[Quentin Doyle] It's just another pub, stuck on a street that has plenty to offer. The windows have some stained panels and lead work. Doors are heavy wood, stained too, with a thread of panels down the sides, dark colours, brighter when the sunlight streams through them from the outside.
Inside: dark wood lines the floor, the bar, makes the stools and the booths. There are hints of mahogany and navy, with gold in some patterned materials for the booth lining, that dark rich burgundy for the stool chairs and there's a few small armchairs with circular tables in the corners up the back. There's a fireplace opposite the bar, but it's not currently in use. Overhead ceiling fans sit higher then the few iron lanterns that glow at night - but there's small down-lights too, placed to direct spots of light on polished bottles on the shelves. A flat screen television mounted on the wall to the side of the bar, situated close enough that those sitting at the corner can view it from the counter, and those in a few tables and chairs scattered around can have a view of the current sports channel or highlights of the hour.
The smell of wood stain is fainter now. Doyle’s has been open for a good number of months. Aroma's from the kitchen (when it‘s open), however, are stronger and certainly more enticing. A fully stocked bar lines the one wall, imported and local brews and spirits. The place is new enough not to have a single speck of dust, to not be worn yet by the scuff of chair legs across the floor or worn patches on booth materials.
[pics in my gallery - I think!]
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[It's there, yep!]]
[Ellizabeth Zhao] The generally quiet, unassuming woman makes her way into the pub, giving a look around as she comes through the front door. Her backpack is resting over a shoulder and she certainly looks cold--she's wearing nothing heavier than an old, battered windbreaker for Christ's sake--but she doesn't seem to be complaining. The cold, like all things physical, is just a challenge for her to overcome. She makes her way to one of the tables nearer to the door, taking a seat so she can let her body warm up.
[Emily Littleton] It's bitter cold outside. So cold that Emily has acquiesed to wearing gloves. Cold enough that the scarf wrapped around her neck is more for warmth than show tonight. Her heavy wool coat is a dark fabric, and obscures the lines of her dark slacks and the cling of her soft, amethyst-hued sweater until she unfastens its buttons and peels it away in the entry to the familiar pub.
There is a faint smell of varnish, the warmth glow of lamplight on dark woods. The bar is well-stocked and the seating ample, but there is a draw about this place that is beyond the immediately apparent to her. It reminds her a little bit of home.
The Singer girl's boot heels click on the floor as she crosses to the bar. In these shoes, she stands an imposing six foot even. Her eyes are a stormy blue grey, so deeply hued that they seem nothing more than dark unless the lowlight catches them just so and the warmth to the brown of her hair is likewise hidden.
What calls her out as Other, more than anything else, is the muddle of her accent that is neither here nor there, touched with hints of very far away places and predominantly Manchesterian. British, but unclearly so. Only mainly so. Only mostly.
"Good evening," she says to the barkeep. Emily always says her helloes and politenesses aloud. She smiles, and it is warm enough to seem polite but not truly gregarious. "Newcastle, please, if you have it on draught."
This is what she always orders. And like always, she casts a glance about for the owner and proprietor. They are not quite friends, but rather polite acquaintances. His conversation is a welcome thing.
[Quentin Doyle] He's a big man. Black hair. Angular lines. Clean shaven.
He's sitting at a table by himself. The shirt he's wearing stretches across his shoulders along the back, but the few buttons undone along the front leaves some more room for his chest. There's a white undershirt under the black of it. The sleeves are folded up his forearms. He's reading from the news paper, spread out across the table. His plate is shifted to one side and he's eating a towering burger from it that manages to look smaller in his larger hand. A dark beer sits mostly untouched in its glass. He has a napkin spread across one thigh. His jeans are blue, worn across the thighs, faded from off the rack. Leather loafers have a thicker sole and no laces.
It's Friday night. The Pub closes at three in the morning. The night is still filtering the crowd on the dinner hour and will be until about nine. People move about. There's plenty of chatter. Music somewhere over some speakers. Later he'll light the fireplace, but for now warmth spreads through vents from the ceilings, keeping the chill out. It's comfortable inside.
[Quentin Doyle] Andy's on. He's in his late twenties and native to Chicago. He works most nights, and he gets Emily her usual.
"Cold out?" He's making small talk, really small. It's busy.
[Emily Littleton] [Awareness: Who's out there tonight?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((When you guys get a chance, please PM me your resonance info! And/or just include in an upcoming post. Likewise, you can roll Awareness + Perception to pick up on Emily's. This is usually how we identify each other ICly in meet & greets!))
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Kim J
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[Per+Aware: 'cause all the cool kids are doing it]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[Already on it. :D]]
to Emily Littleton
[Kim J] Normally she wasn't bothered by the weather, but this was excessive by all counts. But she wasn't worried about that right now. Right now she was concetrating on raising current kharmic standing, at least in regards to alcohol comsumption. A blonde haired woman in her late 20's, the most immediate thing that the catches eye is her dark tan. She's attractive and fit, though that's hard to see under the new looking winter clothing.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] The Amerasian woman at the window table gives off a Resonance that makes its presence known and then backs off a little...not completely pulling away, but certainly receding some. It gives a sensation like two opposing forces wrapped around each other; light and and dark perhaps, or maybe masculine and feminine.
[Kim J] ((Percep+Fail))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] "It's headed for the single digits," she says with a grimace that further identifies her as an alien in these Midwestern states. Emily doesn't say that nowhere has felt this cold since Kiev. She doesn't have to. Instead she unwinds her scarf and slips off her gloves.
"Doesn't it bother you?" she asks him, as he pulls her pint for her. "Or are you innured to the bitter Chicago winters?" There's a wry tilt in her tone, something that matches the way one side of her mouth curls upward more than the other. She is friendly with the barkeep, but not overtly so. It's a charmingly casual sort of banter, something to keep the evening light. He'll have plenty of customers across the hours; she strives to be one of the less irritable sorts.
To the blonde at a table by the door, there is a sense of Grace to the woman chatting easily with the barstaff. An uplifted sense of Reverence, threaded through her very bones, a brilliance. It is a steady thing, a sure and Static thing, but it does not come without movement. It is Unrelenting, and does not give ground or abate.
"Thanks, Andy," she says, and slips him more than enough to cover her pint and a generous tip. She's always tipped Quentin's people well. There's something to be said for taking care of the people that offer her a sense of home. She collects her pint and carries it over to the broad-shouldered man's table, stopping just before she comes to close for politeness.
"Good evening, Mr. Doyle," she says. And the formality is more to be wry and somewhat different than her usually Hello, Quentins than it is meant to distance them. But Emily doesn't ask to sit. She doesn't motion to a chair across from him. There's a something, tugging at the edge of her awareness that makes her watchful and threads a subtle tension through her frame.
This is Quentin's pub, but she feels moderately protective of it.
[Emily Littleton] [I totally got confused on where Kim & Elizabeth were... so it should have been more like "to the blonde AND the woman at a table by the door" ;) ]
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She straightens a little bit as Emily's Resonance registers to her, her attention moving from the window toward the direction of the sensation. The contrast in the mystical quasi-pheromones of Resonance between what she feels and what she knows her own to be certainly intrigues her. She takes another glance out the window, as if checking to make sure she's not about to be ambushed or the like, and casts her eyes back inward, eyes tracing to the source of the sensation.
[[No worries. :) ]]
[Quentin Doyle] Emily gets his attention the moment she approaches his table. It's hard to overlook someone like Emily, for many different reasons. He hastily sets down his burger and lifts the napkin from his lap, wiping his mouth. It all happens as his chair scrapes back and he moves to stand up. Growing taller, broader.
"Emily." He greets her after his sure he doesn't have any food in his teeth, prying such free with a quick probe of his tongue.
Gesturing to the table, of which has another three spare chairs, he invites her to sit. "Please."
Once she does, or if she does, he follows suit. The paper is folded over, then folded again. He pulls his beer and plate to his side of the table, giving her some room and sets the paper on one of the spare chairs to leave more space. "How are ya? Yer lookin' good, as always." His smile for her is honest and the warmth genuine.
[Quentin Doyle] The man with Emily, his resonance isn't as strong as others. It's faint, but what is there is the sort that garners some attention. It's that primal energy, something extremely masculine with a fierce edge to it. Not unlike one might attribute to the male of a pride of lions. Not inherently bad but potentially aggressive, but also protective. Either is not very idle or soothing.
[Emily Littleton] It has been hard to overlook someone like Emily since long before she Awakened, but the Diplomat's Daughter is ever more a beacon and shining star (for better or worse) these nights. She is easy to pick out in a crowd, if one only knows what to look or listen for, and she is easier yet to identify for what she is once you've found her. Her resonance gives her away as readily as her accent does.
"Please," she says, as soon as he starts to rise. "You don't have to get up for me." But they both know he always will, and that she will always incline her head politely and appreciate the Old World mannerisms that bind them together in a common kinship. She sets her coat in one of the free chairs and then lowers herself into another.
"Thank you," she tells him, for the compliment. "It's always a pleasure to see you," she says, and the warmth here is genuine. It's deeper than the politeness she shows even Andy and other familiar faces. It touches her eyes.
"I trust you've been well?" she asks, as she sets her pint down on a coaster. But even as she settles herself, Emily turns a little so that her attention can embrace, if perhaps peripherally, the unknown presences scattered throughout his pub. It's an unusual distraction, one she doesn't bring to their meetings often. And the way that her attention strays, now and again, toward the parties near the door is telling, in her own subtle way. She does not call attention to it, but it lingers. Like a subcurrent. A thing that will be addressed, soon enough, and in its own time.
[Quentin Doyle] "I'm doin' well. Not much a fan of the weather, but wha' can you do?" Reaching for his glass, he lifts it to his mouth and takes a long but slow drink from it. It helps wash down the burger he's been eating, and which now sits untouched. He can always get it heated up later or something else from the kitchen. It is, after all, his pub. It's why he often eats here. Why should he make something at his apartment when he can stroll into the Pub and have something from the menu. He treats his staff well and they never complain about feeding the boss.
His green-blue eyes follow her gaze, flicking from her face over the crowd, trying to guess at what she's looking at. He doesn't know her well enough to read her, and isn't trying to probe beneath the surface. He knows only she is distracted by someone or something. It's enough to get a small rise out of him, alertness sharpening.
"Everything okay Emily?" he asks her, voice lower. Concerned.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She looks over at Kim as she enters, giving her a little courteous nod and smile, before she turns her attention to examining the bar itself. She seems fascinated with the decor, or at least with looking it over. She stands, rubbing her hands briefly without realizing it--if she did realize, she would probably be a bit irritated with herself at conceding to the cold--and walks along further away from the door, taking in place's dark woods. About the only thing she doesn't pay attention to is the television.
[Emily Littleton] "Mmmm," she says, and it's not entirely an answer at first. It's a low and resonant, thoughtful sound mulled across the back of her throat before she turned toward him and smiled a bit more fully.
"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. We've some strangers in town," she says, very lightly, as if it were no worry at all. Emily reaches for her pint glass and further punctuates that easy (seeming) indifference with a pull from it. She sets it down, precisely in the ring of condensation it had left on the coaster in its brief tenure there. When Emily speaks in the royal We, Quentin has probably come to take her double meaning by instinct more than clear understanding.
"You have some unfamiliar guests," she notes, with a delicate raise of her eyebrows. She taps the fingertips of one hand against the rim of her pintglass. "If it's alright with you, I plan to introduce myself."
This is not a passing pleasantry. She is truly asking his permission before bringing Awakened business into his business (Home). They had spoken on the political lines and climes before, and Quentin had wanted no truck with it. Of everyone in town, Emily has done her best to honor that. If he tells her not here and not now, she'll let it lie. Watchfully, of course, but patiently.
[Quentin Doyle] He considers, and looks over the crowd again before turning his gaze back to her. There's less warmth there now, but it's not been redirected into anything negative. It's simply serious under his furrowed brow. "I'd prefer if ye were to, then do so with me around." Not meaning to imply that she couldn't take care of herself, but, it's also his instinct to protect a woman. Quentin is simply like that. Men are for firing lines, women are not.
"Want me te come with you, or should I wait right 'ere?" He knows that if he walked up most get intimidated simply by his sheer size and the air he can give off. He makes an excellent deterrent for trouble, at least under normal circumstances.
[Emily Littleton] Quentin's protective side would have to wrestle with Emily's chosen place in her Tradition sooner or later. Like as not, the man sitting across the table from her has no idea whatsoever how many times the future Knight has faced her own mortality in the past year. Or how often it has been sheer Will and her Arts alone that has spared her. The Singer does not come into his establishment armed with anything more deadly than her presence alone and the few foci that never leave her person.
Still, that fiercely protective instinct of his makes itself known and she smiles rather than taking offense. Emily is young enough to be headstrong, willful and still convinced of her own immortality -- yet she doesn't seem to exhibit these tendencies directly, more than another Initiate might.
"Don't let me break up your dinner, again," she protests, indicating his half-eaten and now-ignored burger. She does not seem to be expecting any trouble. Her confidence and surety carries easily across the table, but she does slip a small string of stone beads from the pocket of her jacket and into the pocket of her slacks. For the Awakened present, their meaning is unlikely to be missed.
"I'll be right back," she assures him as she stands, abandoning her pint to his keeping as part of that promise, and makes her way unerringly toward Elizabeth.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She continues on her path to the back of the bar, taking it in. It's nothing so severe as a close-up examination, just a slow walk through the place as she looks here and there. She also throws a couple looks over at Quentin and Emily, though no more than cursory ones. They are not her focus at the moment; she merely keeps them in her field of vision.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She turns when she sees Emily approaching and smiles politely. Her hands fold in front of her, resting in a relaxed, nom-defensive state as she allows Emily to approach as close as she would like. Her head and shoulders dip in a small bow to the woman, eyes remaining directed at her throughout. "Good evening. My apologies, I did not wish to disturb your conversation. I imagined that I would take in the decor while you talked...and I hope that I am not intruding."
[Quentin Doyle] "If yer sure." He wasn't about to accompany her against her will. But he does watch from where he's sitting. On his glance around the Pub he had noticed a woman earlier. Her dark tan had caught his eye. She had been pleasing to look at. Maybe she would still be around after. But for now his attention stays on Emily and Elizabeth.
[Emily Littleton] Emily stops a polite distance away from Elizabeth, and her smile is polite without being overwarm. There is no direct challenge to it, beyond the watchfulness of one Awakened soul meeting another by chance (if you allowed for such things) in a friendly establishment. Anyone who had stayed in Chicago for some time began to acknowledge the uncanny way that magi clustered, in parks, in pubs, and least often of all in Chantry meetings.
Emily returns the bow that Elizabeth offers her with a practiced ease that can only come through long association with Eastern culture. It is too seamless to be affected or mere mimicry.
"Oh, no. You're not intruding at all," the Singer assures her. "I just thought I'd come over and say hello. I haven't met you before," she explains, in a way that inherently implies she is a well connected member of the local community.
"My name's Emily," she offers, extending a hand in a more occidental greeting. "I'm with the local Chorus." She gestures back to the table where Quentin is, no doubt, hawkishly but subtly still watching them. "The proprietor of this pub is a friend of mine. He's elected to stay out of politics, so to speak, so I consider myself off the clock while I'm here."
This is all it takes to establish some sort of implied requirement of good behavior and politeness whilst on the premises. Though, to be fair, Elizabeth is quite unlikely to be the sort than needs this kind of reminder. There's a lightly self-deprecating wryness to Emily's admission of being off the clock. They never were completely divorced from their mystical requirements. But it's good to know there were friendly places where one could expect to be spared a side of metaphysical politics with their favorite pints. Unlike the Hung, Drawn & Quartered, which was pretty much an extension of Chantry Office Hours.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] Elizabeth listens calmly, her posture and stance remaining courteous. It shifts just a little, becoming more open in body language, when Emily introduces herself. Certainly not that she was looking especially guarded, but the woman had traveled too long and been to too many cities to let her guard completely down without making some introductions and getting to know people. She smiles and reaches out, taking the offered hand with a firm but friendly grip.
"A pleasure to meet you, Emily. I am Elizabeth Zhao, of the Akashayana Sangha." She follows Emily's gaze to Quentin, giving him a brief but courteous nod of greeting, and then looks back.
"Of course. It is good to have places where one can go to and be 'off the clock,' as you put it. And no, you have not. I am a new arrival to the city; I came in last week. I have met a few people thus far, and am honored to add more to that list."
[Quentin Doyle] [brb - post around me]
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Emily Littleton
[Emily Littleton] "Likewise a pleasure, Elizabeth. And welcome to Chicago. Though it's a brutal time of year for first impressions. I hope you don't judge the city too harshly for her uncompromisingly snowy demeanor." The wryness here lifts Emily's smile a little, as she welcomes the Akashic to her adoptive home town.
Elizabeth is polite, and she is well-mannered and grateful for new acquaintances. This only improves the standing her first impression has left with the Singer who is, let's be honest, possessed with a certain fondness for Eastern social habits.
"Why don't order something, and then come join us?" she offers. Quentin can't argue from this distance, but she doesn't think he'll mind overmuch so long as discussion doesn't dip too much toward magely things. He had gotten along with Kage just fine, deigned even to build lego castles in the sky with Emily's rowan-haired Other who is both argent and burnished. Elizabeth is less overtly struck through with magic and awe-threaded oddity. They should find no quarrel.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] "Of course...I would be delighted." She nods, appreciative of the offer. As used to sitting alone as the woman is, she never minds the opportunity to converse with people...in fact, her typical solitude just makes her all the more happy about the opportunity. She heads to the bar, asking them politely if they carry any types of non-alcoholic tea. If not, she simply gets a soda and makes her way toward the table.
[Quentin Doyle] Having flagged down one of the waitresses cleaning off the tables, he gets her take his plate with his dinner on it back out into the kitchen to be rid of. He does so with a smile and an appreciation, even if the woman is being paid for it.
By the time Emily and Elizabeth are coming back over, he's moved the newspaper from the spare chair so that the new arrival can sit. He rises up as the two Magi join him, glancing from Emily to Elizabeth for introductions. He even extends his hand to the stranger. "Quentin," he offers her. He's careful of his strength.
[Emily Littleton] Emily shifts her jacket and various winter things from being unceremoniously dumped into a chair to hanging neatly over the back of it. She takes the chair nearer the wall, leaving the more readily available one for Elizabeth. The smile that Emily wears, now, is more relaxed. It says see, no problem at all, but there is a note of relief to it that Quentin, being who and what he is and well attuned to the subtlties of Emily's apparent moods, will readily pick up on.
"Quentin, this is Elizabeth. She's just recently moved to Chicago." Perhaps it will seem strange that her introductions go this way, the mage presented to the sorceror's attention rather than the other way around. But he has offered his name, and Emily is bringing the Akashic into their narrow circle. She is vouching for Elizabeth, like she had not directly done for Hunger. Reverence hopes this meeting goes over better than that one had.
While they make their helloes, Emily waits then seats herself once it is polite to do so. These mannerisms that hearken back to older times and places surround all three of them. It creates an envelope of pleasantries and politeness that can help carry strangers toward friendships. It soothes what remains of the Singer's hyper-attentive wariness.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She takes the offered hand with a friendly smile and an inclination of her head. "It is a please, Quentin. As she said, I am Elizabeth. You have a wonderful establishment here."
She takes a seat in the offered spot, finally setting her backpack gently on the ground. "How long as it been here?" It's said in a matter of curiosity, just a tough heightened from idle chit-chat. She's not making an excuse to fill dead air, she is legitimately and sincerely interested in the answer.
[Quentin Doyle] "Thank you."
"Please, sit." Gesturing for Elizabeth and Emily to sit, he does so only after they have.
Questions about his Pub has him caught off guard temporarily, and he tries to count back, giving up quickly. "Oh, a bit now. Less than a year. Six months mayhaps?" It's been a rough year. Speaking of which...
He had wanted to ask Emily some things today, but it would have to wait until another time. This is only the second time that they have come across each other in awhile. He's noticed changes in her. Things have gone missing. She's older now. Much older then how he remembers her, and he'd wondered if it was his own memory and projections of what had happened to make such a change.
Another time.
"How are ya enjoyin' Chicago, Elizabeth?" She's such a tiny thing.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She sits down and nods at his assertion of the establishment's age, as if that makes sense. "I am enjoying it very much, thank you." She smiles. "I have mostly been exploring the city. I have some familiarity with it, after a certain fashion, and it has been nice to see what has been..." She pauses for just a second. "...viewed via someone else's perspective."
She settles in her seat, looking between them. "Are you lifelong residents, or immigrants to the city?"
[Emily Littleton] When Quentin had met Emily, she'd been just on the cusp of being the happiest she's been in recent memory. Perhaps in distant memory as well. She'd found a Tradition to call her own, made peace with her God, begun to grow into her own as a mage, been accepted to graduate school and had started, tenuously, to develop a Faith in people as individuals not just an idealized and synergistic mass.
That was before Daiyu had died. Before the Labyrinth. Before the exodus of last Fall. Before... She had gone away over the break to put so much of the Summer and Fall behind her that it's no wonder he finds her horribly changed on her return. She's still Emily, but Winter has set her back to her naturally guarded state. It has encouraged the walls she builds to firm up, stand straight and tall. Spending several weeks with her family has hardly helped matters.
So they have much to talk about. Or to notice in each other and politely let slip by. She settles into her chair and draws her pint toward her as they make small talk and observe niceties. Poor Elizabeth is dwarfed by the giants whose company she keeps. They three are stepping stones. 5'4", 5'9", 6'4". Even seated at the table, Quentin could seem imposing.
She takes a sip of her beer just as the Akashic raises a question to the table.
"Ah, no," Emily says, in response to Elizabeth's question. It's a brief thing, a thought paused before he elaborates. She sets down her pint and expounds: "I've lived a little bit of everywhere, but I came here for University. It's been three and a half, going on four years now for me."
[Quentin Doyle] "I'm from Boston," he tells Elizabeth simply. There was something in the way she had asked that had made laugh lines appear by his eyes and a smile curl his mouth. But he doesn't laugh at her.
Whatever else is interrupted. Andy catches his eye by the bar, making a gesture with his hand to his ear, indicating that there was a phone call that needed his attention. He shifts his leg, digs into his jean pocket and pulls out the cell phone he's had on silent. There's five missed calls.
Pushing his chair back, he covers his phone with the palm of his hand and looks to each of them. "Scuse me ladies, I've got te take care of some business."
Standing, he nods to: "Elizabeth. Was nice ta meet you."
And to: "Emily. Good ta see you. Maybe we could 'ave dinner sometime?" Pushing his chair in gives her enough time to respond before he's excusing himself again and heading for the staff door to lead into the back sections of the pub. He had work to do.
[Quentin Doyle] [sorry folks. I have to bail for a few hours! Thanks for the play.]
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Emily Littleton, Kim J
[Ellizabeth Zhao] "Ahh, of course." A little smile, as she leans back. "I understand the city has some excellent schools."
She looks at Quentin as he gets up, nodding to him. "A pleasure. Thank you, Quenting."
[Kim J] Let's try this again. She couldn't believe how cold it was here, normally those sorts of things wouldn't bother her, but this, was something else. It seemed pervasive, going so far as to interupt what should have been a warm, joyful affair of hot food, wine, a comfy bed and good ole fashioned American television. But Necessity had other things in mind in the form of frozen pipes, and so in a bit of a huff at this dour turn of Fate, Kim set off onto the streets.
And so she ended up here. It seemed like a good place, nice atmosphere, and warming spirits. When the tanned blonde pushed through the door, she immediately felt something strange. Intense blue eyes bore outward, finding the table in question. She normally didn't notice these things, but she did this time.
[Emily Littleton] Quentin pulls out his phone and Emily's attention flicks to it for just a moment, and politely pulls away. She nods in understanding when he explains why he has to go, and then her smile warms notably when he asks after dinner.
"I would like that," she tells him, which can pass for an exuberant yes in Emily's understated world at times. "I'll ring you sometime soon," she promises, and follows his exit with her eyes for a moment before switching that attention back to the woman beside her.
"He runs a nice place, and it reminds me a little of home. It's good to know a few safe havens," she says, in passing perhaps, but in the way that long-wearied travelers might exchange notes on friendly establishments. Emily has been in Chicago for several years, but it is not home. It doesn't really come close to that for her. She's a wanderer at heart.
The door swings open to admit a taut, clear-eyed blond woman. Something about their table draws her attention. Something about her entry tugs at Emily's awareness. The Singer's brow furrows slightly (again?) and she glances -- casually -- yet again tonight.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] "I most agree." She nods with a little smile. "I have done extensive traveling over the past several years, and there is nothing more useful than such a place." She also follows Emilys gaze toward the door, briefly, to see the blonde looking their direction. She looks back at Emily, head tilting just a bit.
[Kim J] She thinks about it for a moment, habitually glancing around the rest of the joint before deciding on a direct approached. A smile breaks out on her face despite her impulses otherwise, she was still pretty bad at hiding things, and this something to be excited about.
"Hi, may I join you?"
She's not local.
[Emily Littleton] Emily is less excited about the influx of new people, alarmingly clustered two to one evening and quick on the tail of a four-in-one with alarming repercussions. Emily is also better than Kim at keeping her disquietude separate. So the Singer's smile warms a little, to be polite and welcoming but not entirely gregarious or friendly. It serves a purpose, well at that, without overextending it.
"Hi," she echoes. Then glances at Elizabeth before answering. If the Akashic is alright with the addition, she'll go on to add, "Be my guest. I'm Emily." She lets Elizabeth choose her own introduction.
While Kim is getting settled, she adds as an aside to Elizabeth: "I'd be interested to compare travel notes, sometime. It's rare to meet someone as broadly wandered, and always a treat."
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She seems perfectly fine with Kim joining them, and nods to Emily in agreement. "That would be wonderful. I would be happy to exchange notes."
She then looks to Kim and offers her a little nod and a smile. "Good evening. I am Elizabeth." She extends her hand to Kim.
[Kim J] "Thank you.. I'm Kim, it's nice to meet you."
Taking the offered hand, she smiles while trying to figure out what exactly to do next. Clearly not having anticipated this sort of occurence. Eyes dart from one woman to the next, suddenly a little anxious.
[Emily Littleton] Emily reaches for her pint glass again. She draws a sip off of it and then sets it down again. Each time she lifts it, it is returned to the same circle the condensation left on the coaster before. One could surmise she was the particular type, perfectionistic, bogged down and bothered by the details of things. It would be fair, some days.
She notes the anxiety on the newcomer's features and not without sympathy, so Emily, who is the closest they have to a local host tonight, rolls out what little of the welcome mat is still hers to offer.
"It's a pleasure, Kim. I'll hazard a guess that you're recently arrived as well?" One eyebrow arches upward. She glances over at the bar to make sure Quentin isn't around to overhear her brief foray into local politics.
"If so, then welcome. I'm a member of the local Singers, and can put you in touch with the House management, should you require introductions." A warm smile here. Genuine. Easy. She's acquainted with the power structure, and happy to leverage it to get things done. "A friend of mine owns the pub, and as a courtesy to his distate for politics we don't usually talk shop. But if you have questions, feel free to ask them."
Hopefully that takes the edge off for Kim, helps the nervousness abate.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] "A pleasure, Kim," she says, picking up her tea for a quick sip. She is about to ask if Kim is new in town, but Emily beats her to the punch, so she just smiles in a friendly manner. She recognizes anxiety easily enough--the woman is deeply familiar with it, as a matter of fact--and adopts a slightrly more open stance, to set Kim at ease some.
[Kim J] Kim almost breaks into a bit of a giggle, it had never occured to her that she may need to mask her, affiliation, in a public location. A sly grin takes over her pretty (well, better than average) face.
"Oh, that's really cool...."
pause
"...uh, I do... Risk Assessment."
Another pause, as she waits for that to either sink in, or require further explanation. Whatever her training and path, she got caught flat-footed. Which in it's own way was rewarding.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] That clearly doesn't compute, but Elizabeth doesn't appear overtly worried about it. Specifics regarding Traditions and such can wait for another time, after all. She just nods a little bit. "Where are you from?"
[Emily Littleton] Risk Assessment sounds appropriately euphamistic for a few Traditions. Emily nods a little, feigning a clearer understanding that she truly possesses, but not wanting to delve too far into clarifying that just yet. She sips from her beer and lets her attention flow between the two newcomers. Now and again she glances over at the bar, and then back.
"And what brings you to Chicago in the middle of our glorious and inviting winter weather?" she asks, letting the wryness it her voice lighten the inquiry away from something more pointed.
[Kim J] Well, that clearly didn't work. She smiles anyway.
"I help people get where they need to go."
She nods, deciding to leave it at that.
"Well, I'm from Virginia but I'm coming here from Africa."
[Kim J] ((hiiii))
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Emily Littleton, K. R. Jakes
[Ellizabeth Zhao] "Africa?" She certainly looks intrigued now...not that she wasn't before. "What brings you from there?"
[Emily Littleton] ((Kage is awesome, if you have not met her yet. :) I hope you guys will like her, ICly! I told Jess that you two were awesome, so she came by to join us.))
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Kim J
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[Works for me!]]
to Emily Littleton
[Kim J] "Mmhm." A nod. "I'm here to check up on an aquintance for a friend. Also..."
That grin again,
"Africa sucks."
[Emily Littleton] "It seems like we're all wanderers," she says, in an inclusive way that seems to draw the group together. It's an artful little aside, that also nods toward Elizabeth's question. Though Emily doesn't ask what Kim was up to in Africa. Pairing Risk Assessment and unstable corners of the world makes this Diplomat's Daughter all too aware that her position there may have been for moving, shall we say Actionable Targets?
"Well, then Chicago may be a step up," Emily conceeds, with a glance toward the winter and the bleak outside weather. "But I'm not really sure." Again, a wry twist of her mouth.
"Anyone I might know?" she asks, when Kim mentions a friend. Emily is rather well connected. There's a chance she might know someone, or someone who knows someone.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She seems curious at that. "I would imagine it might depend on which part of Africa...but why is that?"
[K. R. Jakes] Doyle's Pub is renowned - at least in the mind of one twentysomething woman with hair as red as autumn in a children's book illustration and eyes as murky as riverwater - for its 'chips.' They've a good belgium ale, too, something gold and late summer, something that goes down smooth and then kicks, pleasing to the tongue. And sometimes, one is actually able to indulge in a craving, because one has a restful, wide-open afternoon and evening, no plans, no plots, no schemes and no work due on Monday because, hello, it's the evening. Which is all to say, the heavy front door opens and Kage walks in, warm enough to steam, to burn like a torch, reaction against the Chicago cold. Once inside, she rubs her (gloved) hands together and heads straight for the bar.
She's not destined to get there without incident -- or at least, she's not destined to get there without noticing Emily and her two aquintances (friends [who knows]) at the table near the bar. If she catches Emily's eye, her mouth quirks, a wry question and a nod. She isn't so discourteous (or unreserved) as to flop over and pull up a chair, but she slows a step, and after she orders her ale - to say nothing of the fries! - and the ale is in hand, she'll tuck her purse (a small thing, today, more or less) under her elbow and against her hip, then wander over to say at least a quick hello.
And that's that. Enter, K. R. Jakes.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[Flips the Awareness Switch]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kim J] There was a catch of course, but we all have a Destiny to fulfill. A nod at Emily.
"Wharil-something. I've got it written down somewhere... but, yeah."
As she ruffles through a pocket on her coat, her eyes catch Elizabeth's for a moment.
"I would read these books, when I was high school. Written by some Dutchman or Frenchman or whoever, they would always say the samething..."
A pause, as she takes a breath
"...things... happen there that don't happen anywhere else. In some way it's very forgiving. But it's hot. And dusty. And sometimes it's humid. But mostly it's hot."
Kim grins, relaxing a bit more.
[K. R. Jakes] [I ... also flip the awareness switch, shall I?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kim J]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Kim J] ((Legit))
[Ellizabeth Zhao] He looks over at Kim, recognition filtering into her eyes at the mention of Wharil. Not the kind of someone who knows someone personally, just familiar with them. She seems just the smallest bit wary. Then, Kage comes in, and she feels that tickle at the back of her brain. She looks over in her direction, watching for a moment.
[Emily Littleton] There is something burning, amorous and immanent, something candle-flame flicker and rowan and burnished, something story-tale tatted and wreathed with lace-like, with lace-light. There is a Kage in the building and it shifts the cant of Emily's shoulders, and of Emily's smile and ...
... the guests at her table play witness to the difference between polite smiles and genuine warmth, erstwhile friendship. Blue eyes, dark as shadowed rain-deep puddles, stormy, flecked through with shale and slate, they sweep over to find the ruddy tinge of Kage's hair in the lowlight of the pub. Her eyes find the Orphan's and her head tilts, mouth curls, it come hithers in silence.
These two are friends. More than. They've ventured forth together; they've held the line together; they've fallen in together -- they are friends, without an euphemistic overlay.
Her attention has been briefly torn to elsewhere, but it comes back to Kim at the familiar and slippery name. Wharil. Yes, there can be but one of those in the city, assuredly.
"If you have a card, or a contact number, I can pass it along at the House," Emily offers. "Wharil is a member of the local council," she explains.
Of Africa, Emily has only to offer, "I've only been twice, and not for very long. It's astonishing how far even a little funding and effort will go there. It's harrowing how little it seems to change anything at all."
[Kim J] Kim follows everyone else's gaze, but doesn't quite get it. At least not immediately. Looking back to Emily she nods with an appreciative smile.
"That would be great, actually, thank you! ... Yeah, yeah. It just goes around and around. It's not that bad though really."
Like, honestly, with a laugh. The scrap of paper deemed irrelevant, she digs for another bit of paper that has her information on it.
"I'll be ready to go back in a few months, I'm sure."
[K. R. Jakes] Emily's nonverbal response is invitational and the two (intense [and then: tidal; tide goes out]) women with her promise to be interesting, one way or another, and either way, Kage takes the invitation in the spirit that it's meant, and when she (ale in hand) stops at the table, it's with a brief (courteous) smile.
When there's a break in the conversation -- pauses, lilts; this is the music of our common tongue, of all our common tongues, scattered when the Babel-tower fell -- she says, "Hello, Emily. And others. I hope nobody minds if I sit. Should it put anybody at ease, I am going to be followed by a big plate of chips."
And, seat-taking -- unless, of course, someone jumps up and goes NO back VILE DEMON -- she adds, "I'm Kage."
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She smiles to Kage, giving her a polite nod. "Hello. I am Elizabeth. A pleasure to meet you."
[Emily Littleton] "Oooh, chips."
The Briton's tone is positively pleased. This remark presages even her well-mannered and -meant salutations.
"Well met and good evening, Kage," she says, to the lady with the name like a trap. "This is Kim and -- " well, Elizabeth has just introduced herself, so Emily's tongue stills. "We are dancing around the mullberry bush about the House, as Quentin is decidedly against politics. And sharing our recent travels."
[Kim J] "Hi, nice to meet you."
A smile and a friendly wave.
[K. R. Jakes] "Is there a Quentin?" Kage glances -- over towards the kitchens, perhaps, or the restrooms, or whereever a pub-owner might absent himself from a conversation for a moment. Her expression stays courteous, because -- and both Elizabeth and Kim will probably be quick to pick up on this -- the self-contained woman is very, very courteous. This isn't always the same as polite, but it's usually similar enough to pretend. She'll offer her hand to either Kim or Elizabeth if they seem like hand-shakers. Otherwise, just, "Pleasure's mutual, I hope." A beat. "So if left to my own devices, I will probably ask questions already covered, like, Oh, new to Chicago, huh? What brings you here? Do you want to stay? Do you like it? And," with a glance for Kim, "Go back where?" Kage scrunches her nose up, slightly, and a note of (somewhat sardonic) humor touches her gaze -- tarnishes it: "So carry on. I'll catch up on the thread of conversation soon. The House is a good place to start."
[Kim J] "Um."
breath.
"Yes, checking in, don't know, it's cold, and Africa. That was all of them, right?"
Lifting her eyebrows, immediately taking a like to her.
[Emily Littleton] "There was a Quentin," Emily explains. "But a phone call called him away." More explaining. A pointed look toward the empty chair that had once supported Quentin's paper and is now lonely, waiting for a Kage to come and fill it up.
"I think we were at Opinions on Africa, before you came in," she tells Kage, "With a brief digression to Mr. Choc and the House shortly there after. Kim is acquainted with one of his friends, I think. And Elizabeth travels. I travel, too. It's your turn to share, I think. Do you travel?"
Emily's mouth curls a little, it's almost playful. She verbally baits the Orphan as she catches her up, but it's one part save-me and a second part hello-there.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She smiles for the moment, just listening as the three talk. "I am new to Chicago...after a fashion. It is...complex, I suppose. I know the city, but not perosnally."
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[Apologies for my slowness, things got a wee bit busy for me.]]
to Emily Littleton, K. R. Jakes, Kim J
[K. R. Jakes] [Heh. Random can-we-pronounce-Wharil's-name-linguistics-dex-roll-just-for-kicks?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kim J] ((Rightous))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] [I know better than to roll these dice. Em knows him well enough to not need them. *gavel slam*]
[Kim J] ((I'm just gettin' the fails out of the way early))
[K. R. Jakes] She chuckles, soft-sound -- smoke and river-reeds; moon-shadow on water. Amused, it'd seem! "Kim, right? Yes, I think that's all of them. I'm a native, but winter always sneaks up on me. If I could convince it to go visit California for a while, I'd be very pleased indeed. Aquainted with one of Wharil's friends?" And, baby - she NAILS the outlandish pronunciation of Wharil, she could be a godamned native speaker of whatever language (dry-grass-burning-season) his name comes from. "D'you have people in common, then?" Euphemism: why, are you a Euthanatos too? She offers Emily a harmless smirk: "I do indeed travel, Miss Emily. Although never as quickly as the day, and never as quickly as the night. And - Elizabeth?" - the note of query is just to make certain she has it right; she knows she does. "So you know the city, but not personally. How'd you two not personally meet, then, if you'll allow me to shamelessly pry."
[Emily Littleton] When Kim manages to answer all of Kage's questions in quick succession Emily thinks, for just a moment, that they may have found an answer to Molly's rapid-fire info-dump style communication. They could pit the friend-of-Wharil's-friend against the Cultist geek girl and see which out-efficiencied the other.
But that would be for later. After Kim has met Wharil and figured out whether she wants to stay in the Windy City.
"It gets better in the Spring," Emily offers. It's really all she can say. Spring had been the best season of last year, even with that Demon issue, and the Soul Harvest. Technically, all of that had been Late Spring.
Early spring had been taken up with smaller dramas.
"There's a few really nice weekends in summer." A little pause. "Some of us play football in the park, in the summer. Do you play football?" she asked the two newcomers. This is perhaps an innocent question. More innocent than Kage's are. They new pair, they are tag teamed by the raven- and rowan- haired Others. Emily pulls from her pint again, and eyes the kitchen to see where Kage's promised chips are.
She's almost as impatient Ashley.
[Kim J] "Yeah, yeah we do."
A nod to Kage, before glancing down at her coat again, frowning as she her phone out. Taking a look at it she puts it back in to the pocket. The good news, is that she did finally find that scrap of paper with her relevant info on it.
"I'm so sorry, I've got to go..."
Sliding the paper towards Emily with a finger, she grins.
"Call me."
[Kim J] ((Thanks you guise, you're the bestest!!!))
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Emily Littleton, K. R. Jakes
[Emily Littleton] The Singer reaches across the table to take the surreptitiously slid paper into her care. She glances at it, and then folds it once and slips it into a pocket.
"I will. And I'll pass this on. Have a good night, Kim," she says, before the blond disappears from their table.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She breaks out of the small fugue that she had entered, more of a space-out by outward appearances than anything else. She watches Kim go and nods. "Good evening." Her attention shifts back to the two at the table, and she flushes. "My apologies. I did not mean to...go away for a moment there."
[K. R. Jakes] ooc: Oh, guys, BRB!
[K. R. Jakes] Kim gets a courteous nod, somewhat grave-eyed, although the smile/smirk stays in place. To Emily and Elizabeth, she says, "Bet Wharil will no doubt be happy to have someone with a similar world-view to yammer at, again." And then, more specifically to Elizabeth, she says, "It's no problem. Are you all right?" Just in case. Sometimes people aren't. With hardly missing a beat, there's this, "You were going to try to explain how it is you and Chicago've met before, without meeting? Or you were going to tell me to stuff it."
And look, a waitress brings the french fries and vinegar bottles, sets them down at the table. Kage pushes the plate towards the center, the offer to share unspoken.
[Emily Littleton] There is enough going on at the table that Emily hasn't noticed Elizabeth's fugue until the Akashic mentions it. And then the girl beside her, who is notably younger than anyone else left at the table at this juncture, frowns a little and asks:
"Are you quite alright?" There's a clipped note to her syllables, but the concern comes through clearly. Warmly. Kage is echoing the same sentiment. And then there are fries, and Emily suggests, "If you're feeling lightheaded, maybe a few chips will help. It could be low bloodsugar."
[Ellizabeth Zhao] "I am fine." She pauses, finding it a little off to explain in the current environment. "A bit of a...mental debate, I suppose."
[Emily Littleton] [Maybe if I'm reaaaaaaally expressive, you'll catch my meaning with just my eyes: Do you think she's bonkers? Like... more'n one person in there? She seemed so nice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)
to K. R. Jakes
[K. R. Jakes] "Ah," Kage says, not without sympathy. The woman doesn't seem too concerned -- but nor does she seem like she's going to keep pushing at Elizabeth, when the diminutive woman is just regaining her footing, so-to-speak. "I hope it was an interesting debate, if nothing else." It's just a metaphor, sure. But Kage likes metaphors.
[Emily Littleton] Mental Debate.
Emily glances over at the Orphan. Holds her eyes for a moment. Tries, and fails, to communicate some sort of mindspeak with nothing more than her features. The Singer might as well by trying to draw complex sigils with child's fingerpaint. It does not translate.
Kage says Ah and Emily decides to, rather than commenting, snatch a fry from the plate of deliciousness occupying the center of their table. They were excellent for mollifying failed attempts to spontaneously grow surreptitious super powers.
[Ellizabeth Zhao] She smiles with a bit of amusement at Kage's comment. "They always are. I believe I am actually getting better at them, though...I am starting to win an occasional one." She sips at her tea, respectfully declining the opportunity to partake in the food.
[Emily Littleton] (I am having a ridiculously hard time concentrating just now. I apologize!)
to K. R. Jakes
[Emily Littleton] (I am having a ridiculously hard time concentrating just now. I apologize!)
to Ellizabeth Zhao
[K. R. Jakes] ooc: Erk, sorry again for the delay -- just received some workish emails. Don't stand on post-order!
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Emily Littleton
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[It's totally fine. Like I said, I got a bit busy so I am too. I can hang in through it if you can.]]
to Emily Littleton
[K. R. Jakes] ooc: (guilts) Sorry sorry.
to Ellizabeth Zhao, Emily Littleton
[Ellizabeth Zhao] [[No Worries, I'm still a bit busy too, so it's all good.]]
to Emily Littleton, K. R. Jakes
[Emily Littleton] This was not quite the evening that Emily had planned to have and, in truth, the polite politics of meeting new people took more out of her in her uncertain state of Chantry membership than she might otherwise admit. It raised spectres. Perhaps Elizabeth was not the only one battling a mild distraction, at the moment.
Emily reaches into the pocket of her jacket and pulls out a blank card and ballpoint pen. She writes her first name and cellphone number on it, and offers it to Elizabeth.
"I confess I'm a little jumbled with all the comings and goings tonight," she explains, starting with an apology. "I should get going here, soon, but if you'd like to get tea some time and talk travel -- probably not about Africa," a little smile here, tucked into the corner of her mouth, precious and darling, wry, amused, "I'd love it."
And to Kage, darling Kage, bearer of pomegranates and speaker of poetry: "I'm thinking of heading out to the Court this weekend. If you're game. It's been awhile..." she says, wistful, almost. There's a great sadness for Emily in those woods. Heavier than anything she'd disclosed to the heartbox yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment