Steel
[Right, before I forget again(!), Nightmares]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )
Steel
Of all the gin joints in all of Denver, the address written on the slip of paper that Steel tucked into a book was for this one. The slip of paper with an added message, no meant for Jenn’s attention. The place is somewhere out along East Colfax so, naturally, it’s not the nicest of places. There’s no warm wood panelling, no subtle lighting, no attractive and attentive bar staff with an extensive knowledge on the drinks on offer and the many and varied ways of mixing them. No, this place has a sticky floor, cheap booze, dim lights because of lack of maintenance (the neon sign in the window buzzes annoyingly, once you notice the sound), and a clientele that doesn’t ask many questions.
There are some booths along one wall, padded leather worn and patched in places. Close examination might dig out dried blood in the gaps between padding and wood, but then it’s maybe best not to look too closely at anything here. The tables are worn and battered, an occasional initial or message carved into the wood by a rough and, quite possibly, drunken hand. It’s no artwork.
The place isn’t all that busy at the moment – it’s late afternoon, so there’s a single barman on duty in the vague hope of capturing the early drinkers and getting a little business. A couple of booths are currently occupied. One contains a couple of men – battered and marked by their lives on the rougher end of the street – talking quietly about some piece of business or other. A woman perches on a bar stool, all suspenders and torn fishnets and heels. She’s nursing a gin and tonic, keeping an eye on the clock suspended over the cloudy, unpolished glasses in the racking. A bustier and small (fake) fur shrug maintain her dignity, or what remains of it.
The other booth, though. It’s occupied, but it would be so easy for the eye to simply slip over and move onto more interesting things. Its occupant is wearing a black leather jacket with a hoodie on underneath, hood currently pulled up. There’s a bottle of something cheap and nasty with a couple of glasses, but the drink hasn’t been touched yet.
Steel
[And a little Awareness?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Elijah
[Do I notice my person here?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Elijah
He comes in soon enough. Jeans and a tee shirt- the vest is left at home. He's got a leather jacket built for riding a motorcycle that has some scrapes on it where it's clear enough that he may have wiped out a couple times. Or, rather, had a close call. Or whoever owned it before him had wiped out. It was hard to tell whether or not Elijah happened to do the damage to his clothes or if he bought them at a thrift store.
It was fifty/fifty really. Some things are worn all to hell and back out of his own abuses and other things aren't. The blond, who one could describe as pretty and not handsome, makes his way to the bar. Buys a beer in a bottle and waits his daamn turn to get something to drink. Looks at the woman in the fishnets and grins at her. Shoots her a wink and a raised drink. Doesn't look like a customer, so she probably doesn't pay him any mind.
There's silence there, while something buzzes along on his senses, some argument in a realm that he has no business understanding. There is a bloodstain on the floor and the owner of said stain doesn't seem terribly happy with the bartender but there's fuck all he can do about it. Elijah just takes a drink. Perches himself on the bar and takes out a shitty Nokia bright to check the time. Didn't bring anything with him that he couldn't necessarily lose.
Twenty bucks in cash. A fake ID. The necklace around his neck that he can't quite get off because it's tied on too tightly and he's just going to have to wait for the damn thing to fall off.
Steel
The woman glances up from her drink and runs her eye up and down Elijah, considering him. She’s no stranger to interested glances, but there is some experience in judging a likely john. Are they going to pay? Are they going to be into anything weird? (Yes or no may well depend on how much.) Do they look like anyone that the grapevine says to watch out for. There is some form of honour amongst those on the wrong side of the border with the law. If they don’t watch out for each other, nobody else will. Hell, the cops would probably be only too happy to scrape up another dead hooker.
But we digress. The woman runs her eye of Elijah but returns to her drink. It’s still a little too early – the after-work crowd are still chained to their desks. This is still her time. And, dammit, mother’s little helper does help to drown the sorrows just a little.
The lone figure in the booth picked a seat which let her watch who was coming and going, tucked back into the corner where the lousy lighting hides her features. She watches Elijah arrive, watches him order the drink, watches as he looks around and tries to find the strange woman who had returned his wallet.
She isn’t massively surprised when his gaze slides past and onwards. She had half expected it. She had something in mind – something to kill two birds with one stone. Life is too short for crap booze. Somewhere, someone had marked her. Someone skilled in more than mere art. No, they were true Artists. The pain and the meaning of the marks gives her the focus she needs when she battles for what she wants.
[Arete: Matter 2: Straw to Gold. Going with coincidental – mislabelled bottles happen after all – so TN5. -1 for time. There’s no rush, after all.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Steel
[And, damn, that's some fine whiskey now. There's also a strangely unflavoured sensation of Working coming from the booth.]
Elijah
He raises his bottle in salute- hard to fuck up something in a bottle afterall, and he turns. Turns and heads in the direction that he felt working ads though this were the indication of a divining rod and there was water none too far away. Elijah headed that way, moved with purpose.
He was no stranger to pretending like he belonged places. No stranger to bars even if he didn't seem like the type that belonged in this one. A mark (and a card shark, but this wasn't the kind of place where people played Texas hold 'em and Elijah expected to keep all his fingers). He settled in, reaches into his pocket and sets his pocketwatch on the table. Open.
The face is cracked and the inlay on the front has his blood worked into the grooves but in certain places it just looks like some maroon inlay for people that didn't want to think about what the Hell that watch has gone through.
"Insert witty reparte here."
Steel
The Effect had both effects that she had wanted. The whiskey, some bottom shelf crud that is only just more drinkable than industrial solvent, improves. The harshness of the contaminants fades, and a warm, smooth burn takes the places of the original harshness. It might seem like a waste to use their gifts to save a little cash on buying a decent bottle to begin with. But there had been the other effect she’d wanted. Something to draw the man towards her.
She unscrews the lid from the bottle and pours out shots into the two glasses. There’s a smile visible when Elijah makes his joke, amused. “Consider an appropriately witty repartee given. So should I call you Jason, or Elijah?” She nudges one of the glasses towards the man and takes the other up herself, lifting it in salute.
Elijah
"Right now, Elijah's the appropriate name. If things change within the next couple of months, though, I'll let you know," serious about that, too. He takes the glass that is offered- never one to turn something down; hospitality, of course- and he raises it. Just enough to meet her gesture. The shot glass is raised, placed on the table for a second and then downed.
It's a ritual, one he's familiar with and the glass is places upside down.
"But then there's the ever present question of what do I call you. You're very Cindarella minus the glass slipper and I kind of picture me roving across the kingdom interviewing random women asking if they found my wallet."
Steel
Steel follows almost the same ritual, taking the shot and returning her glass to the table. Only she returns hers the right way up, ready to refill. She takes the bottle and gestures towards Elijah. The question unspoken: More? She refills her own glass.
“I’m no fairy tale character, and I don’t believe in happy endings. You think she was really happy, getting married to a man she knew nothing about? Always looked down on as a commoner by the others in the court? Ending up as a miserable, twisted version of herself, trying to convince herself that being pushed to the side once her duty of creating the heir and spare had been completed? And don’t get me started on glass slippers. She’d have been better off escaping with the silverware and finding a better life for herself on her own terms.”
There’s another smile, amused at the thought of how that particular fairy tale might have turned out, as she takes a small, slow sip of the whiskey. “But to answer your question, call me Steel.”
Elijah
"So I'm going to guess you live a life free of superheated dancing shoes and people who are trying to cut their own toes off to fit in what was probably a really uncomfortable shoe?" he does raise the glass, pushes it over because of course he would want more. Chases it with the beer he ordered; it takes a lot more to get him drunk these days, and besides this was just making company. Forming connections with people who are all mystery.
She goes by Steel.
"How long have you been in town?" he asks. The basics, really. She knew a fair bit about him but he was building her definition from scratch. Couldn't even place what color her eyes were and he was actively searching.
Steel
Trust means different things to different people. To some, it is something simply given and received. Those who haven’t been burned by things turning sour. Those who haven’t learned the hard way that some things are best kept close. Those who don’t think twice about leaving the front door unlocked, or loaning their friends money because – after all – everybody is inherently nice.
Steel isn’t one of those people. She hasn’t been what she’d consider nice for quite some time. Things are offered slowly, waiting to see if they try to take advantage in some way. It’s human nature after all, to try to get some kind of advantage over others. It’s simply a way too feel better about yourself. It had even come to the stage where her appearance is something that she guards, happy to fade into vague memory as soon as the other person’s back is turned.
She notices the searching, trying to see – and remember – the details that Elijah was trying to make out. It’s tempting to shrug further into the shadow, maybe burn out the already-dim lamp above the booth. But wasn’t she here to try to form some kind of connection with the Awakened in the city? To try to find others like her, and learn about the dangers that she’s been lucky enough to avoid so far.
After a few moments of silence, she pulls back her hood and lets it settle around her shoulders. Dyed black hair is pulled back into a messy knot. She’s pale, with dark eyes and – currently – no makeup. Who said goths had died out? There’s some scarring just about visible under the hood, around the right side of her neck and jaw. It makes an interesting pattern, though. It almost looks like something exploded.
“I’ve been here a few months now. Some interesting neighbours.”
Elijah
"No kidding, right?" he says. Brows raised for a second as he makes out the details he suspects will fade with time when he looks away or walks out. Only the vague recollection of someone with dark hair and pale skil. He'll remember her eyes like obsidian, as though he needs to remember this for the future. That's what he'll remember, would be able to pick out, the easiest feature to hide from memory and the one that gives the most away.
He exhales, takes a long pull off his beer.
"Where do you want to start on the shitstorm brewing- Avatar storm, technocracy, or vampires?"
Steel
A lip gets turned up at the mentioned of the Avatar storm, but it’s not a topic that’s explored. Not yet, at least. “I guessed you had at least one infestation of rodents. I’ve already been attacked by one of them – Technocracy, that is – in one of your parks. I got away.” There’s a shrug, obviously she got away otherwise she wouldn’t be here right now. I didn’t get a good look at her, it wasn’t up close and personal, but I know it’s a blonde woman. Strong. Dangerous.” She holds the half-empty (not half-full) shot glass between two fingers and runs the tip of the index finger from the other hand along its edge. “I assumed that there would be more of them around. I didn’t know you had leeches, though. Are they a problem?”
The glass is returned to the table and a packet of cigarettes and a lighter are pulled out of a jacket pocket. The packet is tapped on the edge of the table and two common-or-garden cigarettes are pulled out. Steel offers one to Elijah.
Elijah
[Hermetics don't believe in lighters. Forces 2, Prime 1 (maybe2?). diff 5, -1 (I forget my lighter enough that this is practiced)]
Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (5, 5) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Elijah
(wait, that might have been 6 because I'm not sure if that's vulgar without witnesses or not. Rolling paradox just to be safe)
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (3, 9) ( success x 1 )
Elijah
[I'm good]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Elijah
"They've been a problem. The Hermetics are planning a preemptive strike while another group of folks are trying to get ahold of technocratic agents and convince them to, like, take over the upper eichelons of the place and, you know, have less of an agenda to wipe us off the grid."
A pause, and he does take a cigarette, namely because the whole situation does make him want to smoke. He says something to himself, something under his breath half whispered and covered because he could have very well had a lighter there but the people at the table knew damned good and well that he did not and fire just happened. Small, brief, and understated. He inhales and takes the drag, breathes out away from the lady.
There's etiquette for cigarettes, you don't blow them at people unless you're a silver creen diva.
"They were for awhile, but they seem to have gone quiet. I kinda think they're mostly worried about fucking themselves over. Wash park is kind of monster central hunting ground after dark, but I'm of the belief that we shouldn't be scared off from a place and just let stuff
Steel
Steel’s face becomes still when he talks about what may be going on with the Technocrats. She holds her cigarette in her mouth and uses the lighter to ignite the end, taking a slow drag and savouring the feeling of the substances flowing through her body again. “It won’t work. The fuckers can’t be trusted. All they want is us wiped out of existence so that they can complete their control of the sheep. Even if there are some who might want to try, do you seriously think that there are enough to be able to take control of something as big as the Union?” Another long drag, although this time there’s no relief from the craving. It’s already been sated for the moment.
There’s a moment where she feels something changing, that Elijah is Working, and her eyes narrow. She’s still a little unsure, a little untrusting, and wondering If things were about to take a change for the worse. Hell, it wouldn’t have been surprising if they had. But… No, not this time. This time, he was just lighting his cigarette. She settles back against the padding of the seat and smiles again, relaxing. The smiles doesn’t reach far, but there is still some amusement there.
“So how do you know so much about their plans? The Order aren’t exactly known for their caring, sharing nature.” All through, Steel’s voice has been floating somewhere around the mid-Atlantic – maybe originally English or American, but time with the other had distorted it. Her tone, though, isn’t overly warm when it comes to the Order.
Elijah
"I told the guy that I was talking to that in order for diplomatic relations to work you have to actually have something the other person wants. We don't have anything aside from big puppy dog eyes and please don't wipe us off the planet, we promise we won't cause trouble and it's a fucking joke and makes a mockery of having an actual will. We shouldn't fucking bow and scrape for these people, it's bullshit."
He takes a drag, eyes the shot glass for a moment and is tempted, briefly, to take another drink. He waits, though. Doesn't want to end up sounding like Tom Waits before he's thirty. Provided he lives that long; he has a tendency to launch himself headlong into trouble.
"I heard, though, that some whispers say they've made contact with Control past the gauntlet and fuck if I know what Control is but I have no idea how to figure that out without putting myself on a watch list at best," he replies. She asks how he knows, and he shrugs.
"I know people. I'm pretty damn social so it all kinda comes together at a certain point. I don't know the specifics of what's in the works but I know that the people who know there is a plan have their panties in a twist over it."
Steel
Steel nods as Elijah talks about what they have – or, more specifically haven’t – got to offer in negotiation. “About all we can really hope for is survival. There won’t be peace. Just lots more fighting about who’s fucking right.” She takes another sip of the whiskey, following it with another drag of cigarette. The smoke gets blown upwards, towards the worn light fitting. Technically neither of them should be smoking, but this place barely passes hygiene regulations. It really doesn’t care about Clean Air or any of the other crap the hand-wringers come up with.
“And if those are the old leaders they’re back in contact with, it’s going to be harder for any of the fluffy little technocratic care bears to make a stand. Because all of the others that follow orders like good little sheeple will treat them exactly the same way they treat us. Deviants.” At the final word, she raises her glass in a toast and knocks back the remaining booze.
“I’m actually surprised that there’s that much rumour floating around. I’ve worked for the Trads in the past, and the Order have always been the most stuck up their arses about needing to know and operational parameters. At least you can have a decent piss up with a Cultist, but Hermetics always come across like they’ve sat on their wands sideways.”
Elijah
"I get the impression that their old leaders aren't people," he says, as though that makes him a little uncomfortable, as though he has mulled over the prospect and concluded that whomever Control is, or whatever it is, it isn't going to mind operating under antiquated protocols.
At the final word of deviant he does take the shot glass, joining in toast because he'd rather be a deviant than a part of the program any day. He doesn't know how close the sentiment might be, hasn't he always been a little deviant? Hasn't he always been drawn to the fringe?
She's surprised at the rumors floating around, though. "I'm pretty sure I'm the only cog in the rumormill. I heard from a friend, who heard from a guy in the order. That or they were all there in on the same meeting or whatevs. Crack in the flood gate and it's too serious of a matter to involve someone in the proverbial PR team."
"If you can get the Order on your side, you've got a force to be reckoned with but it's a fucking hard sell, even when you're on the inside of it. Plus side, if you bust your ass, people have to shut up and give you the props that you're due, it's pretty much in the manual," he says.
He does laugh though, grins a little mischievous and continues on, "I dunno, my mentor's not an asshole, but he's a lot more interested in the umbra than most people. So, there's that."
Steel
“Oh, that would be even better. You can’t even hope to appeal to human decency if the fuckers at the top aren’t even human. Not that I put a great deal of faith in that one, either.”
There’s the toast. And there’s still plenty of liquid in the bottle. It would be a shame to waste it. She refills the glasses again.
“I imagine they can be very impressive, to the poor sods who face them. And how many of those were wiped out by sheer, bloody-minded arrogance that they were right. Screw the facts, it’s not like they could ever be wrong. But hey, even if they are then there’s an acceptable level of losses in these things. Even more acceptable if you’re not one of them. Bust your ass? Yeah, they’re quiet after you get something over them. While they work out how to stab you in the back and get back the presti…”
The sentence isn’t finished as something that he said finally clicks in the back of her mind. She chuckles, now that how much of her leg she may have been swallowing becomes clear. “Let me guess, you’re about to join the bani Lord of the Celestial Lampshade brigade. My condolences. Use lube, the wand will go in easier.”
Elijah
To his credit, he actually does find it funny. Doesn't make light of the fact that he thinks it's fucking hilarious that he's joining the Celestial Lampshade brigade.
"Eh, I'm pretty easy so I don't expect the wand to give me too much trouble? I managed to swing it that someone buys be dinner first before I get screwed," he takes a drink of his beer to wash the taste out of his mouth so he can actually enjoy the amount of alcohol they're imbibing. "But yes. they haven't failed my ass out yet but apprenticeships are longer than Hell so I'm probably going to be an apprentice until I'm dead."
He makes a little woohoo noise, completely unaware of the fact that his trial period is actually about to expire and he's going to be starting a brand new chapter in his life that looks remarkably similar to the last few chapters, all things said.
"But yeah, historically speaking the Order's done some cool things and then some really shitty things so as a potential member of House Please-don't-hate-us, it kinda makes things hard."
Steel
“See, you’ve got the right idea already. Don’t go in assuming that they’re going to be doing this for your good. Chances are, somehow, it’ll be for their good at least as much as it is for yours. Just make damned sure that the price you’re charging is high enough to make it worthwhile.” Steel takes a final drag, the smouldering tip now almost up to the end of the filter. There’s no ashtray, so she just stubs the butt out on the surface of the table.
“And if they do keep you as an apprentice until you’re old and grey? Scraping and grovelling for the scraps of wisdom that they’re think you’re ready for. Will you still accept that it’s for your own good?”
Elijah
"Until I'm old and grey? Please, it's nice that you think I'll live that long, but I'm calling twenty-five a success story once I get there," she knows how old he is, or a rough approximation. Doesn't know that he plans on living a short, interesting life and leaving a messy corpse when he goes out. Shrugs it off and finishes his beer, still has a bit left on the cigarette.
"That's the thing with Enlightenment and wisdom- it doesn't give two shits about what your rank is or what other people think of you, it's a fundamental Truth. If you're seeking the Truth, and you find it, it doesn't matter what other people think. People that are holding you back based on dogma are killing themselves, and anyone with half a brain can tell, and won't put up with it," he puts the bottle down, "but it works for me, and I don't have to sell you on it because I'm not a fucking Jehova's Witness so I don't feel like prostheletizing to people who really, really don't wanna hear it."
He grins. Playful.
"But! If you are interested, I figure we can swap coppies of The Watchtower or something."
Steel
“Hey, it’s a stressful life. People go grey early. Have you considered the issue of early-onset male pattern baldness? Erectile dysfunction? I hear there are little blue pills you can get to help with that.” There’s another teasing smile. “Let me guess… House Flameball?”
Steel unearths the packet again, tapping out another cigarette and offering another to Elijah. Again, it’s lit the boringly mundane way and she takes a drag.
“Ahh, truth. Now there’s an interesting topic. And one eminently suited to large quantities of alcohol, although there should possible be a spliff or two involved as well. Is there one glorious, almighty truth that we’re all searching for? Or is this the point where you tell me to get off your lawn before you set the dogs on me?”
An evil smiles flicks across Steel’s face as she leans in close to Elijah and whispers, “I could show you my Watchtower but then I’d have to kill you.” Her eyebrows go up, questioningly, as she sits back again and takes another drag.
Elijah
"Ohhh, close but noooo, no flambe for me," she offers him another cigarette and he shakes his head, "thanks, though."
She leans in with that evil smile and he does lean in to meet her, eyes all green and delighted. He meets hers, thinks he will forget about this in the morning. Thinks he'll forget about a lot of things about her, all things said. Should probably play it closer to the chest but she's alone and she needs information. Information keeps people alive and he's not going to have some person whose name he only barely remembers die horribly because he decided to be tight lipped with what was probably going to be common knowledge in a matter of weeks.
She'd show him, but then she'd have to kill him.
"If you do it now I don't have to worry about going bald, then," his lips turn upward, and he's aware of how incredibly close they are while still feeling the distance, "must be worth it, though."
Steel
Steel takes a drag and holds it, resting the lit cigarette across the top of the shot glass. She leans forward again, to whisper. “It’s just one word. Survive.” She exhales, blowing warm, smoky, alcohol-tinged air across Elijah’s ear. She sits back a little, maintaining some of the proximity but giving enough distance to see each other’s eyes. “In the end, it’s all any of us can hope for. How many people do you know, or have heard of, friends of friends who heard someone talking about someone they met at a party, who have achieved the great A that’s supposed to be our great salvation? I’ll take a stab as a big, fat ‘none’.”
“At least you chose a Trad where you can at least have a little fun. Imagine trying to survive eternity without a drink, or a smoke, or other recreationals. What’s the point if there’s no fun?”
She meets Elijah’s eyes, cocking her head questioningly. “Tell me one thing. Who else is operating in the city? Any Disparates, or whatever the fuck they’re supposed to be called now?”
Elijah
"Chantry's got a cabal with two verbenae and a Euthanatos, who're all pretty badass. The Order actually doesn't have that much of a substantial presence here, not a lot of Akashics, couple Mercurial elite, and one fucking badass Cultist who runs with her own posse. We've got a few disparates, but y'know, we're not exactly organized. Everybody's a fuckin' island and nobody wants to play together, we're practically begging oh please, pick us off like flies with this. And I sure as shit am not a leader."
At least he knows that about himself. Doesn't make overtures to the fact that he could be anything other than the guy who knew people. And that's what it came down to, Elijah knew people, or knew people who could get ahold of other people, whose greatest self defense mechanism was having allies who might come together with the expressed purpose of making sure he didn't die horribly.
It's a completely different life than the one Steel has.
"Numbers fluctuate- there's people who blow in and out of town. Used to be a priest around who was apparently a real pillar but he got called away or some shit."
Steel
“Ever considered that might not be a bad thing? Get too big, too powerful, and you become a threat to the best biggest fish in the sea. Whether that’s leeches, or the Tech’s, or just another group who doesn’t want you on their lawn. Staying small can let you slip under the radar and do what you need to do. But there’s nobody specific trying to run the place? No Trad with the city under their thumb? That’s…” Better than I hoped. “Interesting.”
“Anyone Hollow?” This time, there’s just an edge of hope – of need? – creeping into her voice. It’s been bad enough being alone for months, creeping around the edges with no contact with the past or the present because it’s all been too damned risky. But now there’s some kind of contact – however much of it Elijah will actually remember – she really does want to know. Do I have anyone I can trust here?
Elijah
"Nobody wants Denver, so it's basically a playground for now. Keep quiet and you can do basically what you want. Just so long as you're not loud nobody's enforcing curfew."
"Alyssa left about a year ago," he says it like it's an apology. Because he's not numb, he's not clueless. He can tell the edge of hope in there and it's his job to dash it since he has no comrade to offer her. No one who understands precisely where she's coming from there. "So currently I haven't met anyone like that."
Steel
She nods. Nobody to suck up to, or justify things to, or really go around the backs of. No more than the usual mundane authorities and trying not to kick up too much attention by leaving any traces – or lack of traces – that are just a little too strange to be easily explained. A little more time to build some contacts and she should be back in business again. Mundane business, at least. It didn’t really sound like the other Awakened would have a great deal of need for her certain skills.
I haven’t met anyone like that. “Well, bollocks.” Steel’s gaze falls to the graffiti on the table, although she isn’t really reading about KJ and his (or her) claim on the table. “Worth a try. If you happen to hear of any arriving, keep me in mind.”
Elijah
"Do I actually get to have a way to keep in contact with you or are we doing this with dead drops in the park and mentally-encoded post-it notes?" he asks. Her gaze is on the table and he leans back. He's polished off what he came with. Feels comfortable enough but his eyes flick back tot he bar, then the entrances and the exits.
When did he become someone who could fake being professional? When did he become a person who might well be considered an adult and not some kid who was running around trying to make sense of where he fits within the universe? (the minute he stopped kidding himself and knew that he didn't fit anywhere, that was the moment. We digress) but there he was, keeping in contact with someone he doesn't quite know giving her the basic run down.
Steel
“For the moment, as corny as it sounds, this is the best place to find me. I’ll swing by when I can and keep an eye out for you. Unless you particularly like trying to swap briefcases with strangers in the park, but if you hang around here you can at least have a drink while you wait. I don’t have a phone right now and, no offence I’m not telling you where I’m staying. Not until I get to know you better.
“I’ve bumped into a couple of others. One woman with a whole sharp winged thing going on, and another woman with a pulsing, regrowing thing happening around her. Do you know them?”
Elijah
"No offense? But I have zero desire to know where you live," he says with his hands up, "I was thinking more, like, burner phone number or something but I'll make this a hang out. Provided I don't get mugged I think the place is kinda charming."
Charming as any place where there's bloodstains on the floor can be. The last time he was in a place like this he nearly died, learned how to be literally bullet proof afterwards because fuck that. He had no desire to go out in anything other than a blaze of glory. Maybe he should have joined House Flambeau.
"And yeah, I know them. They're not plants, they're real honest-to-goodness Traditionalists. The sharp winged one hates the Technocracy worse than goth girls hate spray tans."
Steel
“I’ll try to say hello, if I bump into them again. I guess there’s no secret handshake or one of us whatever? And watch what you say about goth girls, thank you.” The smile makes a return. “There’s nothing natural about looking like a satsuma.” She sniffs, sitting back and recovering the cigarette from the glass and taking a drag.
Steel taps a fingernail on the bottle. “You want to take this with you?” There’s another questioning cock of the head. “And some help drinking it?”
Elijah
He looks at the bottle, then looks at her. He considers for a moment, but not too long.
"Sure, you know where I live. I think Jenn's gone for the night."
Steel
[Dex+Larceny]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6) ( success x 3 )
Steel
“I do.” She stabs this unfinished cigarette out on the table and brushes the remains under the table. “And you have no idea how long it’s been since I got completely rat-arsed with someone.” She grabs one empty shot glass in each hand and, almost like a magic trick, they seem to vanish. The bottle, at least, is paid for and won’t attract any attention from the barman on the way out.
“Lead on, Macduff.” She shuffles out of the booth and nods to the barman on the way through. He barely notices.. The hooker at the bar looks up momentarily, checking out the movement, before returning to rifling around in her purse for a little something extra to get through the night’s demands.
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