Farrah hearing that? Apparently not. There is a moment when she reaches for River that his eyes narrow and there is a trace more tension evident in his posture. And then that is clearly not a threat and so he settles back, picks up his margarita, and watches this situation escalate into excited gibberish.
Steel
[Also, because I keep forgetting and I'l do it now before I forget again... Nightmares.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Farrah
Once River has devolved into Arabic Farrah plants her hands on the other young woman's shoulders and leans around her to get a good look at her friend's new friend. The one who has a private range and hasn't shot anything in a while.
"Oh, shit, did I walk into a swipe right?" she asks. Turns to look at River's profile. "Just leave your scrunchy on the door knob. I'll just sleep in the library. Again."
Steel
There’s another little movement from the back of the joint, a cracking open of the door to the men’s room. A moment or three pass before the door swings further open and a figure emerges. Details of how she look are vague, almost as if she slips out of mind as soon as she’s out of sight. It’s a figure, probably female, dressed in a battered leather jacket with a hoodie on underneath. The hood, unsurprisingly, is currently pulled up. Some black jeans and some well-worn DMs complete the parts of the figure that are more likely to linger in memory.
She moves to the counter to order something small and cheap, accompanied by a glass of water. Honestly, she isn’t all that hungry. But sitting down in a food joint without something to eat or drink tends not to go down too well with the owners. A man’s wallet is unearthed from one of the jacket pockets and the contents searched for something to pay with. One tray, topped with a plate of tamales and the glass of water, is carried away from the counter. For the first time, she really pays attention to the tables and those sat at them.
Steel
[Awareness, now we're not running away from someone?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
River
River could say all sorts of witty things when she had her mind to it. Really. She could be clever and charming and she laughs easily and Farrah asks, as Farrah does in her Farrah way, if this is a swipe-right situation and her cheeks turn pink and her ears turn pink and eyes go wide and she looks sidelong at her frienbd and she stammers out in English-
"I, uh-" a look at Elliott, who has
very pretty eyes, back to Farrah again "-no?"
Gawd, River, don't make it sound like a question. She clears her throat and takes a look around. Misses Steel again but she does look back tot he door. Federal's a freaking turf war waiting to happen. Takes a drink of margerita.
"Elliott, this is Farrah- my best friend?" who has clearly managed to render her speechless in the way only friends know how, "Farrah, this is Elliott? Who was telling me about coats. And things with things."
Elliott Chandler
It takes him a minute to put together what a swipe-right situation is, because dating apps are just not something he has ever bothered with. Perhaps Grace can make a dating app for Mages. Until then, normal dating apps probably won't help him.
Besides. He has scored dates on the merits of his eyes alone. Perfect, complicated, dangerous dates. What is a dating app going to do to top that?
He tries not too look too amused by River's response to being tormented or the way about half her statements turned into questions. Instead, he waves at Farrah.
"Hi, Farrah."
Steel continues to evade his notice.
Farrah
So they're waving. That's cool. Farrah waves her right hand just inside of River's peripheral vision so it's a distraction without being an actual thing that's happening and then steps out from behind her to offer her hand to shake.
"Yo," she says. Whether Elliott shakes her hand or not she points at him after that greeting. "I want her home by midnight. She has school in the morning."
[perc + aware: oh right i never did this]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Steel
[Per+Alert, are any of these people paying any attention to me? Ability spec: Alertness]
Dice: 5 d10 TN5 (2, 5, 6, 6, 7) ( success x 4 )
Farrah
[NOW THEY ARE.}
River
[Do I notice people? -3 because Arcane]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (6, 10) ( success x 2 )
Steel
Steel’s gaze is a little more thorough that might have first been expected. It was, indeed, more than simply looking for an empty table to sit at. This was slower, looking for people paying attention to her. Normally, people’s gaze washes over her and onto something much more interesting. Which, as far as she can tell, seems to be what’s happening at the moment. Oh, that table over there seems to be colonised by Awakened. But none of them are people, or resonances, that she recognises. Others might have wandered over and said hello. But that’s other people.
Steel weaves around chairs and settles onto a table by the wall, one with an easy path to the door. The chair has a good view of the door, just in case the guy from earlier reappears, but she doesn’t pay too much attention to anyone else right this minute. Steel picks at the food on the table, moving it around and breaking it apart more than actually eating it.
River
River, in all actuality, can not remember the last date that she went on. Coffee with the Akashic didn't count, he never showed up. She ended up reading a book about the Himalayas the whole time and drinking vanilla chai lattes until her blood sugar was through the roof and she didn't so much sit still so much as quietly vibrated while she checked out and pretended that the fact that he
didn't show bothered her. At least it wasn't dinner.
No, the last date that River went on was with another dancer who happened to have the same night off as she did. They went to the beach and took pictures of each other in the surf. Sat apart so that their fingertips just barely touched while the waves rode in. Didn't kiss until the third date anyway, ended up with things breaking off when River couldn't explain where she would run off to some nights without an explanation. Thought she was cheating, wouldn't have believed River's explanation even if she told her. We digress. Dating sleepers is complicated.
"So, the guy that just came in and wandered out runs on the north side of West seventy-second. This part of town is a little unsteady right now?" It's not a question, though. It may sound like a question but the look in her eyes and the certainty in her gesture says that she knows what she's talking about, or that she, at the very least, was paying attention, "so, uh... just FYI."
Nope, her ears were totally not burning and she had not finished being a shade of incredibly vibrant pink. "Maybe we could trade phone numbers and set something up that doesn't immediately begin with needing to run away from impending danger? I could run the numbers and see if we can avoid that ten percent you were talking about."
Elliott Chandler
Elliott reaches out and shakes Farrah's hand. "Is that so?"
You can practically see Elliott draw a conclusion about how River would run those numbers. And it is followed by a quick smile. He retrieves a business card for her. There is only a second of hesitation before he makes that two business cards. One he slides across the table to River. One he offers to Farrah.
They are not embossed with the name that he gave them. Instead, in slightly raised, slick cobalt ink is printed, 'Kalen Holliday.' There is a phone number and an email address. No job title. No physical address.
And then, as he is offering Farrah a card his attention finally lights on Steel. Curious. And a bit more wary than on his initial survey of either River or Farrah.
"Curious," he says, very quietly.
Steel
[Do we spot Kalen's attention?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN5 (4, 4, 4, 5, 6) ( success x 2 )
Steel
While most of her attention may be on the door, certainly more than she’s expending on the food or the drink sat in front of her, she’s still aware of what’s going on around her. Call it a survival trait, some part of the back of her mind keeping an eye out for sound or movement that could be a threat. There’s that nagging part of her brain pulling her gaze back towards the table of Awakened. They hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid in her direction while she was settling. Now? Now there’s a gaze that isn’t washing straight over her.
Pale eyes are met by dark eyes across the tables. This, most definitely, isn’t any kind of swiping moment. This is more mutual assessment.
Are you a threat?
She knew that there were what Elijah considered good people in the city, but she also knew that there were bad people. People who attacked without warning. Techs. And who the hell knows who else.
There’s no flight just yet, but there is some extra tension in Steel’s body language. The shoulders hunch, there’s a tiny turn on the chair to make it easier to stand. But instead of immediately leaving, she keeps watching and raises her glass and lifts it in this man’s direction. Besides, there may well still be another man looking for her in the street. The longer she stays here, the more chance she has of escaping him.
Farrah
[skip me a round, there's meatspace activity]
River
She looks at the name on the business card and concludes that she is going to call him Elliott, because he introduced himself as Elliott. Because, very clearly, he had reasons for introducing himself as Elliott and probably did not want to get his business cards reprinted. There's plenty of reasons to have a card with a different name on them.
In turn, she reaches into her purse, with a little rifling, and produces a notecard. On the back, there are the ingredients for baklava written in Spanish along with some basic instructions. On the other side, she quickly writes her name (River) and her phone number (from some place near the US/Mexican border). She puts it on the table instead of handing it immediately over. Pushes it in his direction.
Curious, he says.
"Hmn?" she perks up, gives a look around but misses Steel entirely (probably a comfort for her- not everyone could so easily pick up on her presence.)
Farrah
As much as she wants to make a smart-assed comment about the abundance of euphemisms in the conversation the appearance of a business card and the tugging of her friend's attention stays her tongue a moment. Only a moment though. She cranes her neck to see the business card Elliott hands to River and then she accepts the one he offers to her and then she follows their eyes.
Curious.
"I'm gonna go get a taco," she says to River. "Whatchu want?"
Elliott Chandler
Steel could be a Technocrat. She could be one of the Order. (There are, after all, reasons he is so cautious about a few of the things that he does.) She could just be as wary as he was when he arrived and more prone to hiding.
There is a moment where the two of them regard each other. In the end, she gives nothing away. He smiles a little, drops his eyes from hers for a second, and then raises his margarita in a brief return salute.
"Perhaps nothing," Elliott says to River, still quiet. "At any rate, nothing that is likely to escalate into gunshots. Tonight. Probably." He flashes her a quick grin. "Maybe."
Steel
Their gazes meet and there’s a mutual assessment.
Are you a threat? Steel’s face freeze, a mask coming down to stop any traces or tells giving away any signs of weakness. She doesn’t know who, or what, this man is. Showing weakness is sometimes all it takes for things to take a turn for the shitter. Elliott comes away none the wiser, beyond there’s nothing immediately threatening in her body language.
Steel comes away with a better read of the man, as though he isn’t even bothering to hide what’s running through his mind. What she sees is enough to keep her sat in her seat rather than start heading towards the door. She still doesn’t know what he is, but at least for the moment he doesn’t seem to be an enemy.
Steel settles back a little more in the chair, getting a just a little more comfortable. She breaks the eye contact with this man and returns to watching the door. Happy to leave them alone if they leave her alone.
River
"Another margarita? Wheeeeen I finish this one?" she tells Farrah, leans over and is more than comfortable with her friend. There is, however, an unspoken truth- if River was having another margarita, then either Farrah was taking her home or she was getting a cab. (Or, the unspoken third option, that she would stay at this place until she sobered up, but River happens to like margaritas. Her limit is two and she is staying at that limit, thank you very much.) She offers it to Farrah to try, as if she may have wanted to partake without having to actually order one.
She poked Farrah, looked over, "you're going to need to take me home. I walked here from work. I'll buy you food," Bats her eyelashes, looks at her like her big, brown eyes could communicate the most clear and precise
please that transcended the need for all language entirely.
He days things won't progress to gunfire. Probably. Maybe. She grins back, undaunted but playful-
"Maybe," she repeats, "and
perhaps nothing are just things that keep you hooked on reading to the next page. And if it isn't going to erupt into a western shoot out then I feel like it is my
duty to see it through that
something interesting happens."
Farrah
Of course Farrah tries the margarita. Sniffs it to ascertain how strong it is and then fixes River with a pointed look. A pointed somewhat disappointed look. Like River is supposed to save that for emergencies. She's a doctoral candidate for fuck's sake River she doesn't even have time to jerk off and here you are.
"Fiiiiiiiine," she says. Takes a quick swig of the drink and puts it back down. Looks Elliott dead in the eye like to cut him a warning and then looks back at her friend and holds out her hand for River's wallet. "What's the matter, you afraid you're gonna have a repeat of the Akashic incident?" Slaps her on the shoulder with the wallet. "You big slut. I'll be are be."
And off she goes.
Elliott Chandler
Elliott stops paying so much attention to Steel, although he tracks her now, in little glances. Just in case.
"I feel," he says to River, with his smile back. "As though I should make some clever analogy between meeting me and encountering interesting things and gateway drugs, but I am, alas, too lazy. Still, in my experience, the one thing Denver is not is boring. Particularly when you get to know her."
He takes a sip of his margarita, but it is very small. There will not be violence. Probably. Maybe.
But, all the same, he is taking no chances on being ready.
All Farrah really gets in response to her warning is a slight shrug.
Steel
Bits and pieces of conversation drift through the restaurant, random snatches devoid of context.
Akashic incident.
So many ways that those two words could be interpreted. Some bad, some… not quite as bad. Hell, when was anything good ever described as an
incident. She doesn’t bat an eyelid at the thought of an Akashic having some unfortunate encounter, but the circumstances of the incident… The passing thought that she could try to make contact with the man in the group disappears. At least until she can get a better idea about him. She has a contact with the local Awakened now – a contact whose couch she’d woken up on the morning after they’d finished off a rather fine bottle of whiskey – so she isn’t quite so desperate for contact. She’d gotten the information that she’d wanted, even if it hadn’t been good news. But then again, this was a city without any great Traditional oversight.
Things could definitely have been worse.
For now, though, she’s happy with their little
détente. An unspoken understanding that I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me. An understanding that should last until she leaves, once she’s happy that she’ll be able to slip away into the backstreets. She takes a sip from the glass and looks at the now-cold food. She hadn’t been hungry when she’d bought it, she wasn’t any hungrier now. It’s left to one side while she waits a little longer to leave.
River
The wallet does come out, gets handed over- it's a bright and colorful thing that she likely picked up from a Target or got as a birthday present because something about it seems to just scream
this was a birthday present. Blinks some doe-eyed
you can't possibly be upset with me look at Farrah, as though she can leverage the fact that she is adorable and willing to share her booze.
"I'm not going to mope around the apartment for a week this time?"
And she did. Last time, River did mope. Learned a few things about past lives and a long standing multigenerational feud, sure, but it didn't stop her from
moping. "On my honor as a lady, no moping."
Raises her hand.
Scout's honor.
Elliott tells her that Denver is, most assuredly, not boring. Particularly when you got to know her, "so, should I start romancing the city, then? The people are really friendly, or maybe I just caught most people on a good day."
A beat. A playful grin that just hinges a tad on hopeful.
"I'll pretend like it was a
very witty analogy. I'll venture to say you get me to blush again."
Yep, Farrah. This is the beginnings of the Akashic incident all over again. There will be moping. Oh, yes. There will be moping.
Elliott Chandler
Elliott is...well, Elliott is a composite of things that he was designed to be and those things are facets of the person who drew those traits together and gave him a Name and a history and interests. A man who learned to operate cameras and SCUBA dive.
But, Elliott is not, cannot be the whole of that picture. Even if that was what he wanted.
And so, Elliott laughs, but in some ways it doesn't occur to him that he and River are flirting. In some ways he cannot quite let go of the thoughts of impending war and evaluating the three new Magi in this place. In some ways, they are not really flirting at all.
But he laughs and when that laugh fades he smiles and then he says, "You should be careful though. Sometimes she plays rough."
Farrah
Honor as a lady.
Farrah's counter to a certain someone's referring to them as 'you ladies' was to laugh a throaty unattractive laugh and crow HE CALLED US LADIES. She doesn't hinge on the word this time. She just flicks a sarcastic set of eyebrows and wanders off to get the margarita and the tacos.
At some point she drops off the margarita and the wallet. Then she wanders off again mouthing
call me as she goes.
[thanks for the scene guys! i gotta bail for a bit.]
Steel
For now, then, all there is to do is wait. To wait and to vanish again. And right now, she does make a move. The barely touched water and broken up food is abandoned on the table and the unnamed, forgetting woman makes a move towards the back of the restaurant again. Only this time, it’s the ladies’ room she disappears into.
Hey, nature still calls to reality deviants.
River
She has no idea that Elliott Chandler is not anyone other than the person he has presented. There are hints, of course- a name on a business card. He has a tailor, who is accustomed to strange requests. He has access to a private shooting range, or a place that he feels comfortable shooting where there aren't other people around. He's reading a book about spirit photography.
She doesn't know he has a tradition, and she doesn't ask. Doesn't try and piece together the little enlightened portions, though he can more-than-likely figure out hers. A little too much sunshine for a creature who turns the wheel. But, perhaps, they are there and talking and what River does is harmless. What River does is normal.
Sometimes, she likes feeling normal. Sometimes, she likes for things to feel like they aren't coming apart at the seams and like she doesn't have to figure out where on earth in the cycle they are. Doesn't have to try and look back and see how she's handled it before. Sometimes, she just gets to be in the moment, and she likes that. Gives a man her phone number with a recipe for baked goods along with it.
"No city plays gently, it's just a matter of figuring out what her hot buttons are. Whether or not the way she pushes is a way you're ready to push back against," a little contemplative, and while the smile stays on her face maybe her thoughts wander. Maybe she does wonder what holes she's not asking about.
"People are resilient, though. I've got too much to do to crack."
Elliott Chandler
Elliott has not made a determination about her Tradition. There are any number of people who would not expect his Tradition to be what it is. He still gets shit from Gallowglass about how everyone kept assuming he was one of the Ecstatics. Not that Kalen sees anything wrong with that.
But then, this is how those things happen.
People are resilient, River says. And he agrees with that. Of course, they are also so fragile. It was the glorious interplay between those two things, he sometimes thought, that made them so beautiful. The ways they hid their flaws and exposed vulnerabilities. The way times that they obscured the truth in contrast with the way that they could sometimes use it like a light.
There was artwork like that. Light and dark. What was it?
"I never thought of it that way," he says quietly. "I always saw it more as pushing forward with her." Of course he would. A gallant charge forward. Into a better world. Into a fight of good and evil.
Light and dark.
Chiaroscuro. The art style. It was chiaroscuro.
River
"To be able to push forward
with the city would mean that you're a part of it," she replied, shook her head, "I didn't feel like I was part of San Diego, and Denver and I aren't close enough to have an accord. I made my home in people instead of places."
And now she was homeless, lit the damned place ablaze for the insurance money... or because the foundation was rotten... or because she couldn't- they couldn't-. River doesn't want to think about San Diego, but she does. Something that hits the edges of her tone and she doesn't hide the fact that she's more refugee than pilgrim.
That look drifts across her features for a moment, soon enough she realizes it and it gets pushed aside in favor of a realigning of empathies. A moment where she tries to picture things the way he does.
"It must be nice, though, to have a big community like that."
Grace
[Awareness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )
Grace
Does Grace know for certain that all these people are here tonight? No. Not really. But there's that feeling in the air, like Mage potpurri. Like someone went and shoved a bunch of feelings and ideals and ideas into a blender and asked the question: Would it?
So of course she's going to stop by. This place makes great tacos anyway.
Thus, she adds her own blade-winged resonance to the weirdness in the air. The poor Sleeping people in this place must be flummoxed as to why they feel so on-edge...
Upon arrival, she, of course, walks straight up to the group around Kalen. "Big? We have a big community? Hi."
Grace
[Well, I say group, I mean... there's just two people there. I forgot Farrah left >_>]
River
(River+River's gigantic purse, it's a group)
Elliott Chandler
Elliott laughs at that. "No," he says. And his tone is with wonder and sorrow and hope. "Only that you wed your fate and your will with her, at least for the moment.
"I have few enough friends here. Fewer by the day it seems, at times." He smiles a little. "But that, in some sense, may not matter. Not for what I do." He smiles, and this not the playful smile. There is no laughter here, only a glimpse at the driving sense of purpose that underscores the things he does.
"If you want to make peace, you don't talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies." It is, by the tone, reasonably evident that he is quoting someone.
And then his attention slides off if River to Grace. "Hello, Kit."
River
"Should I ask what you do?" River starts, "a man with a voice that that has things to say." She's not flirting with him, not right now. She had been, probably would again, but for now she's just struck with him. Smitten in some way that does not speak of romance but a greater sensibility. One can find awe in those who are not afraid of having a purpose.
Big? she hears. Startles her, since she'd been so focused on tone and elsewhere. There's a feeling that pings on her senses.
She looks at Grace.
There is this moment that passes over River's features, and she makes no attempt at hiding it, that comes over her features that says
oh shit, I am supposed to know your name and I have forgotten it but I don't think it was Kit but it might be Kit oh god, etiquette gods, help me! But the Etiquette Gods do not listen, because the Etiquette Gods do not heed the pleas of young woman covered in gold glitter.
It violates a ban or something. The gods have rules, you know.
WE have a big community? Hi."Hi!" blank look, searching, failing, failing, Horse? Name? Name not found.
She probably had things that she could have said to Kalen, could have kept with the inspiration and could have filed away what he had said, likely did file it away and found that little moment of intrigue, something that made her eyes light up and made her lean in a little closer and made her want to forget about her drink and focus, instead, on the company she was keeping and his content instead of how lovely his eyes were.
Grace
"Bah. Yeah, this guy has few friends," Grace says, sarcasm-laden, and rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to a thing he says."
She knows, Kalen. Knows how you think nobody loves you, when half of their little Denver community would die for you. And the other half just don't know you well enough yet.
Someday, maybe Kalen will know himself.
That would be a day.
"I remember you. Basketball," she says, and points to River. Don't be embarrassed, she doesn't remember your name either.
Elliott Chandler
"At my current rates, I expect to only have about three of you soon enough. And then, I can only hope we've been successful enough that I won't have to worry about whether or not you're all bulletproof." Or whatever-proof. But one should not mention the possibility of being massacred by men in suits wielding lasers. Virii. Helicopters.
Possibly executed by their own Tradition.
Not here, at least. Not now.
"Still," he says to River. "It might be worth mentioning that most of my friends maintain I should take a Valium or three and realise more people love me than I might expect." Says the man gathering support from the most unlikely collection of people for the most unlikely things. And at least one of those less because they expect him to succeed and more because they want to be close enough to save him should it fail.
The man who charmed a girl who killed him in a vision. Maybe even in some alternate incarnation of this world.
Definitely, definitely practically friendless, this one. Indeed. (Okay. Actually. Maybe trust Grace on this one, River....)
River
"Right!" there has been an accord reached- Grace does not remember her name and she does not remember Grace's so she gets to introduce herself and not be awkward. She offers a hand, stands when she does because she doesn't necessarily greet people sitting down, scoots her purse out of the way so that the giant pink bag was not causing any imposition on their people space, "I'm River."
River has an accent, a cadence to the way she speaks that indicates that she is much more comfortable speaking Spanish, or that she might have grown up in a situation where English was not the primary language spoken around her. She doesn't seem to have any trouble whatsoever with English, though.
"And I am taking this delightful woman's advice and not believing a single word you say with regards to the volume of friends you may have, Elliott," she shakes her head, as though this was enough. "And shall continue to find you charming until proven otherwise."
Innocent until proven guilty, you see.
Grace
"See? You're already at the charming phase. I'm taken to believe that most people do not find him charming at first, and think he is an asshole. But he grows on you, like a lichen," she says, grins at Kalen. Of course, she never once considered him an asshole. It was always blackberries and rain with her.
Then, her attentions turn back to River. And yes, she actually shakes hands like a 'normal' person. "I'm Grace."
Steel
[Think I'm going to go crash out. Just say Steel slipped out of the restroom window. Thanks for the scene and I look forward to the next time! :)]
Elliott Chandler
"Exactly like a lichen," Elliott says with a laugh. "See. Such ringing endorsements." But he very clearly is not at all upset. And, perhaps more clearly, he adores Grace.
"Some people find me charming at first." He laughs again. "And, you should know, the common factor in that appears to be discussing firearms. I might bring her by the range sometime." Though he does not mention, at this point, that there is a library. He's not, not quite, ready to share that information.
River
"A lot of people overlook the bonding that can happen over .45 calibre rounds, but provided you have the proper ear protection I don't see why this isn't a
much more common hang out idea," she says, shrugs and takes a drink of her margarita. Smiles around the rim and takes in the fact that people are laughing. That these two are familiar with each other.
She likes watching friends interact, there's a quiet joy in her expression. Fingers interlace in front of her and she just observes. There is a second though, that she looks up. Like she's searching for a translation for what exactly lichen are.
Oh, wait, there. She has this dawning look, and she laughs, a second after it all, because she just figured out that
lichen and
liken are not the same word and she finished fighting with context clues.
Grace
"Ohh, man. If you like guns, you and Kalen are going to get along like things that go really well together," Grace says, pulls out a seat, plops herself into it.
"That's right -- you did invite me over for guns that first day, didn't you? I just distracted you with lots of philosophical nonsense instead of shooting."
Well, she calls it philosophical nonsense. Really, they were discussing magic, and their takes on it. So perhaps not nonsense.
"I'm not big on guns. Normal ones, anyway. I have a laser tag arena though. If you get tired of bruising yourself with high-calibre rifle kickbacks, you can go run around in
that."
Elliott Chandler
"Yes. And then you distracted me until finally a priest had to teach you to shoot." Elliott laughs again. "Which might qualify as the best failure story I have to tell...."
"Mmmmmm...I do prefer laser tag for bonding. Though, bonding over .45 calibre rounds is a thing that happens. Not my usual preference for target practice, but certainly a valid one."
River
"... you have laser tag?"
With the kind of awe and reverence written on her features that one only originally reserved for cute things, like baby sloths and buckets full of kittens.
"How did oyu get
room for a laser tag arena? My apartment is
ridiculous for rent!"
Grace
Grace laughs at Kalen's failure story. Yes, a priest taught her how to shoot. "But it was Pan. He was more badass than priest, and he was
very priest."
"And yeah. We have laser tag," she says, with a fake-smug smile.
She's a little proud of that one. It's the Danger Room of Supreme Awesomeness. And it's Her Baby.
Elliott Chandler
Elliott smiles. "He is, in fact, fantastic at being both of those things. I miss when he was around more."
"We have," he says to River, "A few assets. Some of which are property. It's considerably cheaper outside the city proper. And considerably less visible. Also. Warehouses. Warehouses are inexpensive and highly customisable." There is a quick flash of a grin. "Also, relatively non-flammable, in and of themselves.
"I will be more impressed if we ever get a helicopter, really. Although, those are more likely to attract attention. So. I suppose that will have to wait until we have a proper underground superhero cave. And fuck if I have time to figure out the logistics of
that."
River
The world is small. The world is very, very small and getting smaller because when someone mentions
the priest and then clarifies that it is
Father Francisco-freaking-Echeverría and she's in the middle of taking a drink or taking a bite or doing something (realistically, she just chokes on the air). Coughs, eyes water, hand goes to her chest like she needs a minute to remember that breathing is
important and she is not going to be able to breathe in a minute-
She reaches for her napkin and manages to keep from making a complete ass of herself choking on whatever it was she choked on.
"My mentor thought very highly of Father Echeverría, but I didn't know he'd come through Denver," she said, "does he keep in contact?"
Ah! Look, they're talking about real estate. She puts her napkin down and keys into that. Eyes bright but there is a tension in her shoulders. Or maybe she was still just reeling from the fact that she aspirated tequila and lime juice.
"I'm starting to find that real estate that isn't flammable is probably one of the better investments a person can make. If you are ever looking for a fourth... or fifth... or whatever-eth in laser tag, I'd always be in."
Grace
Kalen starts talking about making an underground superhero cave with helicopter, and it's exactly what she's come to expect out of him. The big ideas, the fanciful ones -- some of which actually come true...
"Not often," Grace says in response to River's question, "But that's pretty much because he can't figure out how to use a telephone. Literally. His texts are in all-caps, like he needs to shout in the absence of his
illuminating presence."
If you haven't been paying much attention, Grace doesn't hold back with insults, even (especially) toward her friends. The way she speaks of Pan, she likes him a great deal, technophobia notwithstanding.
"If you're a friend of Pan's, you're a friend," she says, and looks to Kalen. It's time to offer the full services of the welcome wagon, no?
Elliott Chandler
Elliott watches River nearly choke and then looks over to Grace. "I am totally baffled," he says, "By the way everyone responds about him."
Grace's dig about Pan's inability to use a phone earns her a little kick of her chair leg, but judging by the fact that he cannot help a smirk for a second, he too recalls Pan's initial forays into Ginger.
"But yes. In that case, I suppose you should come out and play laser tag and maybe check out the library. And we can fill you in on all the other cool places and toys you'll have at your very fingertips."
There is, for a second, a little crease drawn between his eyebrows. "Considering everything...as soon as possible," he adds quietly. "Perhaps even put your food in a box, tragic about the margarita but we have a full bar at the library as soon as possible."
[Although it being 2:30 in the morning, if it is that soon, it will have to be another scene. As much fun as I am having.]
River
If you're a friend of Pan's, you're a friendShe puts her hands up and shakes her head,
vigorously, "Nononononono, we've never met-
they were friends.
We are not friends, I-I can't ride those coat tails. If I am going to earn your trust I do not want it based on a misunderstanding."
Emphatic, yes. Pleading,
certainly. She clears her throat, looks uncomfortable, looks like she has to jump into the fray with something that is a little like a wound whose stitches hadn't yet healed. Still fresh, may bleed, but open anyway. There's something she's avoiding, somethign that she won't come flat out and say because here she was talking to people she's just met and remembering suddenly that she still has to walk back to her car and go home tonight
She drops her voice. River isn't so steady.
"If my mentor
were still around, and if you had met, that would be different, but... I... Father Echeverría was, and is, just another in a long list of people I would have loved to have met. That's all."
They're offering things and she looks positively
wounded. River's getting her things and picking up, offers the most apologetic of smiles, misty-eyed though. "I-I have to go, I'm
very sorry."
Which she does end up repeating in Spanish. If she isn't interrupted, she makes for a very, very hasty exit.
Grace
Grace gives Kalen a look, a little touch of fear. Did I do that?
"Um. River? Hey, that wasn't what I meant!"
Aww, shit. Well...
"I mean, if you have respect for the guy... it means..."
Fuck the Rule of Shade. She pulls out her cell phone.
[Secure Communications -- 2 Corr, 2 Entropy = Directly connect to River's electronic devices and send her a secret text with end-to-end encryption]
Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (3, 5, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Grace
I think you misunderstand. I meant, if you respect and admire Pan, you're not a Technocrat or worse. We don't have to worry about that when it comes to you.
So you gained our trust, deal with it.
Elliott Chandler
"If it helps, you were pretty much in already. It just freaks people out when I make choices about who I trust in five minutes, so now I pretend it takes longer."
Elliott glances over at Grace. "Sorry. Not actually any smarter now. But hey, you tried."
Maybe he would be more concerned River was bolting if he hadn't given her his number. If he didn't suspect she could contact Pan. If he wasn't reasonably sure that he or someone else would find them again. Mages practically had gravity of their own here.
And then there's also that he has Grace.
Who can hide from Grace? People who don't need his help, that's who. If they can hide, then they will be okay. If they can't, they'll be found. Preferably quickly and by Grace. And then they'll still be okay.
And look, Grace is already on doing something. So why would he be worried?
River
There are two sets of chirps. One from each of her phones. One is more like a robin and the other is more like some human approximation of what a bird is supposed to sound like, no real bird but the concept of a bird. Whatever the case it makes her stop, makes her go for her phone to check.
She looks at the text message, though it does seem that she and Pan do share a similar difficulty with technology. She's not graceful with her phone, but she inhales sharply when she sees the text message. River still looks like she might start crying, but it stays. Farrah would have been able to attest- River Vasquez had no problems with crying. It was just something that she
did.
She laughs, and it's like a release valve.
"Okay, okay I can deal," puts her hands up a little like she surrenders. Sniffs and smiles, wipes her eyes quickly, "and I can get a to go box."
Grace
Grace grins a grin of success when she gets River to surrender. That's the spirit, River. Chill. It's okay.
"I knew you could."
Well, that's a lie. She didn't, actually.
Elliott Chandler
Elliott smiles when Grace fixes it. "Good." He finishes his margarita, glances at the barely touched tacos, and then looks back to Grace. "You're driving. Or Alexander will kill me. You want me to get you anything to go while I get a box?"
[Annnnd...pause-ish? To resume on library introduction?]
Grace
[Pause is good!]
River
(sounds like a good pause to me!)
