[Poole] The Mile. The upscale playground of important people, and those wish they were important. After the sun goes down, when the temperature outside starts to drop, that's when the night clubbers and the pub crawlers and the partiers come out. They rise like vampires from the coffins of their offices and cubicles, but instead of blood they look for music, liquor, drugs.
The place in which two apprentices find themselves is not the loudest place on the block. It's not the classiest or the flashiest. It's not even the nicest. This is a place for college students to go to let off steam. That's the kind of crowd that's here on a weeknight. The semester for most has just ended, and there are young people everywhere celebrating the end of a semester, the passing of a final, a graduation.
Riley is not dancing yet. She's leaning against the bar, her elbow resting on its top. She stands out by virtue of her height; in sandals with a three-inch heel she towers over a lot of the men. Tonight, the somewhat tomboyish woman is wearing heavier than usual make-up, darker more dramatic eye shadow, thicker than usual liner. She doesn't look like she's desperately seeking for Mr. Right Now, though. She's dressed in a dark blue halter top that gathers along the neckline and a pair of fitted dark-denim jeans. Her wavy hair is down tonight, falling around her face and over her shoulders in waves.
The music is loud enough that she has to raise her voice in order to be heard, but she doesn't have to shout. She smiles dazzlingly at the bartender, a smile that lights up her eyes and sheds years from her face (and yet adds them, laugh lines and all). It helps to draw him closer to where she stands near Emily. She orders a Jack and coke, then turns to lean back against the bar.
"Isn't this fun?" she asks, looking at the crowd writhing on the dance floor. A tech geek who isn't a total recluse, will wonders never cease? "Hey, thanks for coming with me," she adds, tapping Emily lightly on the arm.
[Declan] [Mind if I crash your scene? :)]
to Littleton, Poole
[Poole] [i don't mind!]
to Declan, Littleton
[Littleton] The beat slid along her skin, and the night was warm and balmy. There were no seabreezes, no sand between her toes, but it was similar enough to evoke memories of a far away island, a summer that seemed like one slurred and hazy memory. The Emily that Riley knew had always been a little reserved, a little quiet; she did not dabble in dancing or nightclubs, she certainly didn't know what went on in the corners of these dark rooms, in the secrecy of bathroom stalls, along the brick-walled alleyways.
This Emily, though, is a little more Embassy-brat and a little less mild-mannered geek. Her dark curls are piled high on her head, dripping down to just touch the nape of her neck with graceful ringlets. Her skirt's hem a bit above her knee, making the most of those long legs. She's wearing heels, too, so the two of them are a tall, lean pair leaning against the bar. Where Riley's shirt is blue, Emily's is a close-fitting silver that leaves most of her shoulders and upper back bare. It's the sort of clothing that would drive their mutual geekboy friend up the wall; it's the sort of thing she never wore around him.
For all that this may seem strange to her, here, Emily wears it well. With practised ease. So long as it's just Riley, and no one else from their shared Chicago experience wanders through, she's fine. She's easy going and flirty. Friendly, really. There's a playfulness to the Orphan that Riley hasn't seen before. After all, this is transient, fleeting, flirtation and nothing more -- no consequences and very little threat beyond what lingered at the margins of the throng.
"Thanks for inviting me," she calls back to her fellow geek girl, though neither of them quiet seem that part this evening. "It's good to be out again." Like it was the first time in awhile, a long while, that she'd gone dancing.
Riley's having Jack and Coke and Emily, for now, isn't drinking. That will come later, because she isn't sure where she'll stop if she begins. There's a thrum to the room, an elation to being so near a crowd moving with a singular purpose to bind together their individual whims. She breathes it in, and tries to hold it deep enough to dislodge the weight she's been carrying for over a month now.
[Littleton] ((Okay by me!))
to Declan, Poole
[Declan] [Dex+Perf... for giggles]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Declan] [hahaha, nice]
[Declan] Since leaving Ashley and Travis earlier that afternoon, Declan had... changed. (Literally and figuratively.) Gone were the nondescript and slightly baggy clothes he'd been wearing for the past week. Gone was the tired and somewhat haunted look in his eyes. These things were replaced by a more fitted pair of jeans, a black a-frame and a studded white belt. The look was replaced with something wild and alive in ways that mere mortals could seldom hope to achieve.
(It was the kind of look that made faeries fall in love.)
And he was dancing. Not simply standing in place and swaying to the beat. No. Really dancing. It was some club. The first one he'd happened to pass by, really. He hadn't even gotten the name, and frankly it didn't matter. There were lights. There were bodies - warm and alive and surrounding. And most importantly... there was music. It pulsed and hummed and threaded into his veins as if it belonged there. It was home. He was home. At least, the closest thing to home that he ever got. If Declan noticed the two familiar faces at the bar, he didn't show it. Most of the time his eyes were closed, anyway. And more than likely, they might not have noticed him, had it not been for the fact that a weakness in his ankle sent him suddenly pitching toward one side and knocking up against a couple of girls who'd been dancing together near him.
Not the most graceful thing, really, but he passed it off with a wide, confident (really?) smile before stepping off and away to the perimeter of the dance floor, where he mopped away a bit of sweat from his forehead with the back of a forearm.
[Poole] If she hadn't been watching the crowd, she might have noticed something in Emily that's different. Well, different beyond the obvious. Tonight, the geeks aren't geeks. They're two pretty girls who could almost pass for sisters. Same height. Both are lean, though Riley's bare arms have tone to them whereas Emily's thin figure likely comes from a college student's diet. They both have brown hair that is not straight, but that's where the similarities end. It's enough, though, for people whose perceptions are altered to think they're related.
If she hadn't been watching the crowd, she wouldn't have seen one of the dancers take a stumble. She's just narrowing her gaze on him - "Hey, isn't that" - when her drink arrives, a neat little glass set on a napkin with a phone number. Riley looks at it, and then she looks at the bartender as if for the first time. She smiles that charming smile again before tucking the napkin into the pocket of her jeans. Turning back, she tries again.
"I think that guy looks familiar," she says, leaning in to Emily so she doesn't have to raise her voice quite so high. She drinks, though, rather than heading to the floor. Riley isn't as young as she used to be, and it's been a while since she's gone to a place like this, since she's gone dancing. Sometimes, even the most gregarious need a little liquid courage.
[Littleton] She's watching the room, in her own way. Emily wants to know where the people come in, when they slink out of the shadows. She needs to know where they go, when they disappear out back exits. She wants to know, she would say, because it's safer to know than to be surprised. But that's not entirely why.
She misses the stumble, but catches the ripple it throws out through the crowd. He bumps into the two women, they step back and the small, shuffling movement slithers through the room, takes on a movement and a life of its own until it reaches the margins of the space and spreads out, thin and decaying along the periphery.
Riley leans over and Emily leans in. Whatever the other girl says raises the Orphan's eyebrows, and Emily looks toward the nexus of that disturbance for the first time with any directed interest. Riley seems happy to stay at the periphery, but Emily -- who is not tethered by a drink in hand or any residual shyness tonight -- pushes away from the bar and starts to make her way out toward the floor.
"Let's check it out," she says, but the alto of her voice is mostly lost sound.
There's a look over her shoulder, of course, and a playful quirk of her finger (come hither [innocent between these two]). Riley would have to choose between the bartender, and her friend, who is headed toward the dancer, moving between the gyrating bodies with an easy grace.
[Declan] Beads of sweat had collected on his skin. One of them ran down from his hair and dripped off the side of his nose. Declan grabbed a handful of his thin shirt and used it to wipe away the perspiration on his face. There was still a little stubble on his jaw, but not much. His hair was mussed up in an almost fashionable manner, with sweat separating it into sharp pieces at his forehead. One could almost be fooled into thinking that he was just another college kid come to cut loose, tonight, and not some homeless drifter with no real place in the world.
When he lifted the hem of his shirt, there were abdominal muscles briefly revealed. Not like an athlete, but more the slim, rangy look of someone who'd had to literally fight for his own survival for a number of years. That same rangy musculature could be found in the tight curves of his arms and shoulders as well. Declan had the body type of a musician - the kind of wild rock star that always looked just a bit too thin because of excessive drug use and lack of sleep. And there were... marks. At least, it seemed as if there were. From a distance, and in the shadows, it was hard to tell, but it looked like there may have been scars on his stomach. (Maybe that was just a trick of the light.)
The shirt came back down again, and he reached up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. They still looked a little dazzled, sparkling with the reflection of colored lights, and his lips parted as he sucked in deep breaths. For the moment, he seemed content to take a breather and watch the throng of bodies from the sidelines. Then movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look over, and he caught sight of Emily and Riley. There was a tilt to his head - something a little... animalistic - and then a wicked grin lifted one corner of his mouth.
Something was decidedly... different. Like all of the shy dreaminess had been sucked out of him. (Maybe he was on something.)
[Brady] [Awareness+Perception: You Knew It Was Bound To Happen Eventually.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Brady] [Give it up, fuckers!]
[Declan] [You know what, let's hop on that band wagon - Aware+Per]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Littleton] ((Givin' in to peer pressure - Aware + Per))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Poole] [me too, me too!: percept + aware]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Brady] This is the sort of place that college students and the recently-graduated congregate when they have some semblance of free time. With summer just around the corner and graduations aplenty, that's all the 20-somethings of the city seem to have right now, is free time. All they have is money burning holes in their pockets, livers begging for liberation from the clean lifestyle, active libidos and a burning desire for connection.
One of the guys at the bar looks like he could still be in college. He's got the all-American good looks of someone who probably played football in school, who was probably in a fraternity, who is probably not used to being turned down by those he deigns to grant an ounce of his attention. He's also got the distracted air of someone who isn't thoroughly invested in the clubbing scene tonight; he's got a vodka tonic at his elbow and a cell phone in his hand, the thin glow of the screen casting shadows across the youthful plains of his face.
There is nothing overly impressive about his dress. He wears relaxed light-washed jeans, an untucked black t-shirt, a watch, but despite the nondescriptness of his clothing, despite the laid-back, almost effortless attractiveness of his physical appearance, those who look at him get the idea that this guy is used to being the center of attention. His body isn't flashy, but his being, he, gives off the impression that this is not the case.
For those who are able to pick up the deeper traces of magical workings, who can read the resonances of their counterparts like crime scene investigators can pick up fingerprints from a doorknob or a light switch, the flashiness of his Workings can be felt. Traces of a (perhaps) unfamiliar Sphere, that of space, can be felt lingering on him like another man's cologne.
Something catches his attention, and he looks up from his phone to follow the progression of the two females--sisters?--from the bar to the dance floor. He flicks his phone closed, pocketing it, and moves away from the bar like a lazy feline removing itself from a patch of sunlight.
[Poole] Riley has to choose between the pale-eyed angel behind the counter and the blue-eyed woman making her way to the dance floor, and it's no contest. She takes another drink, leaves the rest on the bar, and heads out after her friend.
The clumsy dancer looks familiar. Lately there has only been type of individual Riley has met. So she practices stretching out her awareness, reaching out to the dancer to see if there's something about him that she recognizes. Her exploration is just as clumsy as he is. She feels outward in a burst of perception like a child running at the flock of birds, setting them to flight. And she feels
a familiar glow, along with the unrelenting drive toward some unnameable goal [Emily]. Comfortable.
Something fluid, variable, shifting and changing [Errol]. She smiles.
Someone showy, almost gaudy, an attention-seeker perhaps [loud asshole upstairs]. At that she turns.
And sees her new neighbor headed in their direction. Riley stops a little behind Emily, where she goes toward Declan, and she smiles at Nico.
"Hey," she says, pitching her voice so he can hear her when she gets close enough. "I was just going to dance, do you wanna come?" Ordinarily, they're about the same height. Tonight, Riley towers, her already long legs seeming to go on forever. She doesn't wait for him, though, but chooses to stay near to Emily. Not the clinging friend, no, but wanting to keep her in sight nonetheless.
[Littleton] Of the four of them, Emily is likely the only one still in her co-ed years. She's young, but doesn't carry herself with the frivolity and excesses that seem to dominate most American's collegiate years. She's already been there, done that, and gotten scolded by an international authority to boot. That doesn't mean, however, that she's impervious to regression. Or that the recklessness she's encountered, recently, hadn't rubbed off on her bare shoulders or stirred something she thought she'd left behind, on European soil.
Her grasp of the situation is shakier. There are other resonances here, but in a room this crowded with humanity, the only ones she makes out clearly enough to recognize are her own and the electricity that surounds riley. There's a shifting, fluid something near the dancer they're approaching and an extroverted splash of interest back near the bar -- these are unfamiliar, so far, and she can't begin to guess to whom they might belong.
He wore a wicked little grin, and her head titled a bit to the side as she answered with something wry, mischevious and canted toward dangerously playful. For a moment, it must have seemed that she might slide right up beside him and demand some sort of answer -- that was the relentlessness, new to her resonance and still strange to the taste -- but the tall girl stops a little ways away. Watches him openly for a moment, and then looks over her shoulder to Riley.
Have we met? -- It's all that's communicated in that moment, when she's trying to place him against a thousand near-nameless faces. Place a country or a town or a moment; there were so damned many to choose from. Her curls shimmy as her head turns toward him again, as she looks carefully over his rockstar thin frame (I know what that means) and his flashy white belt.
She turns back to Riley, now, almost as if she had something to say. Instead, Emily shrugs a bit. He's not familiar to her, not in this guise, not with that fae-fickle dancer's demeanor. She would remember (she always did) if she had met that Declan before.
[Declan] Declan's perceptions (such as they were) tended to be a little oversensitive in this kind of environment. Music opened him up, and he felt things he wasn't supposed to feel. Tonight... he felt an inkling of something... magic, radiating from Riley and Emily (and a stranger at the bar.) It was a curious sensation, and one that he couldn't remember ever feeling before - at least not precisely in this way.
"Man, y'all got some serious mojo goin' on," he called out over the din of the music.
And that... was definitely not a New England accent.
Riley called him Errol Flynn, and tonight he was far closer to that idealized image than he'd ever been on past encounters. There was a certain rakish charm to the way he smiled, and when he moved, it was with a light, energetic grace. Declan wasn't hiding tonight. (Or then again, maybe he was, and this was someone else entirely.) And when Riley asked if he wanted to dance, he grinned.
"I would love to dance with you, darlin'. But I wouldn't want to leave our friend here all alone." This was directed at Emily, and it was clear what his intentions were from the way that smile still hovered on his face. (Two girls are better than one.)
[Brady] On a normal day, barefoot and lazy, Riley and Nico are the same height; it's ridiculously tall for an American female, average for an American male. On a normal day, Riley isn't wearing three-inch heels, isn't dressed to break a man's heart. Tonight she towers over him, makes him look smaller than he actually is.
He might have been an athlete once. His build would suggest such a thing; there is the potential for power and speed in his frame, but she's also seen the scar on his knee, has seen what may very well have ended his career. That scar is hidden beneath denim tonight, and he doesn't walk with a noticeable limp, doesn't favor his leg any more than he has to.
The dark-haired female trails behind her friend for a moment to ask Nico if he wants to dance, and a smile slides onto his lips, lopsided and boyish. There is a slim, tall glass in his hand, the straw bitten and bent, dangling by his side. Eyes that seem near-colorless in the wan light of the club flick over Riley's shoulder, briefly lighting on the slight British woman and her rakish companion, and he says, "Yeah!"
Following her onto the dance floor, he takes a quick swig from his flagging drink.
"You gonna introduce me to your friends?"
[Declan] Declan's perceptions (such as they were) tended to be a little oversensitive in this kind of environment. Music opened him up, and he felt things he wasn't supposed to feel. Tonight... he felt an inkling of something... magic, radiating from Riley and Emily (and a stranger at the bar.) It was a curious sensation, and one that he couldn't remember ever feeling before - at least not precisely in this way.
"Man, y'all got some serious mojo goin' on," he called out over the din of the music.
And that... was definitely not a New England accent.
Riley called him Errol Flynn, and tonight he was far closer to that idealized image than he'd ever been on past encounters. There was a certain rakish charm to the way he smiled, and when he moved, it was with a light, energetic grace. Declan wasn't hiding tonight. (Or then again, maybe he was, and this was someone else entirely.)
[Corrected repost due to reading fail.]
[Poole] [go go gadget gaydar!: percept + aware]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Carmichael] And, enter the geekboy. What else is there to do on a Tuesday night, once Glee's over? Not much, that's for sure, and so Chuck rocks in in his best (which is to say: clean) jeans and a t-shirt with five small-ish, colored rectangles in a repeating pattern over some black lines. He is, of course, ridiculously tall. He's also recently showered, and given that and the ambient humidity of Chicago air, his dark hair is quite the curly mop, considering how short it is.
He has, in the time since the sun started showing up with relative regularity, gathered quite a bit of tan on his arms, but were one to look under the short sleeves of his shirt, one would quickly realize it's only on the portions that are exposed to sun by hanging out the window - it's quite sexy, that sort of tan, really it is.
Regardless! There's music. There's drink. There's a caffeinated, enthusiastic geekboy dancing his way through the (fairly thin) crowd towards the bar.
[Poole] People are congregating on the dance floor, as well they should. This is why Riley called up Emily. She wanted to get out and feel young(er) again. And she didn't want to go it alone. What if she's forgotten how to dance? What if she goes home with the bartender? Sure, she could share the experience with Emily tomorrow, explain to her over the phone or over coffee and waffles about the wild night she'd had. It wouldn't be the same as being there, though.
The music shifts to something else with a heavy beat. The lights swirl around them, and a cute potentially college-aged boy is giving her a boyish smile. For a second, Riley's interest is piqued. Nico is certainly cute, if probably entirely too young for her. The best kind of mistake. Then she catches the look over her bared shoulder, past Emily and on to...ah.
Her face lights up in a knowing smile. "C'mon!" She makes her way to the dance floor.
It's hard to believe that this is the same Declan, dancing and moving like some wild creature, a spirit in disguise. The man in the coffee shop, the man with the fever, had been sweeter, shyer, more hidden away. If not for the tug of his resonance, she might think she'd gotten it wrong, that this was some other pale-haired stranger.
Nevertheless, she slides up to the drifter she thinks of as Errol Flynn in a story she made up in her head the first day they met. "Hey," she says, and she has to lean in to be heard, and she has to lean down to even do that. All she wants is to get his attention so she can ask, "Do you remember me?"
[Littleton] There are reasons that people come to places like this. They come to celebrate. They come to explore. They come to forget. Emily has so very many things she'd like to forget, tonight, and Riley has already gathered around them a pair of adorable men. She looks over Riley's shoulder, to Nico, and offers him a broad smile. Tonight it isn't warm, because warmth implies depth or genuine interest. It's playful, without any hint of seriousness. It doesn't linger, long.
Emily is not possessed of Riley's acute gaydar, but she isn't here to do more than dabble. To flirt, and laugh, and dance like she's putting years behind her, like her feet could tap out a tattoo to bury the grief and the heartache. It's not even a who, this forgetting, as much as a what. So it doesn't matter who Declan and Nico are, whether they're interested in either girl or each other, so long as they dance, and they smile, and they make the small circle of Awakened souls a little brighter for their presence.
Are you going to introduce me to your friends? he'd asked.
"I'm Emily," she says, leaning in just enough to get her voice across the crowded space to him. It's foreign, liltingly British and tinged with a something more that is utterly lost here. In truth, mose of the softer consonants and vowels are stripped away by the booming bassline. "Are you a friend of Riley's?"
Riley is sidling up to the dervish of a dancer, and Emily stands near enough to Nico to hear his answer, but keeps an eye on the other brunette. It's not that the man beside her is anything but gorgeous; just that her attention is split, and mostly with Riley.
[Declan] Does he remember her? How could he forget?
And if Riley had indeed been wondering whether or not this was indeed the same Declan who she'd been kind enough to offer assistance to on two separate occasions, he probably cemented the certainty in her head when he responded by saying: "Of course I do, Angel."
(Are you an angel? I see them sometimes, you know.)
But when he said I it sounded more like Ah, and the vowels in Angel drawled out all casual Texan charm. He was still on the periphery of the dancers, but seemed eager to jump back into the mix, as evidenced by the way his body swam slowly from side to side in time with the beat.
"You girls should join me. It's a fucking wonderful night, I say." And he glanced over at Nico briefly, to offer a friendly nod that suggested he wouldn't necessarily take issue with having the entire lot of them join him, genders regardless. Then, without waiting for a reply, he threaded his way back through the warm bodies, finding an empty space so that he could resume dancing.
[Declan] [Covertly erases one of those "indeed"s]
[Carmichael] ((And, I knew this was a bad idea. Yay for not engaging Chuck! I now return you to your regularly scheduled dancing, brought to you by the letters T and Z, the number 17, and viewers like you.))
[Poole] [I like tempting fate: dex + perf]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 9 (Failure at target 7)
[Poole] [no seriously]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 3, 6 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]
[Brady] Riley sees something in the gaze that cuts over her shoulder, perhaps sees the trip that the Orphan's eyes make over the form of the male behind her, perhaps picks up on the way he doesn't look at Emily, the way he doesn't flirt with Riley herself--whatever it is, she knows.
In another lifetime, in another state, that would have terrified him. That would have had him coming up with an excuse to bail out of dancing, would have had him pretending to take a phone call and escaping. He is not a teenager anymore, though, is not living in a small backwater town with religious neighbors judging his every move. Here in Chicago he doesn't have to explain why he doesn't have a girlfriend, doesn't have to put on airs, doesn't have to try and pretend to be something that he's not.
The Virtual Adept gives him a knowing smile and leads him over to Emily and Declan.
Emily is the first to introduce herself when the neighbors arrive on the dance floor. The sloppy-haired young man lifts his left hand in a motionless wave. He stands close to her to better hear her over the thumping of the music; for a moment, she has his full attention. The full attention of an attractive male can result in misinterpreted signals, has led to more than one young woman falling for his flashy, flighty ass.
"Emily? That's pretty. I'm Nico. Nice to meet you."
The two of them have a connection that they aren't aware of. The name 'Owen' has a place in both of their histories, in their brains, but that isn't the name that they're discussing right now. She asks if he's a friend of Riley's, and he glances over at the statuesque brunette and her lighter-haired friend, considering her for a moment before looking back.
"I live upstairs from her," he says.
The skinny blond glances over at Nico, offers him a nod that is more inclusive than exclusive, and the Initiate's eyes briefly light on him before the other man is turning away to weave his way onto the dance floor. A beat, a consideration, and then Nico gestures for Emily to lead the way.
[Poole] It's been a while since Riley's been out like this. Has it been a year? Two? It amazed her to find that she could still fit in these clothes, though it shouldn't have. After all, her gym clothes from high school still fit almost ten years later. For a geek, she's very fit, very athletic, very concerned with her health. Habits turned into second nature by a lifetime living with a personal trainer. She can move, that Riley Poole, but again, it's been a while.
She tries to move to the music as she follows Declan into the crowd. A glance thrown over her shoulder back to Emily, to make sure she's alright. She's still by Nico, and that's...well, Riley's fairly certain she's safe there. And if not? She knows where that boy lives. Controlled access buildings mean nothing to those with keys to get into them.
When Declan reaches a clear space, Riley's right behind him. Tall and slender yet hardly graceful. Her movements are hesitant at first. Dark eyes dart around those around them once, twice, and then she's laughing at herself. She's acting like an old lady, the kind of person she's not ready to be yet, timid and shy and scared in this loud place.
So Riley relaxes. She moves however she wants, sliding her hips from side to side, lifting her arms up over her head. Starting slowly, then picking up the pace, finding a rhythm that may or may not match the shorter male nearby. By this point, they may not even be dancing together anymore. They're surrounded by strangers, after all. The Virtual Adept leans against a stranger, grinning over her shoulder before moving away again. Back toward Declan, laughing and dancing and just enjoying herself.
[Declan] [Dex+Perf - are we any better this time, dice?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Littleton] ((Dance? -- dex + perf))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 7)
[Brady] [Athletics+Dexterity: Catch!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Littleton] I live upstairs from her, he says. Emily's mouth forms a little O, and he doesn't have to hear her to guess that the laughter and surprise in her features translates to So you're the upstairs asshole. She doesn't say that, no, not outloud.
Instead? "C'mon, Lady Gaga..."
Oh, so the girls talk. They talk about Nico. Emily's eyes are still laughing as she follows Riley out onto the floor. She doesn't reach for Nico's hand, to tangle her fingertips with his and bid him follow. It's possible that she already knows, or has her own agenda. But those dark eyes, which are deeply blue in the right light, aren't giving anything away for free tonight.
And maybe it's that she's in a strange place, or that she's wearing heels and not barefoot in the sand. Maybe the Orphan has slipped something that Riley doesn't know about (it's more possible than you'd think), but somewhere between where she'd been standing with Nico and getting to Riley and Declan, Emily slipped (again).
It's one thing to fall flat on your ass in the middle of a wet and nearly empty basketball court. It's another to send yourself sprawling in a throng of moving people. To be underfoot when they're buzzed, or high, or drunkenly unfocused. And it's no small flush of crimson, painfully bright and embarrassed that comes rushing up her bare neck to burn at all of her features, either.
[Owen] [I am entirely capable of entering this realm of booze and hot bodies dancin'.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Declan] There was some introduction going on, though Declan seemed disinclined to participate. His mind was on other things, and he pursued those desires with a kind of single-minded purpose. The drifter could be many things on many different days. Today he was life personified. He was breath and blood and skin and sweat and always, always that rhythmic pulse of music. Euterpe would be proud.
And he moved like he was familiar with this. Maybe he was a club-kid in another life, dancing away his worries until the sun came up. Regardless, he didn't seem to care that Riley was a little unsure of herself, or that Emily actually slipped and fell. Had he been close enough to catch her, he'd have jumped forward to do so. As it was, the unknown man who oozed flashiness despite his casual dress got there before him. So Declan just laughed (not a cruel laugh, but one of playful amusement) and went back to dancing. They moved with the crowd, drifting together and apart and together again, and whenever Riley came close enough, he brushed against her in some way. Fingertips on an arm. The light bump of a hip. It was flirty and playful, but unassuming. Like all of them, he was out to enjoy himself tonight.
[Brady] Nico's eyebrows not in consternation or confusion but humbled amusement when Emily calls him Lady Gaga. Laughter is too quiet to be heard over the music, but it's there, staining his face, coloring his gaze, as he takes another swallow of his drink and starts after the other Orphan. They don't talk, and Emily doesn't reach back to take the taller male's hand to lead him to a blank spot on the lacquered hardwood dance floor, but he follows her anyway.
And it's a good thing. For whatever reason, be it inherent clumsiness or the wrong footwear or some sort of substance running through her veins, Emily's ankle rolls out from under her and she trips, sending herself sprawling backwards into a small crowd of people behind her. Without theatrics, with only one hand at his disposal with the right being charged with holding onto his dwindling drink, Nico steps forward and gets a hand around her elbow, keeping her from completely falling on her ass.
"Whoa," he says, all traces of laughter gone from his voice now. "You alright?"
[Poole] For a while, Riley's lost. That touch, that bump, that body could be anyone. As she warms up to the music, her eyes close. The press of bodies reminds her that she's not alone on the floor. That doesn't mean she's careful about where she goes. No apologies are made if she bumps some man or backs up against some woman. And for a while, she's transported back a few years. Only this time it's different. This time the fun is clean. Pure. Untainted by too much drink or experimental pills. This time Riley is just herself, with just enough alcohol in her system to bring color to her cheeks.
By some stroke of luck, she opens her eyes in time to see Emily being righted by Nico. Riley's dark eyes go wide, and she stops moving. A motionless island in a sea of moving bodies. In a flash, little more than a stretch of her long legs, she's beside her friend and her neighbor, her hand going to Emily's shoulder.
Concern lining her face, she echoes Nico's question.
"Are you alright?"
[Owen] Owen Page wasn't here to dance.
He definitely wasn't here to drink, so what, exactly, had the Initiate emerging from his little den of tranquility and adventurous evening with Keats and Byron to stand out front of it with his hands buried deep in jacket pockets, frowning deeply at the doorway, [through which the sound of bass penetrated but distantly, like a siren's heartbeat] and trying to summon up the sheer willpower required to set foot inside it.
As if in reminder, the doorway swung open and a couple of girls all but fell out [of dresses and] the doorway, one grasping at the handle and the other holding a near empty beer bottle in hand. They were pink-cheeked and glassy eyed; your typical college student on a weeknight, out instead of studying. Well, they made something of a study of Owen, instead. "Hey," a lean brunette drawled with the intoxicated's confidence, swerving a little toward him. "You're cute," as if the very fact were an accusation instead of compliment.
She waggled the bottle at him and the Chorister's nostrils pinched, his hand ventured from his pocket as if it were possessed of a life all its own. "You wan' some?" She weaved in her heels, and Owen's hand was reaching out --
"I think you should take her home."
-- to steady her, and guide her back to her gaggle of onlookers. One of them whispered that he was clearly gay, another that he was a creeper, and Owen wasn't sure what suspicion was worse -- at least they never picked the most fitting descriptor for him, it was a cold comfort. Unzipping the worn leather jacket, the dark-eyed Singer breathed out steadily and pushed through the doors, cast into the black of the nightclub.
He was on sponsor duty, and his charge had fallen off her wagon -- into the club's ladies room.
[Littleton] She's expecting the -thump-, the indelicate crash, all too familiar this week, of the hard floor rushing up to meet her. What catches her, instead, is Riley's upstairs neighbor, the man just just teasingly called Lady Gaga. Ah yes, Pride does indeed go before a fall (Ouch).
He's steadying her, and it takes a moment for the Orphan to find her feet. She's a little shaky, as if the spill had more than surprised her, but once she'd found a way to put enough weight on her ankle to carry herself, Emily manages a small smile.
Not at all cheeky.
It was an improvement.
"Thanks," she said, finding her manners more quickly than she found her feet. "And yeah, I'm fine." Nico didn't know her well enough to hear the tell, the rounded and less definite yeah wasn't Emily's usual speech pattern.
Then Riley was beside them and Emily found herself repeating the statement, with no more finality. "I'm fine, Ri'." Really. She offered Riley a broader smile.
"I think I'm gonna sit this one out," she told them, her expression a bit more somber. It was almost as if the more recent Emily, the one that thought the better of outings like this (the one that remembered where they led) was surfacing at the corners of her eyes and the careful cant of her smile. "You guys have fun!" she insisted, waving a bit to them before carefully picking her way back to the bar to claim a seat.
She favored the ankle a bit more than she needed to, strictly speaking, if she'd only just rolled it now.
[Brady] [Alertness+Perception: Whodat!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Brady] [Subterfuge+Manipulation: Can't Read My, Can't Read My...]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Brady] [Oh come on!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Declan] Nico was gay. Owen was accused of being gay. Declan was... oh, who the hell knew? It wasn't as if anyone had ever asked him, or attempted to flirt with him. And why would they have? After all, regular society didn't mix with those who lived on the fringes. They might feel sorry for him, sure, or find him endearing in a stray-puppy sort of way. They didn't flirt with him. And he liked it that way just fine.
...Usually.
He seemed disappointed when Emily threaded her way back to the bar, and even slowed his movements to near stillness for a moment as he watched her go. He glanced at Riley then, to see if she was planning to follow. It made sense that she would. Friends stuck together, after all. (Female solidarity and whatnot.) Faced with the looming prospect of losing his dance partners, Declan simply sighed and turned around, letting himself get absorbed into a small group of people who were dancing near him. And within moments his brief disappointment would lift, because there were more than enough living, breathing bodies here tonight to distract him, even if he didn't know their names.
[Poole] Emily insists that she's alright, and either Riley doesn't believe her or she doesn't care. Either feeling would result in the expression of concern that crosses her face when Emily finds her feet again.
She smiles and mouths thank you to Nico. Looking over her shoulder, she finds Declan. Whether he's noticed that she's no longer nearby or not, whether he happens to look her way, she smiles at him. It could almost be considered an apology, if Riley thought she had anything to apologize for. But there's disappointment there in her dark eyes, and maybe the promise of a return.
The night was still young, after all.
Emily's trying to make her way back to the bar. Riley doesn't let her go there alone. Not content to trail after her like a very tall, skinny shadow, Riley comes along beside her, linking her arm with hers. She smiles that winning smile of hers at Emily, and again, those around them could almost be fooled into thinking they were sisters rather than anything else, or more. But, Riley's skin tone is a bit darker, Emily's eyes are blue. Still, there's a bond there, stronger than friendship.
"Hey," she says as if she's just coming upon her for the first time tonight. "I could use a breather. I'm gettin' too old for this shit," she adds with a laugh.
[Brady] When the corner of his mouth moves this time, it's in a downward direction, not quite a frown but something very close when Emily says she's going to sit this one out. His body isn't moving to the music, is actually quite still given the fact that everyone around them is throwing themselves wholeheartedly into the communal rhythm of dance. He takes his hand off of Emily's slim elbow when it's apparent that she has herself under control again, and steps back to give her room to maneuver back to the bar, back to the safety of sitting.
He looks back to where the white-belted young man was dancing, and his eyes catch movement at the front door.
Not just movement. A veritable ghost, a presence he had legitimately believed he would never see again, a figure that has existed in the safety of the past, aged nearly six years and coming out of the annals of his history as if he'd never left. To the rest of the bar, it's just another tall, handsome young man joining the throng.
For a moment, it's as if Nico had seen just that: a ghost. His chest rises with a sharp breath, and that's all the world has in terms of a reaction from him. They can't tell that his vision has sharply tunneled, that his heart has started racing; they can't tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling, can't tell much of anything other than that for several seconds, he's stuck in amber, staring across the bar as if he's forgotten where he is, as if he's forgotten his name.
It passes. Like everything does, it passes, and he tears himself away from the door to reorient himself with Here, with Now. Riley links her arm with Emily's, leaving the males alone on the dance floor, and the skinny male Apprentice moves to dance by himself.
Nico drains his drink, reaches out to set it down on a nearby ledge, and follows after him.
"What's your name?" he asks when he gets close enough.
[Owen] [Doo de doo.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4)
[Owen] [Per + Alert, we are scanning ze area]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 4)
[Declan] [Per+Alert - so like, you checkin' me out, mang? (Nico)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Poole] [percept + alert, diff +1 (ah'm wif mah fwiend)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Owen] It wasn't exactly easy for Owen to get lost in a crowd unless he was actively trying to get lost. That was mostly because the man was, well, kinda tall. Tall and broad-shouldered did not tend to lend themselves to a cunning thief and yet -- there he was, the retired[?] former himself. Former quarterback, former golden boy of the football field, former a great many things. To most of the crowd inside the club he's just another face, another body pressing past them, seeking to find his bearings and navigate toward the door that read Female and somehow extricate a drunk woman from its depths.
Owen had no clear idea how he was planning on accomplishing this. He just knew, what:
"Owen."
"Lisa? Where are you?"
"...I couldn't do it, I .. I messed up and I threw up on my shoes and... and I can't.."
"Tell me where you are. I'm coming to get you."
He knew how it felt, to be so close to the edge of abandonment, he knew how it tasted to just let go a little at a time until that first glass was gone and another didn't feel quite as bad any more. The ghosts swimming at the base of it would vanish the second you refilled the glass. He's scanning the interior, with senses attuned to both visual and other vibrations. In the dark, without any extra senses sharpened, people can look familiar.
The presence that reminds you abruptly of shattering glass and blood and chaos does not have to feel that way because it is that individual. Even though he knows better than that. The Initiate's hands curled into fists, he focused himself, focused his breathing. Tried to put a halt on the hysteria bubbling up inside his chest, like some yawning chasm had just been tore open again.
No no no no.
He pushed through the people, cutting toward the bar.
[Poole] [wazzup, big guy?: percept + aware on Owen]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Littleton] It's an odd convergence, this night. Riley and her roommate; the vagrant she'd taken in over the weekend. They were one nexus in the night of thumping music, bumping bodies, of sweat and alcohol and co-eds and drugs. And there was Emily, making her way toward the bar, with Riley coming up at her elbow. The pair of them looking toward one another, sharing some thought or moment. This trajectory would bring them past Owen. Owen who was here on a mission, and unjustly plunged back into some horrible memory from his past.
The past, which was what Emily had come here to forget. Just as much as she'd innocently come to celebrate Summer with Riley.
In the darkness, friends and familiar faces can shift past one another without really seeing each other. The broad shouldered man tangential to their path toward the bar should be intimately familiar. And, if Emily had recognized him in the wan light, it would have arrested her path where she was. Might have given her all the more reason to second guess her chosen trajectory, her intended actions.
Riley's getting a little too old for this, and Emily throws her a look that says she's crazy. A little smile, a careful laugh. They're close enough for the blue-eyed Orphan to catch the bartender's attention. To order two fingers of something stronger than she should be drinking.
While she waits on her drink, Emily bends down to slip her heels off. It leaves her barefoot, and on her tip toes, but it doesn't seem to bother the Orphan just now. Her ankle is angry and too warm to the touch. The shoes dangle from her fingers, held low in one hand beneath the plane of the bar.
"You don't have to stand here with me," she tells Riley. "Go out there; have some fun." It's a good natured push, and Emily glances back to Declan and Nico. "Bond with your neighbors." The smile widens. And no, she's not trying to get rid of Riley...
[Travis Grace] There was an overabundance of eye candy in clubs like these. Scantily clad women, perfectly clad men. Combine those two things with the pulsating beat of the music, the flashing strobe of the lights the scent of a great many perfumes and colognes mixing together - it was a lot to take in at any one moment.
Normally, it'd be hard to stand out in a place like this. There were a hundred gorgeous women and just as many attractive men. But, somehow, Travis manages just fine. From the stark white of a v-neck t shirt, to dark denim jeans to a pair of equally white Adidas that don't have a scuff or scratch on them...Travis is hard to miss.
He's been sequestered in the VIP section of the club up until now. In the back rooms, with couches and chaise lounges and a waitress or three to see to his party's every need. There's expensive Champagne flowing freely and enough drugs to supply the entire club. There's also enough people to comfortably spend a small portion of Travis' fortune.
But he's broken free, slid past security and weaves a path through the dancing throngs of humanity that he craves so much it hurts. For a few long, odd moments Travis just stands there ...there are people to his left and to his right, their hips gyrating against their partner. Lips near ears, fingers on skin.
He doesn't seem to mind.
Eventually, he's moving again. His direction leading him toward the bar even though he had no real reason for needing to go there.
[Declan] It's possible that, of all the choices of potential dance partners that were available this evening, Declan may have preferred one with breasts. When he turned around and saw who it was that had addressed him, he seemed to hesitate a moment, as if trying to decide what motives the other male might have had in approaching him on his own, rather than following his friends back to the bar. It may have been simple curiosity or friendliness. Maybe Nico was just a gregarious sort of person. Maybe he just wanted to dance.
Nope, he was definitely gay.
Finally, the blond smiled a kind of enigmatic, lop-sided grin and said, loudly, over the din of the music, "Does it matter?"
Which was a rather odd way to respond, all things considered. Perhaps he thought he was being coy. There was a beat, and some subtle flicker passed over his eyes. They seemed to go a little vacant for a moment (maybe he really was on something) before the focus suddenly snapped back into place.
I'll take it from here, love.
His hesitance evaporated, and Declan pressed forward, leaning in so that he could speak directly into the other man's ear. "You're cute. Wanna take me home?" And when he leaned back, he bit his lip in a sultry fashion. A little feminine, a little demure, completely sex.
Ok, so, maybe he didn't prefer breasts after all.
[Poole] Emily doesn't notice Owen, but Riley, even with her attention on her friend, does. Maybe it's because in these shoes, they're the same height. She's about to say hello, or greet him in some way, when Emily signals the bartender. That earns a quirked brow, but whatever Riley thinks, she doesn't say. Her friend isn't a child, is completely capable of making her own decisions.
That doesn't mean Riley has to leave her side. Emily takes off her shoes, but Riley stays in hers. She stays over six feet tall, and that draws attention to her. Her blue halter top and the fit of her dark washed jeans, they draw attention to her. She's pretty tonight, or prettier than usual. Beautiful, even. Men look her way and are ignored in favor of a watchful eye on Emily.
Who is insisting she go bond with her neighbors.
Riley looks out at the dance floor, and her mouth curves in a lopsided smile. "They seem to be doing alright bonding with each other. Besides, I wanted to hang out with you." She nudges her arm. "Owen's here," she says, as if this surprises her. She knows nothing of his history. She hardly knows anything about him at all except that he's quiet. And quiet people rarely come to loud places like this. She leans back against the bar and orders water. "Should we say hello?"
[Brady] Does it matter?
When he had been standing at the bar, tabbing through text messages and attempting to come up with a reason to stay at this club longer than it would take to finish his drink and come up with his next destination, he had opened up his consciousness to the greater ebb and flow of the universe, had picked out three separate threads of magical leanings. So open had his awareness been that it had taken a long time for the threads of his focus to float away and recede back into his brain.
What he had picked up from this nameless, homeless young man something changeable, something unpredictable, even if it was muted, even if it wasn't as strong as his own energy. From those threads he had been able to tell that the short-haired stranger in front of him is not advanced in his magical studies. He likely doesn't have a Tradition, may very well not even know what the Traditions are.
He can't tell that he is homeless, that he lays his head wherever he can, that just last week he was staying with Riley and her father. He can't tell if he is on anything, although one would think that in his line of work, in his experience, he would be able to just know.
How many times in high school had he watched a friend suffer the effects of a bad high? How many times in college had he seen classmates tripping out on MDMA, their pupils blown from cocaine, their speech slurred from alcohol? How many times had he done an intake on a person only to find out that they still had traces of substance left in their system from the night before?
That isn't his concern at the moment, whether the other man is high or drunk or even old enough to be in here. Declan asks what may very well be a rhetorical question, and Nico smiles, restrained yet focused. I guess not.
The discrepancy between their heights is almost negligible. Declan does not have to lift himself up onto tiptoe to speak into his ear, and Nico leans in to catch the threads of speech as they leave his lips. The narrowing of his attention is enough to give Owen the chance to slip through the club without being accosted, without Nico descending on him like a previously-slipped habit. Near-colorless eyes sweep over Declan's form when he steps back, taking in the slimness of his build, the fit of his clothes, before settling on his face again.
Ah, the recklessness of youth.
"Now?" he asks.
[Owen]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Owen] See, there goes Owen.
Owen's here, Riley notes it herself. Nico can certainly feel his long-lost friend; it's that compressing, intense feeling which is like needles under the skin. Owen's presence was never exactly what you'd call comforting. Not when it was being reached for, anyway. Not when you were scrying the very air for the tell-tale signs of it. It just wasn't a particularly reassuring resonance for any Awakened to be in possession of.
Then again, that could go for many of the Magi in Chicago.
Right now, Owen is bypassing the bar and making a determined stride toward the Ladies Room. He stops before it, and waits for a heartbeat. Then he seems to count backward, if the tiny movements of his lips are any indication before ducking inside. One minute there's a dark-haired Singer lingering outside against a wall, the next there's just the door closing before it seals shut.
It's pulled open again after a minute and a wash of voices trail out in the wake of the jacket-clad man supporting with one arm around her mid-section a middle-aged woman with vibrant red hair, cut short around her face. The face itself was sickly pale; the wan countenance of someone who'd overindulged.
Lisa reeked of vomit, and whiskey.
And she was breathing heavily against his shoulder, sagging.
Simply watching the interplay from across the nightclub was fascinating. The way lips moved, the way the young man's face kept darkening and darkening; his mouth barely a line now as the older woman [who was she to him, anyway, girlfriend? mother? sister?] struggled to keep to her feet and clung to his body like it was a lifeline. She was dragging him downward, and for a moment; chest heaving, eyes wild and frenzied it seems as if he was going to strike her.
To smack her, or toss her aside bodily in some bid for freedom.
There was the strangest energy around him for a moment.
Then the redhead seemed to regain herself a little, and reached out to cup his face. She said something to him, and the Chorister's anger vanished; he seemed to slump in on himself and pulled away, shaking his head.
He started for the door, leaving the stranger wobbling toward the bar.
See Owen run.
[Littleton] Owen's here, the taller girl says, and it's wrapped around the sound of a glass settling on the bar. It's stronger than she needs tonight, but not as strong as she wants it to be. All Riley asks is if they should go say hi, but when Emily hears, as her fingers wrap around the cold glass, is Owen's voice from that night, threadbare and ragged. The corners of her mouth tighten. She's barely lifted the drink from the bar, and she's setting it right back down again.
"Yeah." Emily breathes it out, all tension in that acquiescence. As if it bothered her more than she could (would) put in words. But Emily was still smiling, enough to make it seem like she didn't mind overmuch how the evening had turned on its head (fallen on its ass). She paid for her drink with a few bills, not worrying about exact change or the percentage on the tip overmuch, and left it there.
The Orphan turned to look over her shoulder, scanning the room for her mentor-to-be, her friend. It took a moment longer to drag her hand away from the glass of colorless liquid (of escape [of burn and bite and release]).
She'd looked up in time to see him come out of the Ladies' room, supporting the rowan-haired woman. Whatever it was that had clouded Emily's attention that night, that had driven her dangerously close to self-destructive places, all of that was shoved aside in the moment she watched Owen abandon the staggering woman to the club. The Orphan's bare shoulders squared, and her expression hardened.
See Owen run.
Emily cast Riley a worried look (I'm going to see what that was about), and then started, barefoot, after the Singer. She's carrying her shoes in one hand, and favoring that rolled ankle a bit, she's dressed like a damned girl, which doesn't make it any easier for her to get through the crowd.
And then she's outside, away from the thump of the bass, pushing someone's hand off her shoulder with an angry slur of whispered Chinese words, looking for where he'd headed off to.
"Owen?!"
It's humid and far too warm for a May evening. The pavement isn't even cold under her feet.
[Declan] It wasn't unreasonable to wonder if Declan was old enough to be here. He had a boyish face that was difficult to pin down in terms of years. With most of his facial hair gone, he looked younger. Maybe... 18? Maybe a touch older. And attempting to gauge him by observing his behavior was next to impossible when he kept... changing.
You see, earlier today, something had happened that had made him start to remember, and memories were a wholly unwelcome thing when you spent your life in the service of forgetfulness. The purpose of this outing had been to rectify that little lapse in judgment. And maybe, just maybe... because he needed to let go and have fun. There were all kinds of ways to survive in this world. All kinds of tactics to make pain and loneliness more bearable. Nico was probably only too well aware of this, given what he did for a living.
Declan had felt a flash of the other man's resonance, but he hadn't really understood what it was. Only that it was bright and bold and daring. Maybe bright enough to chase away the shadows.
(Recklessness of youth, indeed.)
His answer to Nico's question came in the form of a demonstration. Hands came out to pull the slightly taller man's face towards his own, slender fingers resting along the curve of Nico's neck and the corners of his jawbone. The blond closed his eyes when his mouth met the brunette's, and there was a slight scratch of facial hair intermingled with the craving softness of lips.
Elsewhere, Owen was running. Declan didn't know. Declan didn't even know that Owen was there. He just knew he wanted to go home with someone, and that someone had presented themselves in a very attractive package. When he finally pulled away from the kiss, he smiled, more softly this time (maybe a little shy, though it may have been for show), then turned to thread his way through the crowd and toward the exit.
Yes, now.
[Poole] Riley sees Owen, points him out to Emily, even. That was before she saw where he was headed, before she saw him come out of the ladies room with a woman who had obviously had far too much to drink. She doesn't know how seeing any of this affects Emily. If thinking about Owen makes her rethink that drink. If seeing that woman makes her want to give up drinking altogether.
What she does know is that those two, who may some day be Mentor and Apprentice to each other, are close. Close in a way that Riley can't be with Emily, a way she probably won't be with anyone. So when Owen runs and Emily rises to follow, Riley's mouth presses into a firm line. The corners curl up and she nods her understanding. And she sees Emily run, too.
Which leaves Riley to clean up again, to pay for a beverage she won't drink and to collect their belongings from the coat check. She doesn't mind, though, just as she hadn't minded putting away food when Emily threw herself out of her own apartment. Silly Emily.
This is just what friends do.
They're things Riley does without even really thinking about it.
Headed for the exit, she's lost track of Declan and Nico. Not that it matters, she can guess where they're headed. Hopefully they'll stay out of Nico's second bedroom, the one above her own.
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