amongst the ego and the savagery. [serafine, arionna]

SerafíneKung Fu Tacos is a big yellow truck parked on a little pedestrian square at the intersection of Some Street and Some Other Street somewhere in Lodo.  It's dusk and cool again and getting close to freezing - rude awakening after simmering sunshiney days in the 70s earlier this week.  The sky has this deep, blue-rimmed hue that saturates the low-hanging clouds and the downtown core is lit-up and there are strings of Edison lights slung across the street.  Vampire Weekend (M70) is coming from the soundsystem inside the kitchen and a blonde chick with a half-shaved head in a tight little leather skirt, torn fishnets and combat boots is ordering a Flock of Tacos.

Roast duck with mango salsa, one lemon pepper shrimp taco, and one mu shu veggie taco.  She asks for a beer but they don't have them to instead she orders a Mexican hot chocolate.

There's a flask in the inner pocket of her leather jacket that she can use to dose it liberally with something alcoholic.

The order entered Sera steps aside, standing on the edge of the pavement, watching the city's skyline as dusk deepens into night, waiting for the guys in the truck to call her order up.

She's alone tonight, for now and there's a cloth bag dangling from her right wrist.

She's alone tonight, but probably not for long.

Probably never for long.

Kiara[Let's do that thing, that tells us things.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Arionna[People like me?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

ArionnaDusk is when all the critters really come out. Sure there are birds and other small creatures in the daylight hours, sometimes even a cougar, but often times the best animals wait until the sun begins the long drop into the earth. It's beautiful, the way the colors play in the sky, and anyone who found such things displeasing could be considered aesthetically inept. Thus it is expected that Ari wanders along the city streets; what sort of animal would she be to miss the best hours of the day?

Now it's not necessarily for Tacos that she's here. It's likely on her way to whatever destination she had in mind, which might mean that destiny has a way of throwing the oddballs together at the best times...or worst. The three of them seemed unlikely to fit...well...Arionna didn't fit well with anyone it seemed, except maybe Danny on occasion, so it may simply be that nature had a very interesting sense of humor.

She moved through the people who still lingered, her nose in a book as was often the case, and hardly paying much attention except for the recognition of a familiar sensation. Her gaze slipped over the book and ahead, the scent of tacos sliding into her lungs, and searched momentarily for the source.

KiaraSerafine's probably never alone for long and it's true - tonight, at least, that she won't be. You could call it fate, or the fates or if you were leaning toward Kiara Woolfe's particular taste on things you might just invoke any number of Goddesses; any whim of nature's and call it so. This is where x decides to intersect with yz and so shall it be. The pagan's coming out of some establishment [a bar by the sign; some cocktail flashing intermittently on and off in sporadic unrest; all purples and reds with a neon green olive stabbed through its heart] just across the square.

She's alone; or on her way to be; sliding out the door and holding it easily for a pair of departing women; Kiara's smile tilted their way for a moment as they set off in another direction; calling wild farewells over a shoulder that are snatched away and carried across the open area. The Verbena unhooks her arm from the door; lets it click shut with snug fixture to block out the chatter of voices within and curls a coat around her body.

Boots. The brunette was forever in these tall; black knee high affairs that rustled the edges of her outwear and trumpeted her impending arrival far more dramatically than perhaps even her resonance did. That slow play of something eating at your senses; hunger; like that which drew the wandering to King Fu Tacos. Kiara doesn't halt, per say, when she gleans that touch of frost, that entrancing tug; a belly deep enthrallment; but she does smile.

Does lift her chin; the collar of her coat turned out against the dusking cool. Does reroute her footsteps.

She smells like a whirl of margaritas and change; the clever wind that blows through; that's Kiara. Wordless approach, though her eyes have already found Sera by the time she's closing on her. Would you call it predatory, that gaze? Perhaps only so much as the plant that strangles another. Unintended perseverance. Her lips are already bending in a smile as she clatters over; picking a path in those heels of hers.

SerafíneI know these things?

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 1

SerafíneSera is smiling and her smile is small and strange and a bit far away.  She's lost in something and perhaps it is called thought.  Then again, maybe it is sensation.  She can feel the subtle shifts of resonance in the air from miles away.

Maybe she's lost in Time.  She has that feeling about her, and she looks both forward and backward with near-equal ease, oracle that she is - though few others, even her fellow magi - understand that Time was in her bones and sinew long before she ever woke up.

Somewhere a door opens though, and three friends part.  Somewhere the trajectory of a strange little girl going from Here to There is interrupted by a riot of sensation, and it is cold outside and neither Sera's tiny leather skirt nor her fishnets do much to protect her skin from the cold and there's a hint of a pink glow to her knees and nose and thighs and it is cold enough that she has pulled her shearling lined leather jacket closed and zipped it up and tucked her hands into the pockets where she rattles around in search of a lighter and a clove cigarette, which she does not light because her Mexican hot chocolate is ready before she has lit the cigarette and well before her tacos.

"Hey - !  What the fuck are you doing out here tonight?"

This smile for Kiara, warm.  Open arms, a feckless hug if the other woman allows it, that lingers a moment longer than is strictly indicative of platonic friendship.  The brush of Sera's chilly cheek against and the vague scent of cinnamon-and chocolate wafting from the cup lifted carefully over Kiara's shoulder for the duration of that hug.  Held carefully behind Kiara's ear.

Then they are disengaging and Sera senses Arionna's resonance again.  Shivers.  Visibly, physically shivers.  "Feel that?"  Low-voiced to Kiara, dark eyes seeking out the source.

And settling there.  Sera watches Arionna pretty visibly, and something about that stare seems to be an open invitation to approach.

ArionnaSera...

With her perceived absence that Arionna doesn't understand. The politics, the names of their groups, the need to pull others into your own perspective, willing or not, and thus the breadth of the traditions is simply alien to her. Thus Sera's inclinations, the way her blood pulls her, the way she seems to be in some other place, are all unknown as anything other than someone who may be taking far too many substances to be even remotely healthy. Still, the group of magi she's come to know are interesting when watched from afar. They have their problems and oddities, and she knows well enough that she's not a 'part' of the lot of them, but they're still worth observing; that's precisely what she does for Sera. She watches, still and cold.

Kiara pours out of a building with others like herself in demeanor. Arionna lowers her book slowly, closing it just a little as her attention shifts to the new, changing wind. The affection the two of them might have is obvious, the sort of affection she still finds to be odd. The more she kept herself on the out of things, the stranger it all seemed. What -was- the purpose of a hug when not used for soothing? It felt, suddenly, like an odd cultural construction.

When Serafine looks in her direction, Arionna shifts her gaze back to the woman. Perhaps the invitation is gifted silently with merely a look, and perhaps Ari knows what it is. There's no movement as of yet. Approach seemed easy for some people, though for for her it was harder to approach than to flee. She had to decide if she wanted to join on the onset, and exactly what the entire meeting could provide; her recent encounters had been less fruitful than she had hoped, and had contributed to the reemergence of her inherent wariness.

KiaraThere's laughter; quick and bright and spirited as she winds her arms around the other woman in greeting, is greeted, with that emphatic demand. Kiara's hands span and easily rub in some brief foray of pleasure and greeting over the Cultist's back; scratching between Serafine's shoulder blades with her fingertips before she pulls away; still smiling; her dark hair drifting into her lashes.

"As much as I like being one with nature," this, Kiara's little lip curl, her throw back to time spent away from Denver's heart and in another sort, "Sometimes a girl just needs to cut loose and get a little drunk with her lady friends." Her thin fingers tousle in and pry her mane of hair from under her collar; throw it over a shoulder and turn; twisting in some synchrony when the other woman asks -- shivers, because -- "Oh." Kiara's eyebrows rise a little; arching up in their fine little groomed lines as her eyes join Serafine's in their quest to pinpoint -

"That - would be Arionna." Something to the way she speaks the other woman's name; at once curious to find her out here too and ripe with some expectancy. There's another book in the Orphan's hands its presence draws the slightest flicker of reaction from the brunette for a beat. Kiara's dark eyes roving over Arionna with some cursory appraisal.

There's a murmur aside; toward Serafine's ear as Kiara turns momentarily to study what the Kung Fu Tacos might have to offer her. "I get the decided impression she doesn't approve of me." There isn't so much reproach to that; to Kiara's inkling; her assumption; as there is a warm sort of humor to it. An understanding, a recognition of the severing of ways.

SerafíneDenver is on a high plain and in the plains it is fucking windy.  No wonder Kiara's dark hair whips around her face, gets tangled with the sweep of her lashes.  Sera shakes her own face free of the long licks of bot. tle-blond curls and turns her face into the wind a bit, head canting as Kiara cranes to follow that glance, chin half-rising as Kiara supplies the girl's name.

This threading glance, from Arionna to Kiara's profile and then back again.

"Hah." She murmurs back, this grin spreading across her fine little mouth that is sharp and lively and challenging.  "Who the fuck wants to be approved of.  I bet the both of you are better off."

Meanwhile Sera is prying off the lid of her chocolate.  Steam rises, banks, and is carried away by the wind.  "Hold my lid, huh?"  This to Kiara.

ArionnaIt was a burnt sienna colored cover with a black square along the spine that wrote Magic in History as if it were part of a series. The tan box on the front which held the title was small, though Strange Revelations might have been made out. Probably not anything remotely important; she simply enjoyed reading.

She might not have come for tacos. But when one is standing near food without having had dinner, and whilst walking and reading, the intention can change. She wasn't hungry before, but the smell of the tacos is starting to stir her appetite, and the orphan slides her book into the bag at her side, pulling out her wallet instead. Ari wore black. The only bit of her that had been allowed some reprieve from her usual pattern, was the fur like material along the top edge of her boots, of which it had a grey peppered appearance; imitation rabbit or some such.

Stepping right up to the taco stand, once the line had been cleared, she ordered something simple with beef and cheese. There's no need to be complex tonight. Food is food, particularly when your stomach begins to growl. This didn't suggest that she neglected the appearance of the other two. No. Arionna paid attention, to what she could from her place away from them, but she certainly didn't pass them off as simply as she would anyone else.

KiaraKiara's tasked with holding Serafine's lid and she takes it easily in hand; running a fingertip through the chocolate dusting coating the inner side and stealing a taste of it as she does. It leaves an incriminating trail blazed across the plastic that she's unrepentant for as she licks at the sweetness and savors it; stroking at the edge of her mouth as Arionna encroaches; takes up a place in the line and puts in some order.

She watches her progress, Kiara, with this suggestive little squiggle shaping her red lips and waits for Arionna to claim her order before she steals over; lid in hand and cranes up to whisper something to the vendor before tapping the tiny serving counter with a palm and twisting back; hand raised against the breezy falling evening to face Arionna.

There was a tiny bit of ledge; a crumbling sort of brick facade just shy of the Taco Stand and it's toward this Kiara meanders; pauses mid-step to look again at the Orphan. "Hey - " Calls it out; her out; tilts her head. "Come join us, yeah? If you want to." Kiara's dark eyes settle there on Arionna for a long pause as if there's plenty more she'd like to add; her coat unfurling and wrapping back against her legs.

She doesn't though, add more. Just slides there onto the wall; crosses her legs and offers Serafine her lid back; if she wants it. Exchanging this little look with her as she does; some brief, enigmatic thing that reads of olive branches and persistence. Why not, it offers.

Let's see where this takes us.

SerafíneNot often is Sera quiet.  Not precisely quiet, not regularly quiet, nothing close to reserved.  But there is a sort of space she cedes to Kiara in between the beats of her invitation to Arionna, quick, wry twist to her mouth.  A certain way her gaze lingers on the bow of Kiara's red lips after that little look passes between them.

In the time it takes Kiara to lick that lid and toss off that invitation and return to the crumbling brick wall against which Sera half-perches, half-lounds, Sera has dug out her flask and topped off that hot chocolate with a healthy dose of Stranahan's and retrieved the plate of tacos she orders.  Three sprawling things wrapped in foil that smell heavenly but not quite as heavenly as alcohol-laced cinnamon hot chocolate.  So the tacos are set aside, and may not be consumed at all.

Steady eyes, dark blue - something about her that seems to be more contained, far more sober than the state of intoxication two nights before - a mobile mouth curled over the lip of the cup, this sharp profile.  All that sensation around them.

Sera glances at Kiara's profile, again.

Back at Arionna.

Waits to see what the shivery kid will do.

ArionnaAn invitation was the least of all actions she might have suspected, and she's still a little unsure as to whether it actually occurred, and why. Her lips tighten, brows furrowing just a little as she stands off to the side and waits for the tacos to be made.

The truth is, they're trying. Danny has been trying. Not just to include, but to explain the way others see things. These are not her people, but they are potentially better than all those others out there, blindly walking through life. Ari knows she doesn't much like the sort of people Kiara would be lumped into, and while she doesn't know Sera, those two are cozy enough that she suspects she wouldn't much like her either. And yet...

Ari takes her taco silently, reaching for some hot sauce on the bar to squirt in the food. When she stepped away from the truck, she made certain to step closer to the two women; within speaking distance but there would be no firelight dances or sharing of marshmallows anytime soon.

KiaraHow does Kiara Woolfe see the world; behind all those smiles and lingering glances there had to be much that she wasn't saying, right? There had to be story to that. To her. There was, always, after all, a beginning for all of them. For Serafine and Kiara and Arionna. Their interactions so far, the latter two had skirted rather perilously between awkward and uncivil. A corrosiveness that could not bend or soften to suit platitudes. They were, in short, who they are and there was a gulf between their vantage points of the world.

Kiara's might have been a gentler dismissal when it came to the ways Arionna seemed; the way she saw and pushed against; but it was there all the same. And yet -- there were times, there were nights, when it seemed almost a given that they gravitate together. That likeness should call to likeness despite the tiny nuances where they differed. Perhaps it took seeing certain glimpses to alter perceptions enough, to give pause enough to do what the Verbena did just now -- find the give; offer a little.

Keep the wolves at bay just a little longer.

Serafine is watching and Kiara cuts her a furtive look when the Orphan seems given to bridge the distance even a little. That tiny edge of a smile there; the tiny ghost of it giving humor back to her mouth. "You've met officially, right?" This, as Kiara is draping her coat over her legs to keep them warmer; her dark eyes shifting between the two women.

SerafíneKiara drapes her coat over her legs to keep them warmer.  Sera's legs are pretty fucking bare - shapely, shapely legs that seem long not because Sera is tall (although without the gentlemen around to tower over her, she is a perfectly adequate height.  Even tall, by Arionna's diminutive standard) but because her body is made in such a way that her limbs seem long.  And they're sprawled out in front of her, crossed at the ankles (boots so worn the leather is supple as a second skin, not stiff), pink from cold beneath the diamond weave of her thigh-high fishnets, torn in places.

If they were in Federal Sera might be taken for a hooker.

They're in Lodo, though.  She has tattoos on her hands, framing her palms, on her palms, on the inside of her fingers, all blackwork, visible when she lifts the mug in greeting to Arionna.  The scent of chocolate, thick and rich, and whiskey.
Always whiskey.

"Not officially."  Which may or may not be true.  That is to say: " - or, if we have, I don't fucking remember.  I'm Sera.  That was quite the dance, you getting over here.  You always that fucking shy?"

Her voice is wry, warm.  This spark to her gaze.


ArionnaIt was true that they had commonalities. Nature, life, older magic, more primal magic. It was all there. The outlook were widely different, with Arionna embracing the darker aspect of their natures. Sometimes the similarities shine brighter than the differences, and maybe..just maybe..that was what was happening now.

"No." Arionna says simply.  She can't recall an official meeting between the two of them, or if they ever exchanged any words that would have meaning. Her weight shifts a little, moving to the right leg and and further from the two of them. They're an interesting set of three. Kiara seemed relatively normal, at least by Arionna's standards, and Sera seemed to move to the end of the spectrum that she found personally distasteful fashion wise; that was unfair, she couldn't deny she had a few skimpier clothes in her wardrobe that she pulled out for summer. She was more interested in the ink on Sera's skin, though unwilling to press in enough to examine it.

"Arionna." Spoken after a small bite and a slight swipe on her lip with her finger to transfer the sour cream to her mouth without using her tongue. "If you mean to inquire as to whether I am often timid, then the answer is no. I find timidity to be a trait of the inferior. If you mean to question whether I often dislike the presence of others and therefore refuse an attempt to engage in social behavior, then the answer is yes. I suspect that's a bit new for you."

KiaraNot officially, gets this little twitching suggestion of mirth. Then: or I don't fucking remember, which gets the briefest flash of white teeth. Kiara's sharp little mouth widening in a smile before she lifts her chin and waits to see if the foundations of introduction need laying. They do, but - they happen without her input and the Verbena takes the chance to rise and reclaim her own cup of chocolate, pushed out onto the tiny counter for her when its ready; steam rising from a tiny slit in the plastic lid.

She steps back; fingers curled around the cup to the tune of Arionna making it known she's not timid, that she dislikes the presence of others, often. Kiara, prying the lid off with one hand, turns her focus on the petite black clad female beside her, commenting with the quickest, curling, throaty noise of amusement. "I had noticed that, actually."

It's hard to deduce if Kiara's making fun; she could be. Her eyes are bright; there's a way she smiles that's suggestive of something close to it. She doesn't press at it, though. Put her fingers to the wound and wait for the blood to well to the surface. "What brings you out here tonight, I'm supposing it's not -- " She gestures in a brief cutting gesture; arc back over their shoulders; toward the bars; the restaurants.

Social behaviors, seems the unspoken commentary.

"People." She finishes; lifting the chocolate to her lips.



SerafíneKiara drapes her coat over her legs to keep them warmer.  Sera's legs are pretty fucking bare - shapely, shapely legs that seem long not because Sera is tall (although without the gentlemen around to tower over her, she is a perfectly adequate height.  Even tall, by Arionna's diminutive standard) but because her body is made in such a way that her limbs seem long.  And they're sprawled out in front of her, crossed at the ankles (boots so worn the leather is supple as a second skin, not stiff), pink from cold beneath the diamond weave of her thigh-high fishnets, torn in places.

If they were in Federal Sera might be taken for a hooker.

They're in Lodo, though.  She has tattoos on her hands, framing her palms, on her palms, on the inside of her fingers, all blackwork, visible when she lifts the mug in greeting to Arionna.  The scent of chocolate, thick and rich, and whiskey.
Always whiskey.

"Not officially."  Which may or may not be true.  That is to say: " - or, if we have, I don't fucking remember.  I'm Sera.  That was quite the dance, you getting over here.  You always that fucking shy?"


SerafíneOOPS.

Here was the real post:

Arionna might find Sera's wardrobe even more distasteful if her leather jacket were unzipped and unbuttoned, for all she's wearing beneath it is a somewhat transparent black and pink bustier, the cups studded with little silver rivets.  So, yeah.  Skimpy as fucking hell, on a blustery day when that shit just seems unreasonably revealing.  That and a line of studs and hoops crawling up her ear and a heavy silver spike right through the cartilage.  A bar ring across three fingers of her left hand and a copper one on the index finger of her right.

They are too far for Arionna to get more than a flash of the ink, something open and curving on the inside of her left palm, though, curling down over the tender inner skin of her wrist.  And: these cramped lines framing the palm that seem certain to be letters or numbers of some sort.  Perhaps Roman numerals.  They have that officiousness to them.  That narrow heft.

Arionna introduces herself and Sera's mouth quirks into a small half-smile and she's probably about to share some pleasantry like Hey or something else when Arionna continues, annoucing first that timidity is a trait of the inferior.

Sera breathes out all at once.  Laughter like a blow but there's something disbeliving to it - "Jesus fuck - " she swears beneath her breath.  And that laughter turns into something else, just a supple note of disbelief, something intermediate.

"Naw.  It's not new to me.  I just think it's a shitty way to treat yourself and others, you know?"

Arionna"I like to wander." That's the best reason she can ever give for finding herself in some street at some part of evening for no other reason than because she wanted to. "Before the winter leaves us and the nights become shorter." Because soon enough that's what will happen. The sun will return to shine on them for far longer than the moon will breathe, and poor Ari will no longer feel the strength of the darkness. Something about the sun made her skills less...capable. She lets the potential teasing from Kiara slide, but then she's accustom to such things and to misinterpreting them.

She eats, crumbles up the foil and slides it in a nearby dumpster. There isn't much to her mannerisms most of the time. When she returns, she remains still, curling her hands in front of her and holding them there as they talk, never wavering her attention.

But Sera laughed. She laughed and Ari moved her attention, focused it entirely on the tattooed woman. "Ah, an original perspective. The dislike of social isolation is something that many humans express disdain for. Not surprising you'd express the same sentiment. I enjoy my place. I fail to see who I ill treat myself, if I find it pleasurable."

KiaraThere's something to the way Kiara listens to Arionna's words; head tilted just so toward her; that thick, dark hair of hers falling loose around her shoulders; the slide of her tongue along the edge of a tooth. She's watchful and perhaps -- quizzical, the draw up of her eyebrows; the smoothing down of a momentary shift; the curve of her supple red mouth into a line; a frown.

Emotions working there as the Verbena's throat moves to swallow. Her eyes shifting to encompass Serafine's reactions; a smile captured amidst her body's stillness. The impression of momentary perplexity in the dimple that arises; surfaces and fades as Kiara regains her momentum. Gestures at the book; always one; always something; found in the Orphan's clutches. "You keep some company, though." This as she moves to resettle herself; her coat flaring open as she slides one leg over the other.

She's got tights on, beneath her coat; black; winter thick but they strain at the knee; draw thin enough for her skin to be glimpsed beneath. Kiara rocks one foot a little; the lacing on her boots rattles against the leather. There's zippers somewhere; an impressive heel one imagines must sink some inches into soft earth. "All those authors, their impressions, their thoughts. People aren't so bad. Well," There's a brief, consolidating smile. That edge of the tease again.

"Some of them. Some of us." Here another glance at the Cultist; Kiara's long lashed gaze shifts back. "I can't say I blame you avoiding others, but - " She takes another sip of the cooling chocolate. "Get messy, sometimes."

Serafíne"You ever been in love?"  Sera asks Arionna.  It sounds like a quip.  There's a supple curl to her mouth, lips pressed together, contained but - " - or lost someone you love?  Ever found yourself eating an ice cream cone, your favorite fucking flavor, and suddenly you're just sitting, there and you realize you cannot stand anything about it.  Ever piece of it is offensive to you?

"Or broken down in the bathroom of a dive bar off Seventh and Fifth.  Had a strange hand you scratchy toilet paper under the stall because yours was out and you needed to blot your running mascara so you could get up and wash your hands and go back out and keep making out with the guy you're taking home that night, and he's got this smell of onion on his breath okay fine and a little bit of a paunch but these yawning, yearning eyes.

"Ever gotten stoned and watched the sunset or remembered, suddenly, this perfect slant of childhood or lost an earring in a cab and had the cabbie track you down at a priest's house two days later and return it.  Sweetly you know?  Expecting nothing because he though you were a prostitute?

"Ever stop a sixteen year old girl from jumping to her death from the roof of a hospital with the power of your mind - I mean, tell me you've done one of those - just one of those fucking things, or just kissed a boy and made him cry - and I figure then you'll stop talking about humans on the whole like there was any such thing and just think of them as people.

"I mean, though."  This quicksilver smile.  That rant was low and lovely and passionate and bright and even at the end there are equal parts of irony and beauty in Sera's eyes.  "The hell do I know?  I'm only human, and I gotta piss."

She straightens, then, Sera.  Looks around and spots that bar that Kiara came out of not long again.  Takes her coffee and leaves behind her tacos and says, "Be right back - " to Kiara and even Arionna, and then, to Kiara, " - hey.  Are you meeting your ladyfriends later?  Or wanna come home with me?" even as she's on her way past, heading for the bar and presumeably - bathroom - within.

Arionna"No." That was the simplest answer she could provide Sera from the beginning. Just 'No.' All those list of things that she had hoped Ari might have done, and Ari could break it down into a 'no.' "Though from the sounds of it, you should be a playwright. Seems like you have a bit of an imagination for it and the need to provide some sort of narrative. Your narrative, though, is very one sided."

They were left, she and Kiara, with one of them getting comfortable in the cold, and the other standing in it, still, calm, and very much a part of it. Her lids blinked slowly, the dark shadow overcoming her green eyes briefly as she looked away from Kiara to those passing by. "Books are not company. Ideas are not company. They are only ideas, or knowledge. Of only humanity, of course. "

"I'm not sure exactly what you mean by messy, as it implies dirt or uncleanliness. I venture into nature often enough. I just don't find humans all that appealing. They're monstrous bipedal things with too much ego and not enough restraint. " When she brought her attention back, there was a slight tilt of her head. "If you mean to suggest that there are a select few that may have some redeeming qualities, that is true. Yet they are a minute percentage of the population; so small it's practically irrelevant. "

KiaraSerafine rants. It's a lovely sort of rant, that being said. Spun with passion and yearning for life that Kiara warms to; smiles against the ripple of, as it unfurls and she's watching Arionna as it happens with this privately contented sort of smile on her mouth that speaks to something like agreement; yielding perhaps to the poetry contained in the pictures that the Cultist paints.

No, is all Arionna offers back. Such a small, flat, round stone of a response and Kiara's smiling beyond Serafine's words and somehow bigger at Arionna's response and catching the other woman's eye as she gets up, heads toward and calls back, asks -- "Sure. I'll be there in a minute?" -- because when they're just the two of them, Arionna and Kiara, there doesn't seem a rush to the way the Verbena rises to her feet, then. Gathers her coat around her; presses the lid flat down onto her coffee cup.

"I mean - messy. Life is covered in mess, kid. You can't contain every last morsel of it. Or you shouldn't. I'm not saying you need to go out and fuck every person or get drunk in bars or - " Kiara's eyes shine bright, there. She searches the other woman's features plainly. "Just - make mistakes once in a while. Fall in love with the wrong guy, get your heart broken once or five times. Ask Elijah on a date."

She lets a smile curl her mouth a little, there. Wraps her coat a little tighter around herself; begins to pick a path toward the bar she'd emerged from and Serafine had vanished into. Turns, as she does, calls out a parting few words. "Throw yourself amongst the ego and the savagery. Feed the wolves. Run wild. And get home safe, okay?"

She makes some abortive gesture, the brunette; a flashing, brief smile that's hopeful as much as measuring and twists; clatters away back into the bar.

what was that. [arionna, serafine, ian, elijah]

Elijah
[Charisma+Expression, how was the rabblerousing today?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 9) ( success x 2 ) [Doubling Tens]

Elijah(ack, that was not the box I meant to check. I meant to check the WP box)

SerafíneNOT RABBLEROUSING BUT WHO IS AROUND HELLOOOO?

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 5 )

Elijah[aaaand how well-informed was I about what I was angry about?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 7) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Ian[Awareness ftw]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )

ElijahHe was never going to win any awards for speech making.

Nope, he really wasn't, but the latest little snippet of Occupy Denver had a certain blond being very emphatic about the rate at which we incarcerate non-white citizens. The turn out had been decent enough, and after awhile everyone was dispersed after what had been a largely successful bit of protesting and now? Now he wanted pho.

Pho 95 weas a decent enough place, but more importantly they were open all night, and possibly only kept open by a certain blond who seemed content to eat his weight in Vietnamese noodle soup. Text messagees went out. Lots of them Checking in on 4Square happened. If he was reasonably  certain someone was in Denver at that particular juncture, they were invited to pho.

And thus we open the scene. A little place with glass tables and menus written primarily in English with Vietnamese underneath. Elijah could pronounce the name of the place he was eating, it wasn't terribly authentic but the owners were very accepting of the lanky French major.

IanIan was already inside when Elijah got there. He was tucked away at a table in the back corner, head down with one hand absently massaging the back of his neck. There was a bowl of Pho next to him, partially consumed with chopsticks balanced neatly on the rim of the dish. Ian's focus was on his smartphone - or, more to the point, on whoever he was texting - so he didn't immediately look up when Elijah came inside. Instead he paused with his hand hovered over the screen and gave this quiet little huff of laughter.

I'm already here.

He sent a brief text to Elijah, then finally glanced up and scanned the room until his eyes landed on their mark.

His phone buzzed quietly in his hand. Another text (this one from someone else.) Ian waved Elijah over to his table before glancing down to shoot off a quick reply.

SerafíneSerafíne has not been rousing the rabble, just running with them.  Not Elijah's Occupy Denver sort of rabble, just her own - who seem to be both a little bit higher and a little bit lower minded than the people the French major set out to exhort today.  God we are on a long street - that sort of low-density development sprawling around downtown cores - the sort where the infrastructure has aged into a fine melange with layers and layers of weirdly crowded shopping centers and fast food restaurants and pho places built into the old fast food buildings abandoned by the franchise owners when they've reached their age limit.

Whatever.

It's fucking January and sure there's a blizzard on the east coast but today in Denver it was 71 degrees.  Temperature's falling now but it is nowhere close to freezing.

Here's a chick in a net cocktail dress that seems to be more torn than not-torn but which is also absolutely couture.  The line of rhinestones on the asymmetrical bottom hem might well be diamonds and over it she is wearing a battered leather bomber jacket, purchased from a thrift store for seven dollars and ninety-nine cents.

The heels?  They cost thousands.  That's what the crimson sole suggests, anyhoo.

Is there a line?  There is a line.  Elijah is waiting in line.  Maybe to order, maybe to get a table, maybe to figure out where Ian is sitting.   If there is a line: Sera walks in behind Elijah and wraps her arms around him from behind.

She's pretty stoned.  MDMA, darlings.  Her senses are sticky with it.

Elijah"It would appear that I have competition for my mayorship of this pho place," he said, a grin on his face- bright and pleased when he saw Ian. Elijah didn't so much walk as he did... well, he walked. It wasn't quite strutting because he was tired. Tired and a little cold, but that was because he would forever be cold in Denver. It was never going to be a glorious, warm oasis.

There are around around his waist, though, and he stops. There's a texture on his belt, something smooth with a few notches where he'd fiddled with it to try and get it tighter, only to give up the fight. There's a feeling that the back of his vest makes against skin because it's not silk, it's satin and it has a different weave and the little buckle in the back is oh so cold in comparison and-and-and-

He inhales and he smells leather.

"Helloh," he replies, and the grin hasn't left his face.

Arionna de la BabinIt's absurdly warm for this time of year. It's nearing 60, and Arionna is feeling a little displeased by the whole affair. Where is the snow? The blizzards? The storms? Where is her season of chill, of death, of lengthened darkness? This whole affair, or lack thereof, has put her in a not so pleased mood; though one might wonder if she had anything else to offer the world.

She could be in a library or in her room where silence was likely to prevail, but like any true predator, she enjoys watching others, or in her case, listening to them. Unlike a true predator of the forest, Ari has a way of standing out. One might say it's the dark coat that she wears, though that hardly seems reasonable. So many people wear dark coats these days; it's professional, dontcha know. It might be the skirt that glides down smoothing from underneath it. Black lace over black fabric, and the hint of pointed boots underneath. But no, many people wear skirts in the winter. It was probably the combination of her usual gloom appearance, the cold attitude she gave to others, and the book she had spread open as she moved in line behind the others.

Maybe she had received a text, and maybe she hadn't. Maybe that's why she was really here, though she'd never admit it openly, just as she'd never admit that the moment Elijah's name popped up, she was quite pleased to drop her initial plans to hole herself away and brave the crowds. Yes, it might have been a text.

Arionna de la Babin[I'm wishing, for the one I... uhh...am aware of]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )

Serafíne"Helloh to you too."  Murmurs Sera.  Not mocking, though there is a degree of mimicry in her tone that feels somehow animal.  Like a parrot or a mynah bird, absorbing and reflecting the sounds that echo around it.  The leather-arms of her leather-jacket and the top of her golden head just visible behind Elijah's left should.  She rests her cheek against his scapula for a moment.  It seems impossible to let go.

And then she does.

Inhales.

Shivers, and hard to say whether she shivers deliciously or otherwise, it is just a coursing physicality, her whip-lean frame, the expert way she perches in those tottering heels, which give her a solid five and a half extra inches so you know, she's towering.

Smiles at Ian like she always knew he was there and circles around and takes, you know, a seat.  Feels the world sprawling all around them and somehow knows that Arionna is here for Elijah.  Just senses it.

IanIt was unseasonably warm. It had been unseasonably warm all fucking winter. So Ian was not dressed in his heavier (proper winter) attire. He was, in fact, dressed rather casually. Pale grey jeans that had been worn enough to render the denim soft, with a frayed hole torn over one knee. The rest of the ensemble was completed with a black v-necked t-shirt and black leather harness boots. A couple of leather bracelets donned his left wrist, and an expensive jacket was slung over the back of his chair.

He pocketed his phone as Elijah and Sera approached his table.

"I should've known you'd be here." (This to Elijah, because it was, in fact, precisely the kind of place that Elijah would eat at.) To Sera, he offered a nod and a brief, casual gesture toward the chair that she was already pulling out for herself.

Elijah"Hey, have you met Arionna?" he asked, because he woudl ask, looks back and smiles because he's happy to see her.

Because he could be happy to see her. Because he could be happy, period. Nothing gravels or growls. Nothing threatens, the room is loud and bustling, but it would be even if he wre standing alone on an empty plane. There is always something talking, always something humming, and he knew that. He knew better. He knew better than to seek silence because then he would get it and he knew, knew in the it of his stomach, that silence was ot for him.

"Thus far this is the best pho I've come across in town, but I've only tried four places, and I'm pretty sure at this point Missus Nguyen would be disappointed if I went somewhere else," said with the gravity that insists that her disappointment would be as terrible as... well... any other grandmotherly figure's displeasure.

SerafíneSera kinda hums (hmmmm) in response to Ian.  Likes the way her throat vibrates and the way hhhhh and mmmm go together.  Wonders, briefly, what they do when they are apart, then loses the thread of the thought as she sprawls in that chair.  Lets her head loll to her right shoulder and smiles at Ian.  There is something unbidden and remarkably tender about that look, though somehow it also seems as if it isn't precisely for him.

"We have a gig."  Sera tells Ian.  "Day after day after tomorrow.  Or the day after that one.  I keep - " and here she breathes in.  Breathes in.  "forgetting which.  You'll come?"

Then she cuts this glance sliding aslant toward Arionna.  Hasn't moved her head but the whole of her attention, there.  Sera is sharp and striking and in a way that arrests and seizes both the heart and the gut.  Bottle-blonde and crawling-mouthed - that smile.  Impossible to tell tonight what color her eyes might be because: her pupils are so huge.

Kiara[Doo de doo.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

Arionna de la BabinOf course he would ask. Elijah was the opposite. If she were the moon, as she so romantically liked to refer to herself as in the quiet, then Elijah was more like the sun. This, she would tell herself, is precisely why she enjoys his company so much. Perhaps she's placed her head too far into books.

Her eyes lift from the pages as she speaks, and she takes notice of it. There is a moment of surprise; she'd nearly forgotten the entire aspect of him that made him inclusive and charming. Already her cheeks flush and she shoves her face back into the book. It's absurd. It's all really absurd.

Yet she slides into the group, setting her book momentarily on the table to set her purse down and begin to neatly set her coat on the back of the chair. She's never one for hello's and greetings, preferring to quietly take her place and remain the shadow in the corner as much as possible; though she always seems to be less of the shadow in the corner, and more of the vocal sort...anyhow..

Despite the chill the presses outward from her, she manages a 'Evening' before picking her book right up again. She never did make those cupcakes for Elijah that she wanted to, and briefly she's grateful she hadn't. It would make this entire scenario quite awkward....or more awkward than it was.

Ian"Not really. I think I saw her at that art gallery a while back." (But of course, he hadn't exactly stuck around for introductions.) His gaze followed Elijah's, tracing a cutting path across the restaurant to the table where Arionna sat with her book. His focus hovered there a moment before sliding away.

Sera's smile was open and tender when Ian caught her gaze. He didn't question it, mostly because it didn't feel as though it was really meant for him. But it made the light hit her face in this soft, almost romantic way. Whatever she was on (he could guess, and if he had he would be right) brought a flush of color to her skin that only really added to the effect.

She remembered that he'd asked about her next gig, though she could not precisely remember when said gig was actually happening. The invitation elicited a partial smile. "Probably. If I don't get stuck in rehearsal. Text me the details when you know them."

Arionna approached the table and sat down, quietly and relatively unobtrusive. Ian paid her more attention the second time around, if perhaps only because she'd chosen to occupy space at their table. His eyes were dark and focused as he watched her.

"Evening."

After a moment he asked, "What are you reading?"

KiaraIt's highly probable that Kiara had been included in Elijah's text invitation. That she'd responded with something (or not) very vague but charmed. A smiley face, punctuated with a kiss, perhaps. Nothing more or less but she does turn up, eventually. Though whether or not it's entirely by chance she's in the area, well - Kiara could be a elusive creature when she wished it. This brunette that materializes toward the back of the line to order, dressed in heeled boots that laced up in some intrinsic, overly complex way and red jeans that curved along and hugged her figure.

She's got a coat draped over an arm; pristine white on red (and more white). There's something particularly vital to it; the way she uses color to strike a match against her presence. Invoking reaction, probably. Painting bold evidence that she exists into a moment. Kiara Woolfe, with her dark eyes; hair a wild punctuation around her face; sunglasses scooping much of it back from her face.

There's deliberation to the way she takes her place in line, the hook and slow curve of her mouth as she feels familiar presence; cant of the head; eyes scoping out the corner and there. It amounts to a greeting, for the Verbena; the slow lock and draw of her gaze. Heavy and potent where it lingers and then refocuses as the line shifts along.

That cyclic presence of hers like intangible nails gouging the flesh only to soothe the wound.

Elijah
[People? awareness?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 6 )

ElijahIt was the first time he recalled meeting her, too, all things considered. or, perhaps, the most notable time. Mostly because of Jenn. Mostly because of apologies, mostly because of her calling him interesting or something to that effect but he muses with nostalgia and that smile turns into a grin and he settles in.

But settling in came with a breath, long and deep and the world felt bigger and smaller and singular and infinite and there was a brief fluctuation. Devouring, renewing, a cycle in and of itself.

Her name isn't Susan, he thinks, written clear across his face and he has to go through his thoughts but there is the feeling of everything there. The person who was here two days ago, checking to see if the broth was gluten free. The chef whose knife was a little sharper than his knife should be. The primal, almost bestial nature of some of his companions. The majesty and terror of the natural world. Opposites and synonyms.

He blinks slow, and that grin hasn't left his face, but he does stop breathing for a minute, pushes through, but doesn't want to let go.

"Your name is not Susan, it's Kiara," because he isn't thinking. Eyes widen for a second because what was on his mind just came out, "welcome to pho ninety five."

Serafíne"Fuck."  Sera breathes out, you know.  "Fuck."  For no specific reason except that - perhaps - the universe just sent her a kind of text message tattooed against her skin.  And she tosses her head back and she's somehow sitting in a tall chair with a threadbare, napped red velvet upholstery and she rubs the back curve of her skull against it and watches Ian from beneath lower lashes and whatever was in that text message -

- suddenly there are tears in her eyes.  They aren't shed, just shining, maybe it's the light in here, maybe it's an allergic reaction, maybe it's the drug she is on, maybe it's the cocktail, maybe it is the remarkable way the light shreds her skin.

Maybe she's just fucking sad sometimes, unbidden, as we all can be, even on a sunny January day turning into a warm January night in a place where the air is so thin lowlanders get breathless just stepping off the plane.

Such heights.

Ian tells her she should send him a text.  Sera agrees via finger-guns.  Ironic finger-guns and then she has to Be Somewhere.  Gives Ian a little wave.  Maybe tells him that he should come out later?  Or is that only in her head?

She does tell Kiara that on her way out.  With a murmur and a little kiss behind her ear.

Then she ambles out as easily as she ambles in.  The door swings closed behind her.  Walks three blocks before whatever brought those tears to her eyes hits her like a wave - but by then she is out of sight, and out of mind.

Serafíne(Okay, I have an early day tomorrow. thank you all for the RP!)

Arionna de la BabinThere's the obvious addition of another, as Elijah speaks towards Kiara. And yes, she seems deeply familiar. Ari lifts her attention, turns her body just enough to look towards the woman - oh, it's the new-ager. Yes, she recalls her from the store, from the brief moment on the grass with the others, and she does her utmost not to stiffen entirely. Oil and water, she'd say. Old, darker magic, and the destruction and reinvention of it. Kiara is not the sun. She wouldn't know how to describe her in any other words, except too cheerful.

But then, what is Elijah?

Her body turns back to the group, her eyes flickering to Ian of whom she has finally, truly looked at. Silence. Perhaps even an awkward silence as she processes not just how ... what's the word? Attractive? The man is in a darker sort of way, an opposite to the other at the table. There's something about that she finds  ....interesting...

"Archaeology of Death and Burials." Her finger pressed into the pages and she turns it to give him a flash of the book. "An anthropological examination of cultural perceptions of death through what they leave behind. Tells us far more about the way that people truly examine their limited life and where it continues after."

And Sera... what -is- with her? Her brows furrow slowly, her attention having shifted not just to the woman, but her activities as they were. Was everyone in this town, who wasn't one of the herd, so strange? Though who was she to judge what was 'strange.'

KiaraSerafine passes by Kiara on the way out; steps into her space and whispers something against the shell of her ear. There's a particular way the two women speak and greet each other that's a tell, if you look for it. The touch of fingers to fabric; the attention that fixes with total focus on the other's face; words.

(There, see it?)

The Cultist murmurs something; the Verbena's mouth flexes; tiny muscles curling before she says something in an undertone back; the briefest compression of touch; quiet; unfussed laughter and then it's over. Serafine is gone and Kiara; order placed; coat in hand and those heels of hers striking against the floor like tiny staccato reaffirmations of her presence comes closer.

Elijah remembers she's not called Susan and Arionna looks at her like - Kiara's attention shifts to her for a beat and there's a smile that begins there, on that reaction, on Arionna being there and then grows as she returns her dark eyes to Elijah. Unperturbed, one might say.

Vaguely amused, the way her voice seems rich with humor. "Your name is Elijah and you have cute shorthand when you text, kid." Kid. It's a tease and a flirtation and Kiara's brand of greeting.

IanIt was beginning to feel like a dance between them, the way they reacted when they spotted each other across a room.

No, let's be honest. It was always a dance. Such similar creatures, in that sense, even if Kiara was not a dancer the way that Ian was a dancer. There was a great deal of predatory energy in the room - Ian's likely the most obvious and punctuated if only because it was too much in his nature and his blood for him to hide it. But if he was a predator, then he a predator at rest. Languid and relaxed. Claws safely sheathed. He caught Kiara's gaze and smiled.

When he looked back, there were tears in Sera's eyes. Perhaps on another night Ian might have asked her what she was thinking (feeling,) but there were an assortment of other people around the table and Sera was already on her way, shooting off a brief finger-gun gesture before she lifted from her seat and drifted past Kiara toward the door. Ian watched her go, thoughtful.

When he looked back, Arionna was watching him. The pause before her answer was, perhaps, slightly awkward. But if so, Ian didn't draw attention to it. Instead he tilted his head and glanced at the book as she lifted it for him to see. Whatever his opinion of the subject matter, it was difficult to read on his face. But he pressed his lips together and gave a low, quiet hum.

By the time Kiara reached their table (bearing whatever food she'd picked up on the way,) Elijah was already preparing to greet her. Ian smirked lightly at the way Elijah made a point of reciting her name. He gestured toward the empty seat at his side that Sera had just vacated, then seemed to remember that his own food was beginning to get cold.

He had a knack for chopsticks, Ian did. Probably no one would be surprised by that. But the way he consumed his food was both quick and neat. A brief distraction amid the bustle of conversation.

Elijah"Twitter has honed my ability to get the most of sending a text from prepaid phones," he replied. "Glad you came."

There is something honest in his tone, honest in his countenance, the way smiles came easily and the way that his posture didn't slip and the way he just took in what was there. Firmly held in thephysical realm but his mind went for walkabouts and he wasn't altered like Sera had been (even though he watches her go, even though the smile falters and he wonders... he wonders about a lot of things.)


He straightens up with that little bit of swagger and takes in whatever it was that Arionna was reading. Made him pause. He had food coming soon enough, be didn't have to order anymore. Mrs. Nguyen just held up a number and he nodded; he wasn't picky. She fed him squid once. It wasn't too bad.

"What do you think of it so far?" he started, asked curiously because there was no reason to be afraid of death. No reason for him, of all people, to shy away. Leans back in his seat and takes up a certain amount of space. It's presence, though, not physicality. He lacks the discipline to be terribly physical, but he could be charming if he wanted.


Arionna de la BabinThere's moment on her end. The sort that attempts to put a little more space between herself and Kiara, however that might be accomplished. Arionna has never hid her dislike of others, and she's hardly one to do it now. It's almost as if she might acquire some sort of illness from the brunette, perhaps acquire some kind of hippy parasite that would leech all of her magic right out of her and replace it with sunshine. How unappealing.

But then, she wasn't exactly oozing warmth either; she was cold for a reason. Her back straightens, the book being sat on the table with her elbow sliding up alongside it. With her chin resting atop her hand, she remained present and yet somewhere else. Such a safe way to be with people and still be able to escape when they pressed in far too close; people had an icky way of doing that, moving in too close.

There's chatter among Elijah and Kiara. Her lips tighten just a tad, forming a thinner, dark line on her face. Jealousy does not become you, Arionna. After all, what is there to be jealous of exactly? What territory have you taken recently?

The bubble is safe, cozy, though it pops as Elijah inquires as to the contents of the book. Her eyes lift again, an askance look at Ian, then a quick shift to Elijah with his sunshine charm and boyish looks. "I think it's beautiful. People fear what they can't understand, or don't wish to understand. That seems particularly true in modern times. There are a variety of beliefs others created to combat that fear and provide knowledge where there was none. Though I find any attempt to...shall we say humanize? darkness....rather than demonize it for the sake of comfortable simplicity."

Her lips tightened further, gaze dropping to the table surface just in front of Elijah. Careful thinking, a quiet moment to consider, and she lifted her attention to Elijah again. "Would you like to read it?"

KiaraIf Ian was the predator at his leisure, Kiara was, most likely, the one eternally on the prowl. Restless, more so than agitated. The playfulness of her spirit mingled with the direct sort of candor the brunette offered at large made her a woman some warmed to but some found off putting. There was, after all, in Kiara, a vast amount of unapologetic opinion.

A libertine by any other name.

She looks across at him as she settles. Leans into his space to throw her coat across the back of her chair and set a bowl of something steaming and fragrant down; liquid and noodle and spice. "That looks good," this offered while she's there, in his space; a private, intimate appraisal of his food selection before she sits back; crosses her legs and snaps apart a pair of disposable chopsticks.

Offers her attention to Elijah.  "Praise be to Twitter and all its 140 word simplicity." A deviation then; a decided lingering glance at Arionna; there's that humor still banking in the Verbena's eyes when she looks the petite woman over. Eyes dipping to that volume in her hands; a quirk at the edge of Kiara's red mouth brooking some unvoiced opinion she savors and keeps; twirls noodles around her chopsticks instead and threads them into her mouth; eyes shifting between Arionna and Elijah.

There's a rising suspicion, perhaps, the way her attention is garnered, one to the other.

IanThat looks good.

He ought to have had a witty comeback to that. Or at least a sly smile. Or even a simple affirmation. (Yes, it was good. At least as good as one was likely to find in Colorado.) But... he didn't.

There'd been a shift, somehow. Subtle and quiet. But nonetheless, there it was.

Elijah asked Arionna about the book, and Ian stopped eating. He pressed a napkin to his lips briefly, and his eyes cast themselves somewhere that did not directly meet the gaze of anyone around the table.

After a moment he took a drink of water. When he set the glass down, there was a bit too much force to it. Enough that it made an audible clunk against the wooden table.

"I'll see you later," he offered quietly to Kiara. Then he stood up and grabbed his jacket, making his way out the door.

Kiara[What's up, Doc?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

Elijah[wtf?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Arionna de la Babin[go ahead.. I'm having a hard time making my post over here XD ]

Ian[Subterfuge, diff 8 because reasons]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 2

Ian[That should be 4 successes. I forgot to actually change the diff.]

Elijah(true story: Ian Lai always sets his glass down super hard. It's his thing.)

KiaraThere's a shift and it's after she dabs at her mouth with a napkin; leaving traces of red lipstick behind like an absent; half formed bloodstain that she perceives it. Or well, perceives something. The force to the way he sets the glass down on the table in direct correlation to the only true piece of conversation yielding some sort of fruition amongst them.

I'll see you later and he can feel the weight of Kiara's eyes on him. She allows some flicker of surprise etch there; draw a line to her brow; the slash of her mouth into a frown and her dark eyes skirt to Elijah with that same quizzical; uncertain expression before she sets the chopsticks down. Before she gets to her feet with the briefest of indicated; aborted gestures of return momentarily and heads out after Ian.

Catches his sleeve; her fingers closing on his wrist. "Hey, what was that."

It's all she gives, at first. The expression of confusion; her shirt without the benefit of a coat over it bearing the print of some faded logo; there's layers under it; white on grey; some longer sleeved fleece under it to compensate for the uncertainty of Denver weather.

Doesn't force the connection; her hand on his arm brief; some fleeting; bare gesture of confusion.

Elijah"I might want to read that later," he says, genuine again because he is a genuine creature. Lying does not seem to suit him (but that would be another lie, you see, he's actually a practiced. Knows what weapons he has, cultivates an image and that image will save him at some point.)

And Ian was up and going and his expression pulls in for a minute, catches Kiara's frown and he doesn't shrug, he just nods, like he might explain later, or he might not, or he might talk to her at least, and Ian was leaving and headed out the door and he looks like he may get up and leave but at the same time he can't-

"So, uh..."

now this was awkward.

Arionna de la BabinWhatever has just happened, Arionna doesn't know the beginning of it. It's not that she knows anything about Ian's intentions, but moreso the skittishness that seems to slide into action the moment her concentration is shifted abruptly. For all she knows, Ian is just the sort of person who adds a little strength to his glassware, intentional or not.

She knows even less than some in this regard. The inner workings of the magi relationships in Denver are foreign, with the exception of Danny and Kalen, who seem to be rather touchy with one another. She takes in what has happened, however, and based on Elijah's reaction...

The moment of opening up, expressing a subtle desire for inclusion is gone, and she retreats into the book, opening it back up and setting it flat on the table; her elbows help her keep it splayed as she tucks her head into it. "Go." There's a bit too much force in it than she might have intended, but it's present nonetheless. Ari cuts off contact, turning her face away from them, shifting her body just enough to present more of her back to Elijah.

Elijah"Come see a movie with me tomorrow," he tells her, stands up and leaves some cash, "I will be back, but in case I'm not- come see a movie with me tomorrow."

IanHistorically, this sort of thing had not worked out well for others. There was precedent for it. Kalen. Sera. Perhaps it said something that Ian did not snap at Kiara when he felt her hand on his wrist. Did not immediately bristle and attempt to chase her off.

Maybe it just meant that people evolved.

He was outside the restaurant by the time Kiara caught up with him. He'd known she was behind him. Could feel the cyclic press of her resonance growing stronger at his back. But he didn't stop and turn until she caught his wrist. Until she forced him to acknowledge the moment by asking him, point blank.

His expression was sharp when he turned to look at her. Still partly guarded but no longer a blank mask. Something twitched in a muscle beneath his eye. His posture - the way he held his spine, the tight coil of muscle - was anything but relaxed. He didn't answer her for a long moment.

"It's a privilege," he finally said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "To be able to talk about death like it's an idea. I guess I don't have the stomach for it."

That wasn't a proper answer. It was the barest skip over the surface. But it was more than he usually offered, and as much as Kiara was likely going to get.

KiaraGive her credit, the brunette, for the fact she asks him point blank what his deal was. There were some, perhaps, who'd balk at that. At asking someone so transparently what was going on. Wouldn't want to feel the whiplash of emotion potentially thrown back at them. Would bristle for bristle; hackles rising in seeming challenge. She touches him without permission, it could be said. Catches his wrist and slows his determined retreat from the conversation.

And inside; Kiara's noodles still with steam rising from the bowl; her coat slung over the chair; half scraped back from the table to pinpoint the abruptness of her departure after Ian.

His expression is sharp; guarded; there's things she can't get at about what's bothering him but when he speaks, that taunt wording; the lance of - what - frustration, anger - at Arionna's conversation there is some slight shifting, there. A smoothing out of the line of consternation across Kiara's brow; her lips soften from the drawn line they were in and she tilts her head, just so.

Her fingers curl up against her side; she begins and ends some inclination to touch his hand again. Doesn't say anything for a long minute; then; searching his face, says: "Yeah, it really is," with the simple comprehension of someone who did know. Who had seen.

Death. And Kiara, who felt like part of that cycle; a natural representation of it.

Elijah[Per+aware, checking for social cues from Ian to figure out WTF I am supposed to do!)

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

ElijahHe does make his way out, in time to assess the situation. In order to take in what was there and catch the tension in the other man's spine. The line of his jaw, it's funny the way we isolate people into pieces when we think of them. He'd said it before, marvelled at how we don't see people as whole entities in some situations.

He could guess what was rong, comes out in time to catch the tail end of what Ian was saying. ... talk about death like it's an idea. I guess I don't have the stomach for it. He doesn't snap, doesn't draw a breath that's too sharp. He breathes differently, slowly, because occasionally he walks into situations he's not sure how to handle. Has a reputation for saying the wrong thing.

And he definitely has the potential to say the wrong thing here.

"Do you want your space right now?"

It might be the wrong thing, but he asks anyway. It isn't soft, isn't timid, isn't like walking on eggshells because he doesn't have anything to be nervous about. He gets grief. Knows that, at some points, the anger doesn't ever really fade in its own ways. Just because you accept something doesn't mean that you are magically better and no longer have the right to have emotions.

Passion keeps us here.

"Because if you don't, I can think of, like, fifteen things we could do."

Aside from swallow anger. Maybe grief. They all taste similar after awhile to Elijah.

IanIn a way, perhaps, it might have been easier if she hadn't understood. Because then he could turn around and keep walking, instead of being caught in this moment of shared anguish.

When Elijah joined them, it ought to have felt like being cornered. That's how it usually felt. But somehow, strangely, it didn't.

It did feel awkward, though. And maybe the silence meant that Ian didn't want to talk, or maybe it just meant that he didn't know how to navigate this kind of conversation. Difficult to imagine, perhaps. Awkward wasn't a word one would typically use to describe Ian in... any sense. But there it was.

He felt a little like he wanted to throw up.

Instead he released this slow, shaky breath. "I shouldn't have asked." (About the book. All Arionna had done was answer.)

A beat later: "Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to head home."

He glanced again at Kiara, and something passed across his face. A shadow of acknowledgement. Then he turned and walked across the street.

KiaraShe lets him go, this time. Doesn't do much but return the glance he offers with that same enigmatic stare of hers; dark eyes surveying his expression wordlessly; she watches the retreat for a minute without making much but the briefest of exhales and then turns her attention on Elijah; back the way they'd come.

Arionna was left to her own impressions within. There's some fleeting consideration on the Verbena's behalf about what she likely makes of their procession out after Ian, the pair of them before she turns on her heel; docks her head toward the doorway behind them. "C'mon. Let's go reclaim my noodles and your chances with the dark horse inside."

She holds a hand out; tugs the blond back within.

Arionna de la BabinPerhaps if she were more skilled, she might have pried a little. She might have even attempted to 'listen in' to the conversation at hand. Or she might not have. The question was whether or not Arionna cared enough about the situation, or at least whatever upset Ian. Truth was, she didn't much care for Ian as she knew very little about him. On her list of others in the city, he was in the same vein as someone like Oliver, of whom she had little contact with. Another person with leanings to the magical arts, and nothing more.

Whatever feelings she had to the situation she hide behind the dark hair and the cold expression, even as she pulled her coat on and packed up her things. Whether or not she'd meet with Elijah the following day, she wasn't sure. Danny might tell her that the way she's feeling is partly her own doing, and certainly, Kalen would say it.

It didn't matter in the end. She was seemingly content to depart quietly, slipping out to head home where she could read in peace and without the distractions of people.

dance like you know it. [ian, serafine, grace, elijah]

Serafíne

Wednesdays are the slowest nights in Lodo.  College students are still making some stab at studying or finishing assignments due this week or maybe last or perhaps next and it's too early and/or late in the week for the conventions and seminars that tend to get bookended against the weekend so that middle-management types can "make a weekend of it" somewhere other than home, and everyone else, well.  They have to fucking work.  Can't really call in hung over on a Thursday when you are a third year associate in a struggling law firm who spends ten hours reviewing property deeds to answer obscure mineral rights questions.

So: Wednesday, Lodo, The Summit House, this hole in the wall place with a single tinted picture window and green-painted door fronting the street and a weird dogleg shape to the inside.  Long narrow bar - classic, right?  traditional, booths and tables and barstools, a traditional wooden bar-and-mirror theme going like something out of a saloon, connected to a larger, weirdly bulbous space that is up a half-flight of stairs and definitely wider than the lower level bar, tucked behind a small kitchen from which an up-and-coming young never-went-to-culinary-school chef serves up a ridiculously delicious menu of locally sourced sandwiches late-night.  The little-back-room as it is called features a small stage.  Tuesday nights and Saturday afternoons are open mic.

This particular Wednesday night is not open mic.  There's a band, a fourpiece.  Ridiculously good guitarist hanging back in the shadows, this striking, compelling mess of a Cultist with her eyes closed and her long fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of liquor, simmering her way through a cover of the Pixies Gigantic.  One of those iconic songs it is almost impossible to resist covering.

The last one of the set, too.

Ian

[Oh right, Awareness!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

Ian

There were two people with Ian when he walked into the bar. Both of them (a black woman and a pale man with ginger hair) looked like dancers. They had that same graceful way of moving: that same brand of muscle tone that Ian did. (The kind you only ever really saw specifically in people who danced ballet.) The woman gave a bright peal of laughter as she slid up to the bar, curling a long scarf from around her neck. The ginger-haired man took a seat beside her, grinning at some joke that only the three of them were privy to. Ian leaned an elbow on the bartop as the three of them ordered drinks, but his attention shifted toward the sound of drifting music that filtered in from the back room.

"I'm going to check out the band." When his drink arrived, he pulled away from the bar and his two companions, making a slow path up the stairs. He knew, of course, who he would find there when he arrived. It was becoming a bit of a habit with them - this passing in the night. At a bar or a park or a party. Sera got around. Ian got around. They were bound to run into each other periodically.

And of course, there she was. On stage, crooning out that Pixies cover like she was meant to be there. Ian found a table and sat down with his drink. His eyes lit on Sera's form - on the way the stage light painted her face and reflected all soft and golden off the bottle in her hand. He took a sip from his glass and, after a moment, closed his eyes. Content for the moment to absorb the lush sound of Sera's voice and the amber warmth of whiskey on his tongue.

Kiara

Did things ever happen without some degree of deliberation for any of them? A chance meeting, a fork in the road, the path less taken ... it all amounted to the same thing. Meetings. Points of connection. It's possible that the brunette that slips into The Summit House is here for a reason. It's possible that reason is currently jamming out a set on a stage somewhere up the back -- up those stairs; past the winding; laughter-strewn minglers and off to the right, in her own world.

Kiara Woolfe has never known Serafine any other way.

She has a glass of wine in hand; the Verbena; this slim figure encased in jeans and a velvet shirt. It's all jagged; theatrical sleeves that flare out below the elbow and rich; royal purple in shade. She gleams a little where she stands; back to the wall; half figment more than identifiable woman but for those with the means to deduce her from less mundane means. Glittering with her necklaces and bracelets; a coat folded over one arm.

She hasn't been here long, by all accounts. There's a heel pressed to the wall; the tilt of her head and her focus; the red-lipped bohemian, shifts just so when another joins the throng watching the band. The edge of her mouth shifts a little but Kiara doesn't alter her orbit just yet.

Let the momentum build, you understand. At some point -- the roads will rejoin; it's what happens.

Serafíne

There they are, there she is: on this little wedge of a stage tucked up against one of the corners of the oddly-shaped little back room.  Just enough room for the equipment and the people and not much room to move around, except that she does.  Crooning, yeah - that's the right word for the way she curls her voice through the mad, surreal little verses: breatheless, internal, intense.  But then the chorus explodes as it was meant to into a great, messy celebration.  The chick on the bass (that's Dee, to those of us counting out the Corona Street houfsemates) concentrating on that legendary bass line looks up during the chorus and finds the mic in front of her and joins in, harmony.  Hell, a quarter of the audience does too.

Gigantic is almost as hard to resist as Sera.  Especially in her element.

Then the song ends because everything does, everything has to end, and the set's done - for now and perhaps for the night, although it is early, it should be noted.  They don't start breaking down the gear.  Just hang up the instruments.  Sera lifts the guitar she did not touch at all - at least during that last song - up over her head and hands it off to Dan and jumps down off the little stage onto the pockmarked floor with the deliberate pleasure of a child jumping into a rainpuddle, nevermind her goddamned heels, and somehow she catches herself, and somehow you know that she would - catch herself before falling.

Somehow she always does.

--

The liquid in the bottle tonight is clear but it catches the light when she moves.  Shines, a bit viscous so you know it sure as hell isn't water, but you knew that all along, really.  Saunters over the little dance floor and through the scattered tables until she gets to Ian.  Waves hi with her bottle.

Really wants to kiss him on the crown of his head but the bastard's standing up so she contents herself with wanting rather than kissing.  Maybe she reaches out for Ian's hand.

"Ian!  Come meet Kiara.  You wanna shot?"

In between sets music comes on the sound system. Whatever it is sounds like the love child of Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen, came out last week.  Sera's in heaven.

Ian

The audience cheered at the end of the set, and that was when Ian stood up. Truth was, it didn't really matter whether or not he liked the Pixies. He was an artist - a performer. And watching (or listening to) other artists in their element was something he had a taste for. Of course Sera's band killed that song. It was exactly the kind of thing Ian always imagined her singing. So he smiled when the song finished, standing up to give this high, appreciative whistle.

Kiara was there. He felt her more than saw her. Perhaps he might have looked, but then there was Sera reaching out for his hand.

Come meet Kiara.

He grinned. "You should invite me to one of your shows."

There was an easy-going grace to the way he allowed Sera to lead him toward the back wall where Kiara stood. In response to her question (did he want a shot?) he lifted his still-mostly-full whiskey glass. "Maybe later."

Kiara

"You sounded fucking amazing." This, the first thing they're greeted with when they meet up with the other woman. Kiara smiling through her emphatic declaration; leaning in; pressing forward to tuck Sera (and those ridiculous heels of hers of course) into a brief; intimate expression of satisfaction. There's easy intimacy in the way Kiara kisses her face; this fleeting tilt-and-peck of cherry red lips against her jaw; cheek; some point before she draws back; smudges her thumb because lipstick.

Pulls back; registers the man with her with this brief-but-intent charade of surprised pleasure. She'd known; her eyes had strayed to him on the approach; this tiny, tiny little bank of something there hiding in the edge of Kiara's lips (there was always something to her smiles, this woman).

"Ian, isn't it." This, with a cutting little look. A sharp-edged smile; her focus shifting to Sera. "We've met. Once or twice."

Elijah

The air is thin.

Nobody warns you that the air is thin in Colorado, they just assume that if you are in Denver that you know that the air is thin but, you see, Elijah has been at sea level for awhile now. He's been at sea level longer than he would have liked, really, and since school was starting back up he had more than a few good excuses to be somewhere that wasn't home and, instead, to be crawling through bars and remembering that it's easier to get drunk when you aren't accustomed to taking the appropriate amount of air into your lungs.

There are things that he thinks about. Things that he ponders and contemplates and all those other thinkie words, but he isn't thinking at that particular moment, he is just doing. That doing includes going to a bar somewhere in LoDo and being blissfully unaware that he missed one seriously badass performance. Woe and misery abound, woe and misery indeed.

So, there he is, making his way into the place like he belongs here, because he does belong here, being all tall and blond and lanky and be-vested- because he still carries a pocketwatch. He still carries a very particular pocketwatch because even if he isn't attached to the hip with the person who gave him said watch, it still meant something to him. It was still important, still integral, still necessary for symbolic communication because he talks in symbols and that's how the world works. All mimicry and poppets.

Anyway, in with him. Alone and turbulent and passionate and all those other things because he is who he is and he is how he is and he isn't going to be anything other than who and how he is.

He's been a non-presence for awhile. Bars are a nice welcome home, aren't they?

Serafíne

Oh Sera.  What do you feel?

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Serafíne

Sera smells like - well, that's tequila.  A good tequila, but whatever.  She'd drink the rotgut shit too if that were the only thing on offering, and she's wearing a short leather skirt and thigh-high fishnets held up by garters and a purple-and-black lace bra with scalloped cups and a sweet little black bow between them beneath an unzipped hoodie, wrist cuffs pushed up her forearms.  Red mark over her neck and shoulder where the guitar strap lay, (bottle) blond hair dark at the roots, curling and a bit damp from sweat.

Callouses on her hand and the cool kiss of the bottle as she trades the bottle from left hand to right to take Ian's hand and lead him onward, which he accepts with an such easy grace.

And he tells her that she should invite him to one of her shows and Sera laughs and throws a glance over her right shoulder, long hair tangled in the hood of her jacket, the room spinning as she says, "Come to one of my fucking shows."

The edge of her smile, sharper than you'd think.  That might've been a joke.

Then Kiara, with her lipstick and red wine, and Sera accepts the kiss to her cheek, her jaw, with pleasure.  Eyes closing, inhaling, leaning in to bump brows, never quite letting go of Ian's hand.  Pulling him after her and presenting him to Kiara and now (finally, yes) freeing Ian to do whatever he will in greeting Kiara.

"It is Ian."  A bit emphatic - too far gone perhaps to get the sharp edge of Kiara's smile or - no, probably not.  Undercurrent there, right?  Feel it against her skin.  "Ian this is Kiara.  You've met.  Say hi or something."

Sera kinda drifts back.  Takes a breath.  Takes a shot, right from the bottle.

Closes her eyes and lets sensation bathe her being.

"Elijah's here, too.  I'm gonna go get him."

She hasn't moved yet.

She will, soon.

Ian

 "Three times, I think."

It'd been more than three. But Ian wasn't actually counting the times they'd met.

Elijah was there. Sera was going to fetch him. Maybe she'd introduce him too. Ian glanced briefly in the direction of the stairs, down to where they led - where Elijah's chaotic resonance beat out such a familiar pulse; where the two dancers Ian had arrived with were still chatting each other up at the bar. They didn't seem especially concerned over his absence.

Ian took a sip of his drink and smiled, subtly, at Kiara over the lip of the glass. Some light, secret thing that might have been: it's nice to see you. Or maybe just: you look nice.

"Hi," he finally said, as per Sera's request.

Serafíne

Then she is moving.  Long fingered hand sliding through her damp hair, lifting her right shoulder to her right cheek, handing the tequila bottle as lightly and neatly as if it were some cheap, mass-produced beer at a picnic or a blockparty.  Gives Kiara a glance and rolls her eyes a little bit when Ian says "Hi," just as instructed and hmmms (internal, entire) over his pronouncement that they had met three times, he thinks.

Sometimes Sera can read everything in the room.  Every vibe, every flirtation, every feud, every desire.  Sometimes, well, that shit is hidden from her, or she's too wrapped up in her intoxicants to take stock of anyone else's.

Tonight, Dan has finally finished stowing the guitars and has jumped down (really rather easily overlooked) from the little corner stage and crossed the bar and sauntered up behind Sera to touch her waist, lightly, and murmur something into her ear.

That's when she backs up a bit.  Waves the bottle to say goodbye!  or perhaps see you when I have another one of these!  or whatever and saunters back downstairs in her Alexander McQueen heels.  Five inches, stiletto, black, the spine and heel wrapped 'round with coiled metal dragons, the sides and toes covered in enough metal spikes that the damn things have to be handed over to security when she flies.  Gotta put that shit in your checked baggage.  Counts as a weapon in 71 countries.

--

Downstairs, Elijah!  Hello.  Sera greets him and tells him that Ian and Kiara are upstairs and he should go say hi and she's going out for a smoke, she'll be back right?  Or she won't.  Maybe she'll be elsewhere, the next time he turns around.

Kiara

Elijah is here. She's going to go get him - at some point.

Kiara can feel it; feel him; the chaotic whirl of the young man's presence. It touches her skin; chafes against the devouring nature of her own. There's a beat there; where the Verbena doesn't speak but to feel it. To part her lips and then compress them. It serves as much for her agreement that yes, there's another here, as anything else.

"Only three? I'd have said at least five. I could be getting a little ahead of myself, though." This, her eyes swinging back to the present; to linger on Ian's subtle smile and retort it with the wider aspect of her own. Always the element of the tease, with Kiara. Her nature being such that it was a competition, of course. It was a game; it was the wolf on the hunt. A woman who felt the way she did -- yes, it seemed easy enough to see the flash of those white teeth, the edge of humor; of challenge in her dark eyes and see something a little feral. A little wild and untethered and it made sense, of course it did because she was what she was.

Ian knew that much now, if not anything else about her.

And then Dan -- and Serafine is being drawn away and Kiara's eyes follow their progress for a moment or two -- "She may very well not come back. If I've learned anything so far of Sera -- " There's a little table near them; pressed right back against the wall; Kiara surrenders her coat to the chair attached to it; abandoned by those who have wandered off now the live music is no more. Keeps the wine glass, perhaps as much for a distraction for her hands as anything else.

"It's that I'll be right back is a very abstract idea."

Elijah

There are people upstairs.

People! Upstairs! People that he likes on top of that. or at least person that he likes, he has met Kiara, but he doesn't remember that he's met her. When he sees her face, he'll remember her. When he sees her face, he'll be able to place her along with that growing and devouring feeling, that cycle of death and rebirth and creation and destruction all bundled up in one woman and he'd muse over it.

But, he goes, oh how he goes! He goes up the stairs and takes them one at a time, double time. Isn't mourning anymore. Isn't aching over the one that got away because, while it would still ache, life would go on. People would be relegated to the realm of memories and life would go on.

Up the stairs, all snazzy and presentable, because he makes himself presentable. All green-eyed confidence, because he could be confident. Life felt good.

It was up the stairs, and there he was, taking the room in and taking in people. He's tall and he's got a coat on and he's comfortable. Comfortable because he chose to be comfortable. But now, he had to find people and join people. It was a game, joining.

Noel-lurk

[Do you guys mind a Grace?]

Ian

 I do not mind :)

Elijah
(Go for it!)

Kiara

[Yes! How dare you! *grins* C'mon in, girl.]

Grace

 [Awareness!?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )

Ian

"I suppose that last one should count more than once," he conceded. By then Sera was already on her way toward the stairs, so she'd miss the way Ian's subtle teasing became ever-so-slightly less subtle. Kiara led them to a table and Ian followed suit, pulling out a chair for himself.

"That's a good way to put it." (Abstract.) And now that Sera was gone, his body relaxed slightly, leaning back in the chair enough the rock the two front feet just slightly off the ground. Ian could feel the beating edge of Elijah's resonance at his back, and he looked over his shoulder long enough to catch Elijah's eyes. It had been... a while. Since they'd seen each other in person. But Elijah looked nice.

(Everyone looked nice, tonight.)

Ian, of course, had on his Burberry leather jacket. The sleek lambskin one with the high collar. He hadn't taken it off yet, but he did now, shrugging his arms from the sleeves as he draped the thing over the back of his chair. Underneath, he had on a black t-shirt. The air in the bar was warm enough not to make him wish for something with more fabric.

"Join us?" he offered.

Grace 

Elijah: Come out with meeeeeeeee

The text makes her smile. Elijah, out doing things? Anyone out doing things? And there is a place to be for her now, too.

Elijah checked in to this place on FourSquare, Grace notes as she walks in, head in her phone. Someday, he may learn why allowing somebody to know exactly where he is at all times is not such a good idea. But it is such an Elijah-like gesture, is it not?

She looks, and she feels -- senses them above the din of people and music. And Grace seems different tonight, for those who are paying attention. No, it's not the outfit (does she ever change out of her uniform of jeans, sneakers, t-shirt, and coat?) But there is something even more odd about her than usual. It's as though a bird just landed in the doorway with giant sweeps of sharp wings.

They're upstairs. Nice.

Grace weaves her way through the place, to climb the stairs.

Kiara

The Verbena slides eventually into a chair across from Ian; it had been owned by her coat a moment earlier and Kiara presses herself into it with that sort of negligent grace that Ian had such a call to; being what he was. He'd come with friends; colleagues perhaps; Kiara had come, by all accounts, on her own. But that, as recent interludes had suggested, never seemed to particularly bother her.

She's housing her wine between long fingers; toying with the stem and idly contemplating the direction the Cultist had vanished in when Elijah appears. She doesn't know him overly well, Elijah. Their interactions had been few and unusual, to say the least. She'd met him in a park, not so long ago. With another female and a ghost, looking for his dog.

She watches his approach from under the fall of that dark hair; long; unbound tonight; it casts the pagan's features into some half-formed, shadowy uncertainty. The edge of her mouth; red; bold. The cant of her face; the thickness of her lashes where they're kohl-rimmed and lovely; brushing the edge of a cheek when she dips them; her focus, just for the moment, to breathe in with a sudden little catch. Lodged in her throat because Grace is approaching and yet - it's not-Grace. A wholly different version of the woman Kiara's gotten to know.

Shared space with; shown secrets.

Grace appears and the trick of the minds-eye is that great; impressive wings unfold themselves behind and above her; a sense of something dwarfing; something winged. When she lifts her face again, her attention is instantly on the stairs. "Hello, Elijah." Then: "Well, Grace." Because. "Something to share?"

Elijah

[Manip_Sub: I totally remember your name, Kiara]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Elijah

 He grins. He grins because it's his constant companion, because it comes easily to him and because it comes quickly. He's turbulent like that, things come and go quickly, but he swings closer to jovial than he does brooding and woeful.

"Grace should be coming soon," he said, was peeling out of his coat that was a little bigger and a little warmer than necessary (he never quite adjusted).  His gaze turns, his attention migrates from Ian- who gets a smile and a glance that is at once appreciative and glad (but why glad? But why not?)  to Kiara (appreciative, curious, quiet- like looking at a painting whose artist you can not place).

And then she says it. She says his name and there is the momentary flip of his stomach and the flush of his cheeks that says that it's cold outside and surely can't have anything to do with the fact that he can't place her name. nope, noooo, not at all.

"Hey Ian, hey Kee-" oh fuck, think think "-a Sedona?"

He takes a seat like he belongs. Because, as far as he's concerned, he does.

Ian

[Per+Subterfuge]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )

Ian

 Ian lofted an eyebrow at Elijah and regarded him quietly for a moment. It was a look that Elijah might have cause to recognize by now, for all the times Ian afforded him with it - the same look that Ian had given him that day at the Chantry when he'd pulled Elijah aside to supposedly help him with his homework.

It was the look of a man who was... entirely unconvinced.

He didn't say anything though, choosing instead to leave Elijah to flail awkwardly. And then... Grace appeared. And Ian let his chair fall neatly back into place as she sat up (sat forward,) his attention briefly zeroing in on her with the precision of a laser beam.

Something to share? Kiara asked Grace. Ian grinned lightly, this softly knowing expression, and held up his drink as though in acknowledgment.

"I guess we've all met."

Grace

Something to share? A corner of Grace's mouth juts up, like she's got a highly amusing secret she's keeping, and slips herself into a chair, legs going where they will in the process.

"Hey, Elijah. I see you found company."

A grin at Kiara. "I don't know. Do I?" She totally does.

"Okay. Yeah. One could say that I sought something, and found it?"

Kiara

Amusement.

It banks there in the weight of her eyes on his face; Elijah's; the flush that rises in his cheeks; the stab and string together of words. Sounding out some variation that might have been her name, but wasn't quite. This, seen in the way her stare lingers on for a beat; the tap of her heel against the chair leg beneath because momentum, you understand, for her was a necessity. She was not made to sit, idle and unstirring.

Give her choice, Ms Woolfe: it was the leap, the unknown, the adventure blown in by the wind every damn time. She'd jump out of a plane; spiral and plummet before she'd be weighed down so long by stagnation. Winter was not her favorite time of year; too much frozen; too much waiting; captured and unyielding; for the thaw.

She does let him sit there, suspended in uncertainty; her own private amusement painting him the hanged man before there's a purr of something shying south of laughter rising in Kiara's throat. She shakes her hair back; sifts a hand through it and tenders it back from an exposed throat as she offers: "People call me Kee. You can be one of them, if you want to be. Or - " the rings on her fingers gleam as she lays them on the table.

Her thumb stroking one around; back to face the proper direction. More silver; not real; these. "Kiara." She reprieves him with a smile; twitching the edge of her mouth; suggestive of dimples that might surface in a cheek in the right mood; caught at a particular moment.

I guess we've all met.

"Mm." Kiara's eyes carry over Ian; dart to Grace. Playful, for the former. Soften, just a little, for the latter. There's some kind of fondness there, maybe. "You did. You without question did." She cants her head. "We need to toast you, Grace."

Elijah

Names are hard.

He's not old enough to drink, but he fakes it anyway. Comes to these establishments often enough that when he shows his actual ID people are starting to wonder if it's fake. Comes to these establishments enough that he's not entirely trusting of his own papers. And why should he be? They're just numbers, just affirmations that he commits at least three status offenses an evening and the various people- because bartenders and bouncers are people- happen to be privy to a great crime that they let slide because of his charm and the fact that tossing him out was a lot harder than letting him in and look at him.

Green eyes, blond hair, woiuldn't hurt a fly. Not the least bit dangerous but everything about him is impulsive.

"That's much better than calling you a minivan. My next guess was Susan, but you're far, far too glamorous to be Susan," he compliments, "not wispy enough to be an Audrey and more voraious than any Marilyn I've known. Kiara fits."

But Grace has news, news he didn't know about when he invited her out but he beams, brightens and content to pass over his own screw ups with names (names are hard, okay?) to turn his attention to Grace and-

"Why do I suspect this is way more important than finding your metaphysical carkeys? What're you drinking? And don't say red bull, because that stuff is basically crack and sweet tarts."

Ian

 "Mm." Ian offered this subvocal agreement to Kiara's proposal and tipped his glass a bit more deliberately. "To evolution."

The word choice seemed distinct, when he said it. Deliberate. Meaningful.

And then?

"There he is." The voice came from a woman who'd just appeared at the top of the stairs. Pretty. Mid-twenties. Hair pulled back in a loose bun. The same one that Ian had arrived with. She was followed momentarily by the tall, ginger-haired man she'd been drinking with. The two of them slid their way through the tables and surveyed the group with an air of amused curiosity. "Friends of yours?" There was a wry edge to the woman's question, but she didn't actually wait for Ian to give a response. Instead she grabbed the hand of the man next to her and said, "I swear if I sit still for one more second I'm going to go crazy."

Ian laughed as he watched her drag the man out onto the dance floor. It was a small space, but the two of them found enough room to move to the music being piped in over the speakers.

He finished off his whiskey. In a moment, he was on his feet. As he threaded around the table, he turned to regard those still seated and, with a daring little smile, beckoned the three of them to follow.

(Assuming any of them had the urge to try and show up a trio of professional dancers.)

Grace

Grace snorts at Elijah. "Well, it does give you wings."

She leans in to him, to keep her voice down. She wouldn't invade his space without reason. "You remember what it was like when you Awakened? It's like opening your eyes for the first time. You can open them again though. Each time the view's just a little less blurry than the last."

Their quiet talk gets interrupted. There he is. Friends of yours? No more talky time about secrets.

She facepalms at Ian when he beckons. "Oh seriously? You're going to make me dance? Before I've even had my Red Bull and vodka or whatever?"

But she stands, pushing the chair back with her legs. Someone has wings and needs to fly.

"I suck at this," she says, smiling and crazed. "But why the fuck not?"

Ian

 [FYI: There are now pics of the NPC dancers in my gallery. Because why not.]

Kiara

[BRB, hitting on all Ian's NPC friends.]

Elijah

[per+aware, if I fistbump Grace, will she get it?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Kiara

[Ahem, sorry guys. Denver had a moment on me. Typing!]

Ian

 [lol, it happens]

Elijah

 "Why the fuck not indeed madame," and thus, there if a fist produced for bumping. He trusts, perhaps incorrectly, that Grace will not leave him hanging.

There's a good chance he might be left hanging.

Kiara

 There was the air of something perhaps a little sophisticated to Kiara.

A certain element of charismatic grace; to put it another way. She was not entrancing in the way Ian and his friends were but there was a degree of easy, unfettered confidence to the way she put herself forward, when the offer was extended. When Ian got up after his friends brief cameo at the edge of their table; the draw out to dance brooks a curling edge to her mouth and she leans over; drinking a long protracted sip of the last of her wine.

She finds Grace's shoulders as she gets to her feet. Squeezes down on them with friendly approval as she sweeps past; swallowed momentarily by the small crowd making what use they could of the dance space. The Verbena is easily spotted milling around the people; she sparkles and gleams where the light finds her; her dark hair fanning out to every twist and throw of her body.

Nobody can be a true challenge to the professionals; but for those who took pleasure in it; their bodies; the music; the rhythm; there's enough. Kiara touches someone's shoulder; brushes hands with another; finds herself close enough to one to blink open dark eyes and smile and at some point, likely, reach for Grace and take her hand long enough to raise it up.

"You're another step up the ladder, girl." She says over the music; smiling; bright eyed. The cyclic presence of nature; the duality of death and rebirth. "Dance like you know it." She laughs at the challenge implied in it and breaks away; spins.

Ian

[Who is more impressive tonight? Mel: Dex+Performance]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7) ( success x 4 )

Ian

 [Kane, ditto]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 5 )

Ian

 [Ian: ditto, -1 diff for Ability Aptitude]

Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 5 )

Ian

 The three of them were a sight to behold, truly. Like Sera, with her crooning, growling vocals. Sera who, not long ago, had been a force of effortless presence on the now-empty stage. Now it was the dancers' turn, and despite the fact that it was not really a proper dance floor, and the lighting was far from the smokey atmosphere of a night-club, and there was scarcely space for them to move about (they made room - because who was going to stand in the way of three people who so clearly owned the damn floor,) they were suddenly the most vibrant thing in the bar. It was hard not to watch them. The way they moved. The way they played off of each other. Speaking without speaking. Like they could read novels in each other's muscle movements.

The speakers were playing some kind of new wave revival. And for a few moments Ian seemed to forget that he'd invited the others out there with him. When he closed his eyes, the light struck his face and he looked... different, somehow. Less... restrained. Beautiful in a primordial way. He made it look like dancing was all instinct, despite the fact that his kind of dancing took years of control.

When he opened his eyes, he caught Kiara in his gaze and smiled. His jaw parted softly when he breathed. But it wasn't her he went for first. Not Elijah, either. Instead he slid up to Grace and fell in next to her, shooting her a playful look as he did so.

Ian

[FYI, I'm going to have to fade out on my next post. Because bed time. But I have time for one more round. I think. *g*]

Grace

[Lol, Graaace, can you dance at all? Dex + Performance 0.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (4, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace

 Fistbumps are offered. Fistbumps are not to be left hanging. All smiles, she gives him his requested bump, and then?

Someone has hands on her shoulders, and she freezes until she realizes who it is. Not exactly a fan of being touched when she can't see it coming, Grace. But then, she reaches up and puts a hand over Kiara's. Another step up the ladder. Fears to leave behind, you see.

She takes off her coat, leaving it on the chair behind her, and underneath is a black tee with a Linux penguin on the front. Just so the cool people know, they're willingly choosing to dance with an uber-geek. Then, she takes Kiara's hand and lets her drag her off.

The actual professional dancers are brilliant at what they do. So is Grace, but what she does is not dancing. Still, she sways for a bit until she can see what they're doing, tries to map out their movements in her mind until it makes sense. When Ian slid up, she smiled, and though her eyes were fixed upon him, it was more to copy what he was doing than anything else.

She danced like someone who knew it, because she tried to dance like they did. And it worked.

Kiara

It's hard not to watch them. The trio; the bend and flex and nuance of their bodies in perfect precision. Kiara, hands in her hair at some point; pushing and pulling at the heaviness of it as she feels the warmth of the motion on her skin; the awareness of her body; the sweat on her neck; twisting all that hair into a knot over one shoulder. She pauses, sort of rocking on the spot; in her heels; dark eyes on the three of them.

Openly admiring; caught doing so; watching Ian with this particular kind of focus that he catches; when he finally opens his eyes. When he comes back down enough to register the where and when of his surroundings. She threads her hands back through her hair; smiles across at him in that same way she tends to. There's intimacy to that; the way she regards him. The way her attention stays there just a moment too long to be completely friendly.

There never had been much in the way of politeness to their interactions. Dancing, the heat of it; the motion to it; the way it was created to raise energy -- she rolls into that, the Verbena. Lets her face tilt back and allows Ian and Elijah, even Grace to fall away; to be lost in favor of the pulse of her heart; heavy in her ears.

At least for now.

Ian

 Were Grace a different person, Ian might linger there. Caught up in the bright flush of enthusiasm that hung over her like an echo. Were Grace a different person, he might try to do a whole lot more than simply dance with her. But... people were who they were. And Ian and Grace were, in many respects, from different planets.

It didn't mean they couldn't still take a moment to dance together in a bar - like friends.

Kiara watched Ian dance, and her gaze was... of a rather different sort than Grace's technical appraisal. Ian caught her eyes more than once. Trailed his gaze down the slope of her neck when she gather up her hair. After a time, he slid away from Grace's side and made his way to Elijah. And there was something more familiar in the way they danced. Comfortable and warm and easy. Ian hadn't tried to touch Grace, but he did touch Elijah. Small, casual moments of contact. And then a pause to press his hand to the small of Elijah's back as he finally drifted away.

There was something almost fluid about the way he slipped into Kiara's space. As though it happened without will or intention - though that was far from the truth (nothing Ian did was without intention.) And when he looked at her he smiled and put his hand on her hip. Leaned in. Spoke something softly against her ear while the fingers of his other hand carded through her hair.

"We should go dancing for real, some time."

He stayed with her for a while. Until the other two dancers slid in and stole him away. Eventually the three of them left together. But not before they'd all tired themselves out. (Or the music stopped. Whichever came first.)

Grace

"That was... well, a different kind of fun, perhaps, than cracking a server open. But still -- she managed to convince everyone that she wasn't a complete loser when it came to bodily movement, and that is something.

Ian shares himself with others, and she does as well, going to Melissa and saying hello by giving her the same clinical gaze and copying routine. It's friendly enough, smiling and happy, enthused to be alive, Grace is.

In the end, all things wind down. But not before she turns to Elijah and 'dances' with him. By, of course, holding her arms up like a t-rex and making roar noises and bites. It's tiring, following the crowd for too long. She never was one for doing the customary thing."

[J: And then my wifi decided to hold a grudge against Denver yet again so we faded out here.]