Tease

[Thomas Taylor] Watching him move you have to wonder how he does it, middle of the day in Chicago, the weather was awful which for the Englishman made it pleasant, it was muggy, grey and wet and therefore very homely. Still the masses of Chicago walk one way in the business district, and Thomas was moving against the traffic. The people huddles like a giant millipede thousands of legs moving at different speeds but all in one direct, a block none can withstand. But there he is wandering the other way, against the movement the motion like a salmon moving upstream his wandering nature literally palpable in the air and through the fortunes of nature, arcane and blind luck he was actually making a better pace than those on the other side of the road going his way.

His body shifted and turned, it was no walk in the park but he did not disturb the motion of the sleepers, a cigarette burning in his lips, the smoke rising up, showing his blazing trail as the business district loomed over the cockney and all who gathered. It was awe inspiring and somewhere he had yet to wander as his eyes move up towards the tower he intended to ‘breach’.

A massive grin comes across his lips, the crowds moving around him like water would an obstruction some rain drips onto his face as his tongue darts out and licks it from his face, the cigarette held in his mouth by moisture alone as he stops very close to the Seer/Wills tower.

“I ain’t never wandered to one thousand, three hundred an fifty three feet before...” He could be a child in a toy shop. “All isle then, lets get this show on the frog!”

[Thomas Taylor] ((but all in one direction))

[Emily Littleton] A brief correction, good sir. It is muggy, grey, wet and cool, which makes the weather all the more tolerable than late summer. It's back to jackets and scarfs for the city denizens, and Emily has a pale pink one wound around her neck just so. It stands a little way away from her skin, because it is not cold just yet, but the softness of it keeps the grey damp off her neck. Her hair is pulled up, twisted back into a carefully unruly bun at the back of her head. Her jacket moves more fluidly with her now; the leather has finally warmed and softened enough to break in.

There are a dozen places Emily should be spending her time today, and a dozen more things she should be working on. Studies both magical and mundane. People to care for, things to see to. The girl is no Caregiver, no Leader of Men, no single-minded automaton to progress down a given path. There's a need for change, and growth, and shifting schedules. She wants to feel like the city is new again, or at least new to her.

The Tower looms high over the mile, and with the grey occlusion of the sky, there will not be very many people willing to scale such heights for an overcast view. It's a solitary place, lonely and creaking today. Empty of the tourist press. Perfect for a little time apart, for feeling like a foreigner in what was fast becoming her de facto home town.

Emily's a little ahead of him on the climb. She'll be waiting when he reaches the top. Standing by the new expansion to the 103rd floor's viewing decks: four feet of glass that stretch out over the precipitous drop, giving a view of the city below. Standing in one of those boxes is the closest she's been to flying in awhile.

One hand rests on a railing to ground her, but otherwise Emily's lost to the sway of the building in the rain. The way that it shimmies and shudders. The Skydeck is sparsely populated; hushed conversations flit about, following their people's progress. Her eyes are closed, but they will know each other at a distance now. He's Wandering, she's Reverence.

They meet again.

[Thomas Taylor] ((Cha & Perf, Wait and see))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Thomas Taylor] Thomas insisted on wandering the entire way, but in reality his wandering checked out by the 10th floor and he took the elevator the rest of the way, of course should she asked he marched up the stairs as only a pro can and only stopped to urinate on floor 53rd because well...he really needed to go, and he’d tell her how he helped this nun from the 79th to the 85th, oh then he go back and let her know what didn’t happen on floor 69! Or the last few floors where his muscles ached and all he could do was focus and push...

What really happens is he walks out of the elevator after swiping a $20 from some jerks back pocket that commented on how on business types should be allowed around the tower on this time of day. Thomas was well ventured for the weather, black hoodie, ripped grey jeans with the holes stitched up (Badly at that) now sodden converse with the laces making a ‘slapping’ sound as he walked. There was no hood up but still people looked and avoided him. He has a black eye that the swelling had only just gone down, more yellow than purple but it looked nasty, a plaster on his forehead and some red scabbing in that short blonde hair.

Emily was unrelenting as well, but any mage can tell you on some days a certain part of your nature can take over, for Emily that was reverence for Thomas it was the wandering. A gentle smile hits his lips, it had only been a few days, Tuesdays walk out was quite the show but unbeknownst to everyone that left they helped Thomas that night. They showed him a fatal flaw that would have opened into a pit and swallowed him up...

That flaw...he had started to care...

He moves up besides her, no introduction, none needed just two wanderers making their way as he leans forward and his head hits the glass with enough force to make some people back off as if the glass might fall through and they all tumble to their doom. In his defiant example he has given them both a bit of peace. He spreads his arms head pinned against the glass as in a very feminine voice, it is unreal and seems almost unnatural from him

“The city looks so peaceful from up here...”

[Emily Littleton] Knowing that these glass boxes were nowhere near as fragile as the masses might assume affords Emily a sense of solidity, of surety, even as the city passes by beneath her feet. She's not afraid; there's no swell of adrenaline; this is no stationary roller coaster and Thomas's head colliding with the glass brings nothing more than a sympathetic wince from the Singer beside him.

"Anything is peaceful from one thousand, three hundred and fifty-three feet."

Her voice is low so as not to disturb the other visitors. This is an exchange for just the two of them. But there's also a faintly amused curl to the corner of her mouth, a little hint that she recognizes the call and response of pop culture -- for once.

Thomas looks a little worse for wear. Emily is just Emily, ever same and not quite as sadly shaded today. She reaches up to disentangle the scarf from her neck, leaving its long ends to dangle, exposing the thin silver chain she wears. Thomas does not know why; he's not yet felt her pull that sense of Home around her like a second skin.

The weather is unimpressively singular. Dark clouds don't bother with roiling. There's some wind, but no billow in the firmament above to give shape and movement to that press. Low ceiling. Fair chance of rain.

"I'd like to come here in a storm once. All Sturm und Drang, lightning and thunder. It'd be quite the show, you think?"

[Thomas Taylor] “I think I see my dad”

Pop culture done, it was fun she can see (on her side) the corner of his mouth twist into a grin or perhaps a snigger as the glass starts to condense when he speaks, slow at first then in greater diameter as the breaks become less and less. This conversation as there even his loud brash (grating some would say) voice carries itself for her alone.

The chain to him was just a keep sake, any jewellery that is hardly removed generally is so there be no reason to ask, to point to enquire, it had no sense of home about it to him, and in someway neither did Emily...itch feet, but a nomad can spot his own.

“Spot of bother be nice, all that light an noise...” He keeps looking out as he speaks taking in the sight and even with the weather the wanderer found a touch of awe in it. He’d blame the sense of reverence next to him when he thinks back on it and remembers how for just a moment his breath got caught in his lungs and he dared to fly.

“You robin pet, got yer jog on the other nite, after say TNR died before it was even born...” He does not sound sorry, you had to let something go. Emily did not like to let go, Thomas could tell that she seemed the type to hang on to it, to hold it. “Think am gonna try with a new batch, the Thursday Night Regulars, or Tommy’s Nightime Regulars or sumthin’ else, ‘cos that titles is too bloody robin to let go.”

Hands comes forward as he pushes himself back and stands next to her his hand going for a cigarette until a focused thought stopped the natural response and he instead placed both hands on the balcony. “You don’t need to tell me nuthin’ pet, each to their own.” A wink to her, his words truthful she owed him nothing if anything he sounded grateful of her actions.

[Emily Littleton] "Things get too tight, sometimes. Only thing to do is skip out and try again later," she says with a little shrug, pulling her eyes away from the cityscape below long enough to glance over him properly, to note the brown-red mixed in with his hair, the plaster and the ocher-blue around his eye.

"It's no mind..." This fades into a small smile. "I'm robin." There's an almost affectionate curl to the word when she tries it on for size. It's foreign. It tastes like cigarette tar, sticks on her tongue a little.

"I'm partial to Tuesdays, though. Give another chance, maybe, and things will turn up better." She's hopeful that the drinking group will rebound. Tensions like those that came up at the table can't last forever, after all. Someone caves, or someone breaks, or someone just stops caring enough to fight about it.

There's something brazen and unrelenting to the ineffable calm she has, perched above a fall of certain death with only a couple inches of glass between her and the downfall. Especially knowing that someone like Henri could sweep through and turn the glass to taffy in a heartbeat. That all of this could fall away like sand through their fingers. There's a wanderlust to the path they walk, and not just in the persistent change of scenery. What they did, the heart of it, made their worlds less stable, ever more capricious. Emily did not like to let go, but she did not like to hold on either.

"I'm thinking of getting out of the city for a bit," she tells him, eyes fixed on the horizon, wistful, thoughtful. It cannot come as a surprise. "Stretch my wings. It feels a little cramped here, you know?"

[Thomas Taylor] His eyes wander the rest of the lobby as she talks, she says robin and that gets his attention back in an instant, a charming curl to his lips “Suits you north, like it” A cheeky wink, then a small wince as a finger comes up and touches the black eye. Still the hand falls as quickly as it reached up and as it rests on the stand a finger starts tapping.

A shrug to Tuesday as if something that was big last week or even a few days ago has passed so fickle can the Hollow One be with such temporary things, a fact he was reminded of not the very same night that Ashley seemed to have a meltdown, Emily had too much and Jarod left after one of the women (He knew which one of course). On refection he wonders what thought had entered his mind to try and bring the magi together over a few drinks, it was most likely a thought that entered his mind when he started to care...those thoughts were fast fading with only a few exceptions, something that had taken root and wormed in before the gates shut.

He takes in the woman as he admires the way she stands, the way she dresses and her general appearance. You can take away from his looks what you want but there was nothing overly lustful or even hateful just a moment of focus and noting when she seemed to become solid. Ineffable even.

Then she mentions of getting out and Thomas eyes just sparkle, he grins and gives a wistful sigh “You sud pet, I ‘ear Viva Las Vegas is the way pet, let me kno’ if yer down the way over hallows pet, Tommy be there...” He taps her cheek twice, not too teasing but not to gently like an older brother might do to a younger sister. “Pet get out, wander, yer wings don’t need to be clipped, free ‘im.” His shoulders move at the words of ‘stretching’ and ‘clipped’. There’s a moment then where he looks right at Emily wanderlust swarms up around them you can nearly taste it on the air, a smell that never quite gets eaten, only the scent to spur you on. He might ask something, it’s caught in his throat and he forces it down. You can imagine what they might have been

Let me lead the way, the frog becomes our bride.

No not yet, small steps he had to take small steps if he did not learn to control it now he would wander till the rest of his days...and then no doubt someone will mention he is Jewish and we all know what path that will lead down.

[Emily Littleton] Wiggling his shoulders brings a warmer mirth to Emily's eyes. It doesn't shift the certainty in them, but it displaces a bit of the Reverence with something remembered. She didn't let go, perse, but she certainly moved past. That wanderlust that came off him was familiar as the West Wind, some gentle zephyr, some reminder that it was time to pack up, to shove off, to move on.

"Sin City?" Now that gets a raised eyebrow, a wicked curl of her mouth. "I was thinking a bit further, love, but maybe. Maybe. Neon lights and late nights and all that. Just the place for a girl like me," Emily jests, and the shape of her accent makes it sounds all the more laughable. Besides, she's fairy sure that so the Singer went to Vegas is the introit to some off-color Traditional joke.

"Hallows is a good time to be out of the city," she tells him, as if she knows something. There's no intimation of anything sinister, though. Emily reaches up and tenders a lock of hair behind her ear. She shifts her posture a little. Something less rigid, but no less certain. It's growing on her, this weight, like lake stones, this tangible thing she's taken on that makes her real and tethered and immanent.

"I hear Info's having a party. Wrapped an old friend of mine into the planning. The invitations sparkle, mate," she tells him. There's a suffering fondness to the shape of her eyes, but a disdainful wrinkle to the bridge of her nose. Emily is, after all, the opinionated eldest of an Embassy Diplomat. She is, at times, above all things glitterati.
"Spar-kle. There's glitter all over the floor by the board at the House. Right mess. Solomon's going to wig when he finds it--" And that, finally, wrests a spectre of mischief free. There's laughter at the thought of he once-priest trying to sort out glitter and party invites showing up on his War & Notices board.

[Thomas Taylor] “Sin city pet, all back of the bus, but with wat yer sayin’ I reckon yer wanna drag them bones back over the pond don’t ya?” He sniffs the air around her like he could smell where she might be going like it left a mark a tell. “Well if you end up that way get me on the dog, or look for the drunken cockney in fancy dress.” Fingers tap the only way this could be better is if you could smoke at 1,353 feet.

There’s distaste in his face and mouth, it leaves with a sound that is bitter. “I wud not go to Info’s party even if ya paid me...well I’d do a prank but that be it, but no soddin’ way would you catch me there.” He taps his chest, a glittergirl eh. “Sounds like yer old friend is posh totty, all the posh totty think glitter is bloody gold it really gets on me tits you know.” He nudge for Emily, perhaps to knock that weight she seemed to bare.

A snorts at Soloman cleaning it up, how normal she seemed to make the clubhouse to be, Thomas had a different view of it, none of it based on fact all assumptions and second guessing but you will never find him there though there is a small play on his lips. “’ope the old bugger don’t put ‘is hat out pet, best leave it to ‘is girl Sunday. Seer ‘ave that up in a jiffy an the lil’ bint can’t see.” He chuckles as he pushes off the banister and takes a few steps inwards, just past Emily like the talk of travelling made him wander but the conversations are still their own.

“So where you goin’ luv?”

[Emily Littleton] She's been standing on nothing but glass and air for awhile now. Feeling like flying. Unencumbered. Weightless. Free. Thomas pushes away from that, past her, and Emily steps back. She turns. It's all one fluid and mostly thoughtless motion. He wanders, she follows (for now). It's friendly, nothing more. Hands find their way back to her pockets. Scarf ends trail and shift as she moves.

It comes as a little shock to her that there are other people still milling about, and the interior of the room is dark compared with the diffuse brightness of an overcast midday.

"Vienna, I think," she says, and the word is soft. It starts like fee not vee, cants towards the native pronunciation. She's called it Wein before without so much as thinking. "Then maybe on to Prague, again. I've peace to make with that city. It's been long enough," she tells him, easily skipping over the history there. She wades through it like low water. It slows her steps, but only slightly. There's solid ground just underneath.

"Or maybe Zurich. It'd be nice to see the Alps again. Cobble streets. Old City centers. Not necessarily home, but something a bit less modern to its core. I miss history," she tells him, with a curl to her smile. It's a common slight against the New World. A bit of homeland snobbery. "But mostly I just want a change of scenery."

They both knew she meant room to breathe.

[Thomas Taylor] He nods, all the location get a moment where he wants to say something but forces it down letting her speak to express.” Pet sounds spankin’, be sad to see ya go of course, you got a cute ass but I understand.” There’s that cheeky charming grin again and your left wondering if that was really meant, teasing or just something to say.

He turns back to her still close to the edge but just from it, a short wander but keeps him stationary for now small steps.”Vienna, sweet, let me know wen yer there I might pop of the railroad an see ya ass, always wanted to see it, I mean a city built on a giant sewer...water I meant water.” He corrects and that is a tease but the sense of wanton from him is real.

“Sounds like you’ve done more than think ‘bout it...you sud go, now seize the bloody moment, get yer pass on hit the plane pet.” He moves back over to the window back into the air as he puts his hands against the glass. “One day am gonna fly pet, Superman style, break all the rules an let Mr Dox take me to the shed an kick the seven shades of shit outta me...but guess wat I’ll raise me finger in defiance an tell ‘im ‘Tommy flew’.” He turns looking back to her as he pulls out a cigattee and places it behind his ear.

“Be like the skippin’ stone pet, don’t linger where you’ve already tread that path leads backwards an sum captains stay closed. But ‘ave a laugh, a bubble a dirty bloody orgy, ‘ave half a dozen, ‘ell do the dirty dozen.” He grins as he swaggers the few steps to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Get yer space pet, ‘eaven knows you seem to long for it, those plates were made for the frog, so on yer bike.”

A wink, another cringe of pain "Gotta start to do that with the other one."

[Emily Littleton] The point of Emily's elbow finds home between a couple of Thomas's ribs. It's just a nudge, if pointed, at his comment about her ass. Just a reminder that the North/South hostilities are on cessation due to good behavior on all parties' parts. They could go from robin to shouting again in no time. Likely not indoors, though.

But along with that nudge is a playful curl of her mouth and a hint of the dark amusement to her eyes. He leans towards charming, she's more of the enigmatic, wry sort. They compliment well, with all his brash (occasionally crass) humor and her straight, sometimes too strictured conservatism.

"I'd be happy to show you around. I lived in Austria for a bit, you know? Five, maybe six months." She doesn't correct him about the Venice/Vienna slip. Just nudges the country name in, let's it jog his memory if it will.

She doesn't complain when he loops an arm over her shoulder, even though he smells like cigarettes, even if he is a Southie Chav. They're past it, for now. She's not all sweetness and light, either. And she laughs, a little, at the idea of wanton orgies overseas.

"Sometimes, Southie, I don't think I take your meaning at all." It's warm, resonant and mirthful, but she means his slang overwhelms her and she catches the gist, but not the nuance, of whatever he's on about. Perhaps she's lightly telling him that orgy is a bit inappropriate. Who knows.

"How's about you, though. If I wander, and you wander, we're bound to run into each other again. Seems the one truth about this city -- people cluster where you think they oughtn't; people turn up when you think they're gone; people go when you think they're staying. If we both leave and watch, we'll end up minders of that House and permanently entrenched some day!"

[Thomas Taylor] He shakes his head the cringe fading as he moves his neck an audible ‘crack’ can be heard as his right hand comes up and rubs at it like it was a minor annoyance then his hand drops as he just shrugs his shoulders. He was a wanderer does not mean he had to be good at geography unlike the young woman across from him Thomas was never academic and never made it past high school. He almost dares her to start something, to make a scene here now at 1,353 feet. Be like the bloody movies.

He blinks at her “You don’t get me meanin’, cum on pet yer from the same side of the pond, you wound me you do...” A moments breath as he takes the hand from her shoulder and starts moving fingers with the words “Frog an Toad is road, plates of meat is feet, robin hood is good come on North.” He slaps his hand, eyes alight “I didn’t think I ‘ad to do this dance with ya.” A chuckle as all seems forgiven as he ponders the last question but a short moment.

“Course pet, it would only be a matter of lemon....oh that’s lemon an lime pet means time.” Sarcastic now, dryly so with a sultry wink” his hands find his pockets “Luv the frog, the earth becomes yer throne, adapt to the unknown...” He looks off wistfully his resonance flaring around them as more people just seem to wander out of the lobby as if it could not find it in Thomas it would sneak out and force it on the sleepers. “tis i why I don’t mind ‘avin fuck all, the less I ‘ave the more I gain.” A wink to her, he believed that and it was something he thought relevant for the singer. A little word of kind enlighten, a nugget passed on that he hopes she gives some thought. “But pet watch that gob, ain’t me cat an I ain’t mindin’ jack.” He clicks his fingers as his hand find his pockets and he looks at the singer.

“Wat ever you feel like you sud do, just bloody do it lifes too short to be ‘avin’ a sezisure over shit.”

[Emily Littleton] Emily chuckles a little at his animated explanation. It wasn't so much the slang -- though, at moment, it was a little of both -- as their general disparity in life's experiences and expectations. There's a lot of similarity, but deep chasms of differences, too.

"So let me get this robin," she says, oh-so-patiently attempting this vernacular as a thought experiment, nothing more. "All this lemon you've thought I've had a robin hood grasp on your tongue?"

Well, when she says it that way, it almost sounds naughty to Emily. She returns his sultry wink with quite the intrigued little quirk of an eyebrow. Oh, they could be trouble, if she was itchin' to be, and she was itchin' to be something here, with his wanderlust all up in the air like moonlight, like starfall, like glitter on the Chantry floor. It was distracting, egging her on, making her restless.

"And you're right. Life's easier when you have less. One of the great paradoxes. I've an apartment now, with furniture, never felt so fat and lazy. It's good for offering to other people -- like Nico staying for a few days, that's nice to be able to offer -- but otherwise it's strange. Used to have nothing bigger than what fit in my car. Before that, didn't have a car. When I leave, not just to wander away, but when I go, I'll give it all away and start over."

There's a something wistful in talking about when she leaves for Emily. It's an inevitability. A thing looked toward, if not looked forward to.

[Thomas Taylor] He tilts his head to her, a raised eyebrow when she tries to copy him in that so un-southern accent, the one that only had a hint of North left in it that he was sure came out when he was around. They did have differences, divides that you would imagine would never be breached, but not everyone had to have EVERYthing in common in fact if you asked Thomas he would tell you he bores of those most like him quickest. Perhaps that why he is not bored of Emily or how she snuck in before his gates closed and he had a word with himself. He was a rogue, nomad a vagabond he did not care about people not really he just thought about himself...whats in it for me.

“Pet just say robin, not the full hood just embarrasses yer ass wen you do.” All in mock protest. “All this lemon I thought you did, but yer always a germans full ain’t ya.” His tongue flicks over his lips as his mouth purses shut in a mock pout “Keep talkin’ dirty to me pet I know you wanna...” He walks around her now in a tight circle “Give it all away, can I ‘ave the motor I’ll make sure it see’s America I swear!” He gives a scout salute and you just now he has never been to scouts. “Flog it for cash, oxford comes oxford goes it’s like a revolvin’ door, bit of chance pet, bit of foundation you can just bum an oxford from the universe, even dot Mc doxson let ya by that ‘appy meal” He stops just behind her so she would have to spin fast to face him as he puts both hands on her shoulder and leans in

“Take it were you leave it pet, makes no sense I know, but just say it, make ya real robin” He lets go and wanders back round again “Cum on luv get yer fill of 1,353 ft pet, Tommy needs a smoke...” He looks around “Reckon if I light a cheeky one we cud make it down in the lift before security?” He looks back to her all daring and reckless.

[Emily Littleton] Keep talkin' dirty to me pet I know you wanna.

He circles her and Emily, oh, it seems that Emily knows this game. She turns with him, not whip-fast enough to dizzy herself, but with a smirk, and a light touch of her hand against his shoulder and the intimation that she could go on talking far more dirty than he might expect lingering behind the dark hue in her eyes before ...

... that hand shifts and it's the heel of it that presses him playfully away. Not a shove, just a push, a nudge, playful for all her eyes roll upward as he salutes. She shakes her head a little, sets that mouth to a pertly wry smirk.

But he puts both hands on her shoulders, leans in, gets close enough to smell the faint cedar-and-cinnamon of her Friday afternoon, to feel the slick of soft leather beneath his palms, the sharpness of her shoulders. Close enough to see the slate-grey flecks in her eyes, which are trained on his with an Unrelenting press, an open interest, but no, not a Reverence just now.

Then that moment is over and he's looking around for the rest of the long-gone sortie of tourists and lunchtime escapists. She steps past him, bumps him a bit with her hip -- it's playful, nothing more.

"Or you can wait. You're good at waiting, aren't you Southie?" She means about the cigarette, of course, damn the distraction in the curl of her voice. "It's only one hundred and three floors..."

This time it's Emily that starts them walking, back toward the lift, toward the way down and out. She casts a glance over her shoulder, to him, to the sky-view behind him, and tugs a bit on the ends of her scarf.

[Thomas Taylor] ((Cha and Sub, Oh yes this is gonna be happening random woman!))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Thomas Taylor] When she looks back and all she can see and the sky view behind him for a moment with all that wanderlust in the air he could be flying, then he moves after her the cigarette gets placed in his lips but not lit not yet. She might have danced this tune before, but Thomas was not playing in the band. He was impressed when she ‘handled’ him, the hand pushing him away, the glance when he leant in. He believes she should assert herself more but those are private thoughts.

“Pet Tommy is not fuckin’ robin at waitin’, one hundred an three floors, pet we stopping’ at 69 isle, then perhaps at 66 ‘cos god knows I’ll need to ‘ave a piss afters.” Disgusting and blatantly teasing, less smooth more crude. He could be charming could Thomas, quite frankly when he wanted to be he could be like silk, smooth in all ways pleasing and something you just wanted to wear there was just no need for this here. He used it to get himself out of trouble, used it to smooth over the trouble he got in. Using it to charm a Northern Monkey...no not sodding likely!

When he was close he did indeed smell of cigarettes, he smelt of masculine sweat as well mixed with some unbranded deodorant but yet very real, dried blood and just the faint hint of dirt or mud like you could take the man from the wander but not the wander from the man.

He follows her to the lift as eyes dart left then right that wander is now joined by the sense of consumption, the need to take to draw from something into him like a black hole. A nod to the old woman next to them as Thomas offers a cheeky grin and indeed brings out his zippo...looks like he is about to dare it. “Don’t fret pet.” He tells the older lady “ Me an the missus” He nods to Emily “Gonna be flippin’ them legs up an eatin’ like a take away around the 69th floor, might wanna catch the next one alrite” A cheeky wink as the woman blinks, takes a moment to process it then looks between Thomas and Emily as if she cannot quite believe it.

She shakes her head and stays stood with a glance to both of them now. Thomas rubs the back of his head and shrugs; you win some you lose some the business woman had obviously seen it all to be fazed. To jaded by the world, perhaps she even wanted to see if they would. Still he chuckles wondering what Emily would say about his ‘game’.

[Emily Littleton] [Some dice... for handling this... +WP, yo]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[Emily Littleton] There are things you learn, growing up in various cultures, surrounded by people with different expectations out of life. Things like polite table manners, and please and thank you in a dozen languages, and whether it's okay to wear your shoes indoors. And while it all seems, from an exterior perspective, to focus on the finer points of minding one's manners, you can't help but pick up an appreciation for the subtle (and unsubtle) arts of misbehavior as well.

For instance: Emily knows that shock and indignation will get her nowhere with a Southie. That he'll simply feel he's won. That there's only a handful of ways to handle this, between friends, and with a sole observer she's not too worried about her reputation if anything gets out.

The business woman has seen too much to be phased. But she doesn't turn around, either, to glance back at what transpires next. Emily, oh good little Emily, darling little Singer girl, Northern Monkey, Diplomat's Daughter -- Emily pushes him against the wall of the elevator. Presses up close enough to raise eyebrows, til he can feel the contours of her keys in her jacket pocket, of other things left up to the imagination until just now. Emily -- who certainly has never been a Bad Girl, right? -- makes like she's going to kiss him, like she'll kiss him as if she's learned a thing or two from Catman, like she could if she wanted to (and like maybe she does want to) take his breath away. It would be a hungry thing, a needing thing, but brief. All too brief.

Instead her mouth misses its mark, skims just past his lips, nears and whispers in his ear: Never in an elevator...

Then steps back. Mumbles some polite excuse me as she reaches around the business woman to push the floor for the very next door. Hopefully Southie's still shocked enough that she can step out, let it close behind her, smirk and wave a small goodbye.

This is the plan, of course. And plans have a way of going awry.

[Thomas Taylor] ((Does he panic? WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Thomas Taylor] ((Okay, heres to play along, because he who dares hopefully does not get caught with his pants down at the 69th floor thinking...hang on))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 7, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Thomas Taylor] This is what happens for Thomas he looked to Emily out of the corner of his eye then back to the business woman zippo gets flicked open and then suddenly his cigarette falls to the floor as he is pushed against the wall of the elevator. She can tell right away she caught him off guard that she in that sense has alreadywon this bout with him.

She presses against him as his back gets pressed against the elevator as she can feel his heart jump like an electric shock. His mouth moves like it should be forming words as she presses against him that so and for a moment he thinks Margret Thatcher on a cold bloody day then she comes so close to him. He is prone, caught very much with his pants down literally, there is a sharp intake of breath as he thinks she is going to do it as his breath is taken away, that need to consume flares suddenly one hand touches her hip like the potential to hold that never manifests there lips skim (did an eye flutter from him) but then she moves beyond that and before she says it he smiles...Never in an elevator he was beaten.

But it was all a tease and as she says those words the face goes vanished the confusion passes as he snorts but the momentum behind it has gone, she has won and he gives her that. He touches his chest to feel his heart beat, but thinks nothing more on it, dares to let it pass “Tease.” He is still with his back to the elevator pinned as it were over what happened and she steps around and presses the button and as the doors start to close. He never expected that, he liked it showed he could be wrong, showed she could be getting better showed an awful lot of things really. He moves forward fast hand out for Emily, the other moving the business woman out of the way...

As at the last second he drops to one knee and snatches his cigarette from between the metal door that would have crushed it as they slide together, he see’s her waving he is grinning, face flustered at the cheeks

“Next lemon...” Is all she hears mumbled from the metal doors as the lift goes down...oh she does hear one other thing

“YOU CANNOT SMOKE THAT IN HERE....” In a high pitched woman’s voice