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.