Caleb
Someone was having an adoption event at the 16th street mall. It was three shops down from a starbucks in front of a place that looked like it used to be an army recruiting station that was turned into a high end sandwich shop. It was flanked by a book store and a place that sold bikinis all year 'round.
Or, at least, Caleb was pretty sure those were bikinis. He wasn't completely familiar with the ins and outs of women's underwear but, frankly, very few people understood the nuance of fancy undergarments. His creator had never bothered to actually explain what the purpose of a bra was in that he would never actually have to wear one and the likelihood of encountering one within his lifetime was remarkably slim. So! No time to really think about underthings and, instead, it was time for people to either loiter or avoid the hoard of cocker spaniels and chihuahuas and pit mixes that were there.
The place smelled like dog food and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee as wave after wave of people toting pumpkin spiced everything came through. The pedestrian traffic was slowing down and then speeding up and going with their own little flow of the universe.
He'd picked up his things at the PO box, held a stack of applications in hand and stood, awkward, at the edge of the mass of barking, wiggly, dog-smelling dog things there.
Olive
[awareness, ho!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6) ( success x 1 )
Olive
Across the street from the pet salon is a clock, towering atop its verdigris pole, and beneath the clock is a flimsy metal table with flimsy metal chairs. At this table sits a girl. More about the girl and less about the clock.
She, like so many of the youths trawling the place as they kill time between brunch and going out, is dressed in a manner that either oozes effortless cool or homelessness depending upon the age and temperament of the observer. Knee-high shit-kicker boots and striped board shorts that look like men's boxers from a distance, a plaid shirt underneath an old leather jacket and braids for days. Eyes behind sunglasses in spite of the cloudiness of the afternoon. She's reading a battered paperback when along comes the boy from the bookstore.
At least, it feels like him. Hard to pinpoint which one is him when there are so many dogs and coffee drinks around but Olive kicks her boots off the opposite chair and pockets her paperback and moseys across the street to investigate anyway.
Caleb
[Awareness?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Caleb
He's got an application from that bookstore. It's printed out on marbled paper because the staff had just run out of copy paper when they had a massive staff turnover and really never ran out of copies. Two years later, they were down to the green marbling instead of the creme paper.
He's got a beat up, olive-drab jacket. Tennis shoes that have walked quite a ways but at least the jeans and the polo are clean. He's wearing a belt. He's wearing glasses. He looks like a chemical engineering major- pleasant but awkward and probably a bit like a nerd but not in the way that was chic. No, he looked more like an employee at Best Buy than someone who was chic.
But something does catch his attention and he's trying to shrug the backpack off his shoulders and put the papers away. Caleb begins meandering in the direction that he feels something. Heart not pounding in naticipation but, instead, approaching with the steady calmness that comes from the area around them. He finally manages to get the backpack off and put the papers away.
Olive
With the boots' help, the young woman is boosted up to average height. Without them she would stand as tall as the average American eighth grader. It's no wonder she has chosen thick-soled shoes for today's outing. As calm as the aura surrounding her, she still carries herself like she would not hesitate to throw a fist if the throwing were necessary.
It is not necessary now, and she seems like the sort of person who doesn't give a shit about much outside of now.
She moseys up alongside Caleb and cranes her neck, stands on tiptoe, to get a load of what's got so many people crowding the dog salon.
"That is the smallest dog I've ever seen in my life," she says as she returns her heels to the pavement.
Nick
There's a sucker born every minute, or so they say.
One sucker has found the only three-legged pit bull mix at the entire adoption event of among the horde of unwanted dogs and the scattering of senior cats and kittens. The dog, tan and black brindle, a floppy-eared obvious coward, keeps trying to lick his chin.
He's dressed in a light blue T-shirt and chinos the color of a stormcloud and nearby there is a cream and brown heavy perl knit sweater that he set aside so as not to get dog hair all over it. He is crouched next to the dog with his arm around it, and is in the process of taking a picture with his phone. He does not think the picture will melt his wife's heart as she has made her dislike of pets clear, but one can hope.
Nick
[Feel free to post around me for a bit if you guys want!]
Caleb
"Do you think they're naturally that small? Or did someone grow them specifically to be that small?" he looks from Olive, who is small in her own right but not terribly so, to the dog in question. There's a long haired chihuahua who looks to be about the size of a volleyball that seems pretty damned tiny.
Caleb dumps his backpack down beside him, standing a rather unimpressive five feet eight inches tall- he's shorter than the average american male, but not by much. He reaches down to pick it up and inspect more carefully, only to realize-
"... how do I pick this up?"
Olive
"I think you're supposed to let it smell your hand first, so it knows you're not here to start a fight."
Spoken like an individual with little to no experience with domesticated animals. Her voice is mellow, the sort of deadpan typically heard in potheads and retail workers, and she does not seem like a retail worker. Pothead, then. Or millennial. That word has become so loaded.
As she stands off to the side, she finds her attention tugged towards the fellow in the blue shirt. One corner of her mouth tugs in amusement.
Caleb
He nods like what she's saying makes perfect sense. Yes, you do not want to start a fight with the small animals. They're cute, and he has a definite desire to not anger the tiny adorable thing that he is looking at. His attention moves down the way to the man in the blue shirt and-
"Oh, hey Nick! Have you seen this?"
He looks at the pit bull, notices the three legs, "huh, that one's different."
Nick
The sound of his name, and spoken by an unfamiliar voice, jerks his gaze up and away from his phone. Whatever he'd been reading there had brought a crinkle to the skin around the corners of his eyes, some mixture of amusement and rue.
His eyes meet Caleb's, and his smile is slow to fade because that's the sort of man he is, and seconds later it re-emerges. "Oh, hey, Caleb," he says, with only a second's hesitation before he speaks the man's name. The diversion is all the pit bull needs in order to seize upon the chance to lick his chin, and the eye on that side squinches shut and he is quick to close his mouth.
He pats the dog's head, gently pulling it away from his face. "I know," he says, with obvious enthusiasm for the dog's differences. "He seems like a good dog." A glance to Olive. "Who's your friend?"
Olive
That one corner sneaks its buddy in and the two of them create a full-fledged grin at the phrasing of the question. Though they just met five seconds ago she does not correct him. She lifts her eyebrows and looks over to the young man whose name she does not yet know.
As much fun as playing with puppies is, she seems to be having just as much fun watching other people play with the puppies.
"Olive," she says with the ease of passing a joint, then lifts a hand to wave. "Nice to meet you... Nick?"
Caleb
"Are you adopting a dog?" he asks Nick
He seems to log this away for future reference- that this woman is named Olive and some dogs have three legs. He wonders what else has three legs, or if three legged dogs were just uncommon, kind of like people with green eyes.
"Oh! I'm Caleb, by the way," he offers a hand, confident like he had finally figured out this handshake thing.
Nick
"Nick," he confirms, when Olive asks his name. He reaches up and strokes the dog's broad head, which seems to go a ways toward keeping it from targeting his chin. "Nice to meet you, Olive."
He watches the two of them shake hands, and there is a little furrow that appears, momentarily, at his brows: apparently they too have just met. Caleb seems to be meeting a lot of new people. Caleb seems like he's new in town, in fact.
"I'd like to adopt a dog, but I don't think my wife would go for it," he says, with a pat on the animal's muscular shoulder. "Eventually I'll wear her down."
Margot
[May as well join the club, aware + percep]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )
Olive
And shake they do, Olive's grin suppressing itself, sublimating into a close-lipped smile that even the sunglasses do nothing to dampen. Her grip is firm, her skin dry and warm, the rings on her fingers cool. Her fingernails are all painted black, but the polish is chipping.
"Hey hey," she says in receipt of Caleb's name, and when the handshake is over she pockets both hands.
To the matter of Nick's wife and her resistance:
"What's she got against dogs?"
Margot
Margot wasn't here for an adoption event, Margot was here for a pair of new shoes and a sweater that wasn't a hoodie from a university she was sitting it out from this semester (probably indefinitely, if she were to be honest with herself). When she'd first noticed the adoption event she already had her bounty jammed into a nylon tote bag carried over one shoulder; on the way out.
She bore no interest in stopping for dogs, but could not deny the intangible wall of disturbance into which she'd suddenly walked, nor the impression and pulls-prickles-tingles-alarms in some joined place between gut-heart-brain that it caused. Her step didn't faltered but she slowed to a stop like a car whose engine suddenly cut while going uphill. Her head turned toward the pop-up crates and table for impulse dog adoptions, and it didn't take long at all to find the people responsible for the strange... otherworldliness, almost, that hung here. Eyebrows hopped up when she recognized two faces in particular, hunkered down some in cautious curiosity when realizing the third person was a total stranger.
One hand on her tote bag, the other raised to gesture a small greeting as she approached.
"Hey." Graceful as a bullfrog in her social execution, Margot looked between the three before settling upon Caleb. "You're making friends fast," she observed, and it was hard to tell exactly how she felt about that.
Caleb
He's not too bad at this hand shaking thing. his hands are warm, once up, then down, then up and down one more time before letting go and drawing his attention back to the chihuahua. He observes it for a moment before putting his hand in. He concludes that it is safe to pick the dog up and does so.
The chihuahua vibrates, as chihuahuas are want to do, and he holds the dog much like he's holding a very large, very delicate eggplant. Both hands and a little confused.
Margot comes by and he smiles, bright and decidedly less confused. He gestures with the dog at the people, "That's Olive aaaand that's Nick and... this is a tiny dog."
Nods. Definite. He's covered all of his bases.
Nick
There is obvious pleasure, a warmth that suffuses Nick's face when he sees Margot pass into the area. If it is also tinged with surprise, well, one never does quite get used to their kind's tendency to attract like to like when in public, which is the same no matter which city one lives in.
He straightens, though he keeps a hand on the dog's head. It presses in against one of his legs, leans hard. "Hi, Margot," he says.
Then, to Olive, "I don't think she has anything against them, exactly. She just doesn't get the warm fuzzy feeling most people get around pets." And a shrug, here: some people are just that way. "I've never had a pet and I've always kind of wanted one, though."
Olive
"It looks like the feeling's mutual," she says, of the three-legged mutt seeking to siphon what affection it can from him.
As strange as the confluence of bodies in a public space can be, Olive seems unfazed by it. But then, Olive does not seem fazed by anything. She's swaying back and forth, like her bones prefer dancing to stillness, but her feet are planted and her attention is firm.
"Margot... is that with or without a T?"
Margot
Caleb and Nick both appeared pretty pleased to see her, and where Margot's anxious general demeanor relaxed back some in response. She was young and nervous, couldn't be older than twenty, and was perhaps five feet tall if you gave or took an inch. She was dressed in brown boots that laced up the ankles but didn't have terribly thick soles to offer up lift. She wore a red-and-white checkered tunic of a dress with a chunky brown wool cardigan overtop. Dark brown hair was worn down to her shoulders, and when she tucked it back behind her right ear it showed a glimmer of ruby streaked from the temples.
"That is a tiny dog," Margot agreed, and lifted a hand to hold a couple fingers out in front of the small canine's nose to smell. She glanced over to Olive next and blinked big hazel eyes once before answering. "With. Hi Olive, nice to meet you."
And, finally, she glanced to Nick's face and down his arm to the dog whose head he'd been touching since she had spied him. "She was nice enough to not cook Yorick."
Caleb
[skip me!]
Nick
"Maybe someone else will see him being friendly and they'll want him," Nick says, with a glance down at the dog. There is a little furrow to his brows here: he does genuinely hope the animal finds a home, it would seem.
"She threatened to use him in some kind of ritual once," Nick says, and his voice is touched with humor as he glances over to Margot. Then, to Olive, "I haven't seen you around before. Did you get in recently?"
Olive
"Yeah," she says. "From Vegas. I haven't seen you around before either."
A light joke. She stops her swaying in favor of taking a few steps forward, crouching down to let the three-legged dog sniff the back of her hand.
"If I said I was looking for a place to crash, what would you guys say?"
Margot
The chihuahua trembled and sniffed at her fingertips then gave them a small nervous couple of licks. Margot smiled and tipped her head a little as she moved her fingers to rub behind the little guy's ears instead. Pen supposedly made empty threats about using the pet rabbit in a ritual, but Margot knew better than to believe that any such comments to be too entirely sincere. Sure, Pen probably would use arabbit in a ritual, but not a friend's pet.
When Olive commented on needing a place to crash it drew the little bloodwitch's attention. She looked at the woman a little more carefully now, her boots and jacket and hair and face. There was an impression of a preacher, almost. She gave the impression of someone who would guide an exodus across a broad body of water on faith and calm words.
What would she say? Margot opened her mouth but closed it straight away. She wasn't certain about sharing any acknowledgement of the chantry with someone she met five minutes ago based on a resonance.
Finally: "I'd ask who you knew."
Caleb
"Why wouldn't somebody want him?" brows knit together, and he looks at Nick like... like something. It's a complicated emotion, the likes of which Caleb can't seem to adequately articulate for himself. Someone may not want the dog in question- the one with the three legs. THe one who was affectionate but couldn't go home with Nick because, well, reasons.
He's still holding the chihuahua, who seemed to be pretty chill once he's concluded nobody is going to drop him but is still set on vibrate because it's a chihuauha and that is just their natural state- they're either trembling or they're sleeping.
"Don't sleep at the botanical gardens," he tells Olive, "I've been informed that you are not allowed to do that."
Exasperated by that, it would seem. How dare people not let him sleep in public parks!
Nick
Caleb's question, an innocent thing, brings a little smile to Nick's face. He can read whatever complicated emotion is there on Caleb's face, writ for him to see: Caleb might not be able to articulate it for himself, but Nick might well have been able to do so for him, were he so inclined. "Some people are more likely to go for puppies or for the flashier dogs," he says.
"There's a place that's willing to let you crash for as long as you need," Nick says. "It's kind of a drive, though. A little ways out of the city. Do you have a car?"
Another look, now, to Caleb. "Are you...did you try sleeping in the botanical gardens?"
Margot's statement is a wise one, or was, and Nick catches her eyes now and there is a little point that has appeared between his brows.
Olive
Do you have a car?
"Nah," she says, like it's no big deal. "I have a bike."
She scritches the mutt under the chin and behind an ear, then braces herself on her knees in order to stand.
"I don't know anyone yet. It's cool." A shrug. "Soon, I will."
Margot
The answer from Olive was innocuous and caused a small stitch between Margot's heavy eyebrows. She glanced aside to Nick, who had mentioned the 'place' outside the city, held his eye for a moment when they met, then shrugged and looked over to Caleb next. She made a face at his comment about the botannical gardens, but didn't appear too surprised.
"They caught you, huh?" She asked him with a small shake of her head and took her hand from the small dog he was holding, switched her posture so it was more open to the group as opposed to standing facing Caleb's front for the sake of dog-pets.
"It's a bit of a haul on a.. bike." She almost said 'fixie', don't be so judgy Margot not everyone dressed oddly was a hipster. She scowled, caught between a social wall and the hard place that was Paranoia, and there was muted reluctance in her voice (read: duty) when she said: "If you need a ride I could probably help out... I know where it is."
Boy, did she know. It was beamed directly into her brain not so long ago.
Caleb
"Yeah, it's unfortunate because it's really beautiful and peaceful, and if you couldn't sleep by a pond with a water fall and smelling some amazing flowers, wouldn't you?" he answers both Nick and Margot's question easily enough. Listens to the rest and manages to offer some reply to them all.
Olive says she doesn't know anyone yet, so it's cool.
"Annie dropped me off out here- it's her house? But she has a hot spring and a gigantic library and-" he stops because he seems to remember that he needs to leave something out "-and she has a weird love of buying groceries."
Margot can attest. Or probably can attest. The chantry seems to have an obscenely well stocked pantry now.
Nick
"I would definitely sleep in a botanical garden if no one were going to chase me off," Nick agrees easily. He absently gives the dog's jaws a rub at the hinge, where the heavy muscles bunch.
"Oh, so you know Annie already."
There's a glance to Olive, now, who only has her bike. "I can drive you out there if you'd like. It sounds like Caleb has already been."
Olive
No hesitation in her answer, no paranoia. She is quite a few years older than Margot but she can remember being nineteen. Does not know Margot is nineteen, but her youth persists in spite of the red shot through her hair, the furrow dug between her brows.
"It does," she says in agreement. "I would like that, if you're sure it's no trouble."
Margot
Botanical gardens did sound like a nice place to live, but Margot figured herself content enough where she was. Sure, the basement and library still held some mysteries and probable hazards, and there were probably subterranean chambers that she'd yet to even discover. But she liked the clawfoot tub in the little tile bathroom, and the muted calm colors of the old faded wallpaper in the room she'd claimed as her own. A waterfall sounded nice, but a bed and roof and kitchen with a coffee maker were even more luxurious.
She pulled her phone from a pocket previously lost to the bulk of her cardigan and glanced down at it, checking the time and date both and figuring in future plans.
"It's not that far out by car," she assured Olive, and locked the screen on her phone before dropping it back into the pocket from whence it came. "By bike would be another story. Plus not so safe."
There was a pause where she looked blankly at the woman in the board-shorts-that-she-could-have-sworn-were-mens-underwear, and then realized after a beat that the conversational ball was in the middle of the fooseball table. Her version of bumping the table was to jerk a thumb over her shoulder and blink. "Did you, uh, mean from here? Or another time?"
Caleb
"Oh, yeah, she's really nice she-" he looks back at the dog with the three legs, who seems to be incredibly friendly and seems to also be getting a little more love than he had been before.
"We should go. We can all talk and it won't be weird and we can show you the hot spring," he gestures from one side to the other, which makes the chihuahua look a little confused before he puts it back into a comfortable position near his chest.
"What's it like having a bike?" he asks Olive as he nonchalantly puts the chihuahua in an inside pocket.
Nick
Margot appears to be rising to the occasion, helping the newcomers find their way to the chantry. Nick is looking down at the dog, and if he is smiling to himself, well, who doesn't like to see apprentices come into their own as experienced members of mage society?
"Are you living out there with Annie?" he asks Caleb, with a glance up to the other man.
Olive
What did she mean:
"Either. Both."
Olive makes an attempt at smothering a laugh when Caleb tucks the little dog into his jacket pocket. A fist pushed against her teeth and her teeth latched onto her lower lip, nothing so obvious as to glance to make sure no one is looking at them. Maybe people are looking at them. It doesn't matter. They are a group but there are other groups just as large as theirs, louder. It's a Sunday. Sundays bring out groups.
What's it like having a bike:
"Like being able to fly. It's amazing."
Margot
"Caleb, did you need a ride back?" Margot glanced back over to him. If Nick was humored or proud of how the bug-eyed little apprentice was now corralling newcomers and seeing them someplace safe, the witch-girl missed it. The last (and first) time she'd met Caleb he was still mastering an understanding of the handshake and was happy to share that he came out of a bunker in Moab and didn't know much about the real world. The exasperation mingled with concern was akin to watching someone puppysit for the first time. Responsibility and how it could straddle the line so closely with guilt was not an unfamiliar concept overall, but new when directly applied to the world of Magick.
They could all go, and Margot shrugged one shoulder. "I don't mind, I suppose, but I wasn't--," whatever she wasn't was put on hold for a moment, as she was interrupted by a chirping ringtone on her phone. She tugged it free from its pocket again to glance at the screen before finishing her sentence. "--planning on sticking around. I gotta take this, but--" She glanced to Caleb and Olive both, to Nick questioningly as well, and raised the phone to gesture out toward the double doors up the way that spilled into a parking lot.
"I'll meet you guys over there, huh?"
She smiled and waved if there were any declines-- most likely Nick, less likely Caleb, then put her phone to her ear as she turned and walked away. They'd hear the "Hello?" of greeting, but everything else was washed away by distance, mall chatter, and a yapping dog.
Margot
[I gotta see my way out now. Thanks for the scene guys!]
Caleb
"Don't worry, Margot, I can get a ride," he assures her, like this should put her at ease over all of this. Caleb continues on with his thought.
"Yeah, I put most of my stuff there and she has some extra rooms. I'm trying to get a job, so I don't think I should live there forever? But it's nice to have windows."
He carefully stays away from the pocket that currently has a chihuahua in it. Caleb starts to make his way back over to his backpack, eyeing the pit bull, then his backpack as if he was trying to do some math. He thinks better of it and slings it on his shoulders.
"So having a bike... it's like running? If you go fast enough it feels like you're flying, but if you let go it just stops...."
Nick
There is a wave to Margot as she makes her way away from them on her phone. When she invites him out to the chantry he only shrugs: apparently he will be the one offering Caleb and Olive a ride if they desire to head back out that way. He does not seem upset at the prospect.
He glances every now and again at Caleb, who - well, he's an odd one, isn't he. Nick is skilled at interpreting context, and it's hard to tell just now what he makes of Caleb.
"Have you never ridden a bike before? I bet someone would be willing to teach you," he says.
Olive
"How much?" she asks, with a flick of her eyebrows. She's joking. That would be a sucker's bet. Swaying a bit, like to build up the momentum to turn from one fellow to the other, she says to Caleb, "Once you get the hang of it, it's the easiest thing in the world. There's that saying, 'Like riding a bike'? ... I think that's more for picking up a skill after you haven't used it for a while, actually."
Caleb
"I think that, unless you are sitting on something, navigating, and pushing pedals, very few things are actually like riding a bike," he asserts.
Caleb starts to make the quiet getaway with the chihuahua in his pocket, "but no, I've never ridden a bicycle. There wasn't really enough space, or a real need to. I haven't been on a plane, either."
Nick
He watches Caleb begin to drift away, and he rubs the pit bull's ear for a moment. "If you're taking off, Caleb, I'll see you around," he says. Then, to Olive, "I can give you a ride though if you want. I have a few hours before I was planning to be back home."
Olive
[COMMERCIAL BREAK]
Showing posts with label Olive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Olive. Show all posts
Sunday, October 9, 2016
Friday, September 30, 2016
Wandering the stacks
Caleb
Bookstores are not, in fact, libraries. Sure, they encourage you to actually enjoy the books before you buy them but they don't actually ever really intend someone to finish the whole book before they purchase it. It doesn't seem like the best idea. It doesn't seem like a good business model but nobody would sell any books at all if they were shrink wrapped and kept on shelves like they were there just to be protected from dust, like all of them held pornographic ideas that shouldn't be given to people who aren't truly capable of understanding them.
No, who decides what we should be able to handle in our books? Who decides but those who manufacture, but those who bring out the product and sell it to the consumers, because even in information there is consumerism. There is a trade of something monetary for something intangible- the story. The idea. Something that you can't really return, and in effect reading a book in the book store was theft because you took what was truly of value and left its husk; it was peeling the banana, eating it, and then leaving the peel behind. You took its substance and left only the means that it was used to trasport the best parts to you.
Caleb, you see, had a concept of theft. You don't take something that isn't yours but information, but the words, the things that make up books don't really belong to anyone. So, he didn't seem to have a real problem with them. So there he is, forgettable but sprawled out in the aisle of some indie bookstore with aisles as thin and lacking in personal space as a piece of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture. The books are in some particular order, not arranged in the traditional way but in another traditional way- this particular place decided to play with the Dewey Decimal system instead of the standard layout of a place that has the fiction dominating a place.
He's in the eight hundreds. Somewhere between 820 and 830 in a dingy drab olive Army surplus jacket and a pair of tennis shoes that look like they've seen a couple marathons and survived to tell the tale. The staff leaves him alone.
Grace
The mall is not Grace's cup of tea.
It is a temple. A bastion of hyperreality, dedicated to the gods of consumerism. As if churches weren't already bad enough, these things show off what they're really about. Money. Buying. Selling.
Of course, they do try to hide that, a little. Everywhere, there are pictures of happy, beautiful people. If only one consumes enough, one might become like them. Nice, sunlit, happy. It makes Grace want to puke.
About the only thing this place has to offer her is the bookstore, which if any other place in town were selling "Structures: Why Things Don't Fall Down", then she would have gone there. Sometimes, you have to grit your teeth and participate in the fallen world, just to get what you need.
First thing she's going to do is scan this text and upload it somewhere, because fuck having to pay for information...
Grace
[Awareness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Caleb
[Do I feel a people? Per+aware, -2 because arcane]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Caleb
There is a feeling of something. Something that makes him look up from the books that he may or may not (definitely not) be purchasing. A feeling that makes the wind blow without it actually blowing. A feeling that is slight, a wrongness or a rightness but nothing strong enough to be felt beyond being off. And yes, there is something off in the air. He looks up from English literature and poetry and words, words, words to feel a shift in the winds.
Ultimately, the stag concudes that the snap in the branches is not enough to warrant him looking around too far for too long. There is a spark of creativity, a spark of something that has a keen edged mind and an ear for change. Something that glides along the cutting edge like a whet stone and rolls away the layers of dust and grime to peel back into something new. Not a literal peel. Nothing painful save for the pain that comes with change, with seeing the world grow and blossom outside of yourself.
Olive
[ah, what the hell.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6) ( success x 1 )
Olive
This bookstore may as well be a library, as far as its layout is concerned. As far as its patrons are concerned, it is a little slice of heaven that smells like binding paste and leather. The occasional waft of secondhand smoke clinging to a flannel shirt or perfume on a stranger's wrist.
She is not far from the 800s herself, having sat herself down cross-legged in a corner. Small space like that almost makes the girl invisible. She is short and her braids make a curtain if she tilts her head the right way and she is reading through a stack of poetry volumes trying to decide which one she wants to take home with her and read until it falls apart.
Grace can tell she's there, still as a fasting nun and as peaceful besides. She looks up at the tennis shoes' passage and lets her nostrils flare though her physical senses are of no use here. For now the slim volume stays open.
Grace
Shit. It's happening again, isn't it? Confluence. She looks up at the ceiling, and glares at it. Universe, you can be creepy sometimes. For fuck's sake.
They aren't people she knows, the resonance isn't familiar. But it's there.
Where once she might have turned tail and fled due to the danger of Technocrats (and there is a danger) now, she wants to stay. At the very least, figure out what these people are about.
There are people here. More people than Mages. Who is who? She looks around, eyes not lingering on any one person for too long, lest they actually look back at her.
Caleb
(Do I physically notice Grace? Per+alert -2 (arcane), wearing glasses so diff 6)
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
Nicholas
Nick is here looking for a present. Nick has been trawling bookstores looking for a present for months, and none has yet happened upon him.
He is not here, as one might expect, for his wife. If he were here for Pen it would not have taken him months. His Hermetic sister (he has two of them see) is the one who is very difficult to buy for.
And normally he probably wouldn't be setting foot in a mall except maybe to try to find a new pair of shoes or a belt, and he probably wouldn't be looking in a bookstore in one, but: desperate times. (One of his old mentors has told him, often, how the Technocracy has taken to building shopping malls on wellsprings and nodes, and Patricia often spoke of these things with distaste. Perhaps he might have some bias.) And so here we are. The place had come recommended by people who are more knowledgeable about such things than Nicholas Hyde.
He's not there yet, but still walking down one of the aisles with his head down and his hands in his pockets, his thoughts elsewhere. Sooner or later he'll turn into the bookstore, once he finds it.
Caleb
pokepoke
There is a person on the other side of the shelf, and he isn't meaning to poke her but the book shelves are hollowed things and double sided, so pushing a longer book back to be flush will, in turn, cause another book to be shoved backwards. He pushes again, not quite noticing the place of poking until he realizs he's prodding some be-braided person in the shoulder with a book about... uh... something.
The poking ceases. "Sorry," he whispers, and sounds like an announcer at a golf tournament.
And looking up from that poke he notices a singularly normal and unremarkable piece of wall furniture like himself... but this one is staring at the ceiling. His brows knit together and a frown comes across his face. He looks up at the ceiling, and then back at Grace-
"... what's wrong on the ceiling?"
Olive
Were Grace to have looked at her for very long she would have seen Olive looking right back at her. But Grace decides to look at the ceiling instead and Olive decides well maybe she ought to stand up but then a book comes tumbling off the shelf and bounces off the faux-leather shoulder of her jacket and onto the floor.
Sorry.
She whispers back, "No worries."
And, on knees and one hand, reaches out to rescue the book. A glance at the spine and a glance up at the place from whence it fell. Up onto her knees. She starts to shuffle-walk on her knees around the bookshelf without getting to her feet, which are clad in black Converse sneakers, because of course they are.
Grace
When looking for the weird, don't worry. The weird will come to you. Someone talks to her, asks her what is wrong with the ceiling, and it's...
"The universe. It's wrong."
Way to inspire confidence in people, Grace. Bravo.
"I was just telling it off."
Caleb
"Why do you think the universe is wrong? That seems like a bold statement," he asks this, not in an accusatory way, but rather like someone who was seeking information, like he may well have been holding a notebook instead of a lap full of English literature.
He looks back at the shelf- from the shelf to Grace and back at the shelf. He leans a little to the side, trying to get a better look through the shelf and concludes that this isn't working. Caleb then decides to scoot to the other side to get a better look at people whilst still talking to Grace.
It's not Graceful, though. He doesn't get far with his butt-scooting.
Grace
"Because. I never come here. It's slimy in malls. But every time I do, I run into somebody."
Well, yeah. It's not that uncommon to run into people in malls. Malls are typically full of people. But not Mages.
"What's your name, Mystery Man?"
Nicholas
Nick rounds a corner. Nick passes the bookstore, in spite of the fact that the windows are lined with bookshelves and old pulp advertisements; this is how deep in thought he is. Or how distracted by something else he is. You decide.
Nick ends up somewhere far down the way and realizes he has no idea where the bookstore is. He consults one of the floorplan maps available of the mall stores, and tracks his path back to the place with a fingertip.
Back he comes.
And then, finally here he is, passing through the front archway.
Caleb
"... if you didn't run into anyone at the mall, I think it would be because the mall is closed."
His brows knit together again. He scoots over again and again before finally deciding to give up on that, get to his knees, and meander to the other aisle where the woman he poked with the book was. He keeps talking to Grace.
"I'm Caleb, what's your name?"
Grace
"Grace," she says. Her mouth curves up a bit when he calls her on the absurdity of what she's saying.
"Well. I run into people all the time. But few who resonate."
She doesn't quite stop saying the absurd, but yes. There is a point to this. The average person overhearing their conversation might come to the conclusion that Grace has a few marbles missing, but she's okay with carrying that burden. She follows along as Caleb walks.
Nicholas
[Alertness?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Nicholas
There's a voice that is beginning to become familiar; many of Denver's voices are, finally. Regardless: Nick hears Grace, and he hears Grace talking to someone he doesn't know. By the time she and Caleb are nearing Nick he is at one of the bookshelves in the metaphysics section, arms folded as his eyes scan the titles.
He is not content with whatever he sees, apparently.
Nevertheless, he hears them and so he pokes his head over the top of the nearby shelves to look for them and determine whether Grace is in the mood to be interrupted, and for how long. Not every social outing welcomes add-ons, after all.
Caleb
"... is everyone else inaudible?"
He... does not get what she is saying. It's clear on his face and he shifts awkwardly from one side to the next, off in his own little bubble of being vaguely oblivious and having, well, missed.
Grace
Grace notices Nick hanging out there. She doesn't understand why he might be hanging back. At the most, she attributes his reticence to something that makes sense to her. The last time they talked, she had to get away before starting a fight. Maybe he just doesn't want to poke a bear.
But Caleb, he is a mystery. A new thing to turn over and see if it is a threat.
"Inaudible to the sixth sense? Yes."
Caleb
[Do I notice Nick as a human person?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
Grace
[He is not a human. He is a meat popsicle.]
Caleb
"All people resonate in their own way in both a mundane and metaphysical way, they just don't know it yet. They're just not loud enough yet," he says, muses over it and seems like a thoughtful baritone instead of a stern and dismissive one. He doesn't seem to be a dismissive sort. Caleb takes a look around again, past Grace to Nick to Grace noticing Nick.
Nick gets a smile, and a wave. Obviously, Nick and Grace know each other, so they should want to be together and talk, right? Of course right. He smiles like a pleased golden retriever.
Nicholas
Resonance. Sixth sense. Nick can catch those words from where he's standing. And he does indeed remember how things left off last time with Grace; he of course knows that Grace and Pen had a conversation outside the bar, because there is little he and his wife don't share with each other.
Nonetheless, Grace's friend gives him a smile and a wave and Nick, too, smiles and waves at the two of them. "Hello, Grace," he says, and takes a few steps so that he can find himself on the conversation's periphery. There is a glance toward Caleb, a friendly incline of his head, a once or twice-over.
Grace
Ahh, good. Caleb is not a complete newbie. She was beginning to wonder.
"Nick. Hello. This is Caleb. I found him just now, wandering the stacks."
There is no friendly smile to greet him, not anymore. Just sticking to the facts for now, because that's how things go. There is more to discuss than just Caleb, but perhaps it's best not to do that in front of someone who might be a Technocratic plant, for all his talk about metaphysics.
Caleb
He leans forward, puts a hand on the ground, and stands up to his rather impressive height of... average. He's a couple inches over five and a half feet tall. Dark hair, dark eyes, and of an indeterminate ethnic origin.
There is a strange sort of tension, though, or rather he does notice the lack of smile from Grace.
"... you're not friends, are you?"
There's always a delay in his voice, a delay when the baritone is talking because it seems like he's taking the time to process what is going around, as though the world is full of data. As though everything is worth noticing and everything is worth latching on to.
Nicholas
"Nice to meet you, Caleb," Nick says, and he extends a hand toward the other man. "I'm Nick Hyde."
He is not as suspicious of Technocratic plants: at least if one takes him at face value. His regard for Caleb seems warm enough, at this point.
That is, until Caleb asks a very direct question and Nick's brows furrow in a wince. He glances sidelong at Grace. "We're on the same side and everything," he says, "but there's been a little tension recently, yeah. It's nothing you have to worry about, Caleb." When talking to people with observation skill but little tact, sometimes honesty is best.
Grace
"What Nick said," she says, because he's better at explaining things by far.
Then, she pulls out her cell phone. Types away at it for a bit.
Grace
Nick's phone alerts him however it is set to, with the following text messages.
Some shit's gone down. I need to tell you about it.
Meet me at Auraria Student Lofts, apartment 203, after the bookstore?
Caleb
There is a hand to shake! Ah, he knows what to do with this, and he reaches forward to take the hand offered and he grasps- firm and comfortable with work. His hands aren't soft. Up down. Up down. Stop. He nods once it's done, a confirmation to himself. Aha! Done right!
"Oh," he says once Nick gives his appraisal of the situation, and there is a lag in that moment before he replies, "I'm sorry that happened, I hope things get better." It's a genuine statement, devoid of all things resembling sarcasm not unlike when you're talking to a four year old. It's rare to have that lack of guile.
Grace isn't saying much, just three words and then whips out her phone.
"Oh! Where did you get that?"
Surprise, delight.
Nicholas
It's rare to have that lack of guile, and the slight curl at the corner of Nick's mouth indicates that he might appreciate it, even. "I hope they do too," he says.
There is a vibration there in his pocket, and Nick after a moment pulls his phone out of his own pocket and glances at the screen. He tucks it away again moments later, glancing amused between Caleb and Grace. "I was here to get a present for my sister, actually, so I can't really stick around. I'll hopefully see you around though, Caleb," he says.
Grace
He's getting a present for his sister, can't stick around. Sounds like an excuse, maybe, but whatever. That's not important at all. His knowing what she's discovered, that matters.
Caleb asks where she got her phone, and she says: "Online. Amazon."
Amazon has everything, and despite it being a similar interface with consumerist religious practices? At least you don't have to deal with actual people.
"It's a OnePlus Three."
Caleb
"That would be cool, I hope to see you around too, Nick Hyde," all one name. "There's some cool books here, there is probably one she'll like."
Grace tells him it's a OnePLus three... which makes Caleb's brows knit together and makes a frown cross his face.
"So... it's... a four?"
Nicholas
"Hope you both enjoy your day." Nick waves at the two of them and then circles back around to the other end of the stacks, wandering farther into the bookstore.
Nicholas
Once Nick has left, Grace receives a reply text:
Another day, maybe. Don't have long today. I'll text you later and we can meet up in a couple of days.
Bookstores are not, in fact, libraries. Sure, they encourage you to actually enjoy the books before you buy them but they don't actually ever really intend someone to finish the whole book before they purchase it. It doesn't seem like the best idea. It doesn't seem like a good business model but nobody would sell any books at all if they were shrink wrapped and kept on shelves like they were there just to be protected from dust, like all of them held pornographic ideas that shouldn't be given to people who aren't truly capable of understanding them.
No, who decides what we should be able to handle in our books? Who decides but those who manufacture, but those who bring out the product and sell it to the consumers, because even in information there is consumerism. There is a trade of something monetary for something intangible- the story. The idea. Something that you can't really return, and in effect reading a book in the book store was theft because you took what was truly of value and left its husk; it was peeling the banana, eating it, and then leaving the peel behind. You took its substance and left only the means that it was used to trasport the best parts to you.
Caleb, you see, had a concept of theft. You don't take something that isn't yours but information, but the words, the things that make up books don't really belong to anyone. So, he didn't seem to have a real problem with them. So there he is, forgettable but sprawled out in the aisle of some indie bookstore with aisles as thin and lacking in personal space as a piece of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture. The books are in some particular order, not arranged in the traditional way but in another traditional way- this particular place decided to play with the Dewey Decimal system instead of the standard layout of a place that has the fiction dominating a place.
He's in the eight hundreds. Somewhere between 820 and 830 in a dingy drab olive Army surplus jacket and a pair of tennis shoes that look like they've seen a couple marathons and survived to tell the tale. The staff leaves him alone.
Grace
The mall is not Grace's cup of tea.
It is a temple. A bastion of hyperreality, dedicated to the gods of consumerism. As if churches weren't already bad enough, these things show off what they're really about. Money. Buying. Selling.
Of course, they do try to hide that, a little. Everywhere, there are pictures of happy, beautiful people. If only one consumes enough, one might become like them. Nice, sunlit, happy. It makes Grace want to puke.
About the only thing this place has to offer her is the bookstore, which if any other place in town were selling "Structures: Why Things Don't Fall Down", then she would have gone there. Sometimes, you have to grit your teeth and participate in the fallen world, just to get what you need.
First thing she's going to do is scan this text and upload it somewhere, because fuck having to pay for information...
Grace
[Awareness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Caleb
[Do I feel a people? Per+aware, -2 because arcane]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Caleb
There is a feeling of something. Something that makes him look up from the books that he may or may not (definitely not) be purchasing. A feeling that makes the wind blow without it actually blowing. A feeling that is slight, a wrongness or a rightness but nothing strong enough to be felt beyond being off. And yes, there is something off in the air. He looks up from English literature and poetry and words, words, words to feel a shift in the winds.
Ultimately, the stag concudes that the snap in the branches is not enough to warrant him looking around too far for too long. There is a spark of creativity, a spark of something that has a keen edged mind and an ear for change. Something that glides along the cutting edge like a whet stone and rolls away the layers of dust and grime to peel back into something new. Not a literal peel. Nothing painful save for the pain that comes with change, with seeing the world grow and blossom outside of yourself.
Olive
[ah, what the hell.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6) ( success x 1 )
Olive
This bookstore may as well be a library, as far as its layout is concerned. As far as its patrons are concerned, it is a little slice of heaven that smells like binding paste and leather. The occasional waft of secondhand smoke clinging to a flannel shirt or perfume on a stranger's wrist.
She is not far from the 800s herself, having sat herself down cross-legged in a corner. Small space like that almost makes the girl invisible. She is short and her braids make a curtain if she tilts her head the right way and she is reading through a stack of poetry volumes trying to decide which one she wants to take home with her and read until it falls apart.
Grace can tell she's there, still as a fasting nun and as peaceful besides. She looks up at the tennis shoes' passage and lets her nostrils flare though her physical senses are of no use here. For now the slim volume stays open.
Grace
Shit. It's happening again, isn't it? Confluence. She looks up at the ceiling, and glares at it. Universe, you can be creepy sometimes. For fuck's sake.
They aren't people she knows, the resonance isn't familiar. But it's there.
Where once she might have turned tail and fled due to the danger of Technocrats (and there is a danger) now, she wants to stay. At the very least, figure out what these people are about.
There are people here. More people than Mages. Who is who? She looks around, eyes not lingering on any one person for too long, lest they actually look back at her.
Caleb
(Do I physically notice Grace? Per+alert -2 (arcane), wearing glasses so diff 6)
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
Nicholas
Nick is here looking for a present. Nick has been trawling bookstores looking for a present for months, and none has yet happened upon him.
He is not here, as one might expect, for his wife. If he were here for Pen it would not have taken him months. His Hermetic sister (he has two of them see) is the one who is very difficult to buy for.
And normally he probably wouldn't be setting foot in a mall except maybe to try to find a new pair of shoes or a belt, and he probably wouldn't be looking in a bookstore in one, but: desperate times. (One of his old mentors has told him, often, how the Technocracy has taken to building shopping malls on wellsprings and nodes, and Patricia often spoke of these things with distaste. Perhaps he might have some bias.) And so here we are. The place had come recommended by people who are more knowledgeable about such things than Nicholas Hyde.
He's not there yet, but still walking down one of the aisles with his head down and his hands in his pockets, his thoughts elsewhere. Sooner or later he'll turn into the bookstore, once he finds it.
Caleb
pokepoke
There is a person on the other side of the shelf, and he isn't meaning to poke her but the book shelves are hollowed things and double sided, so pushing a longer book back to be flush will, in turn, cause another book to be shoved backwards. He pushes again, not quite noticing the place of poking until he realizs he's prodding some be-braided person in the shoulder with a book about... uh... something.
The poking ceases. "Sorry," he whispers, and sounds like an announcer at a golf tournament.
And looking up from that poke he notices a singularly normal and unremarkable piece of wall furniture like himself... but this one is staring at the ceiling. His brows knit together and a frown comes across his face. He looks up at the ceiling, and then back at Grace-
"... what's wrong on the ceiling?"
Olive
Were Grace to have looked at her for very long she would have seen Olive looking right back at her. But Grace decides to look at the ceiling instead and Olive decides well maybe she ought to stand up but then a book comes tumbling off the shelf and bounces off the faux-leather shoulder of her jacket and onto the floor.
Sorry.
She whispers back, "No worries."
And, on knees and one hand, reaches out to rescue the book. A glance at the spine and a glance up at the place from whence it fell. Up onto her knees. She starts to shuffle-walk on her knees around the bookshelf without getting to her feet, which are clad in black Converse sneakers, because of course they are.
Grace
When looking for the weird, don't worry. The weird will come to you. Someone talks to her, asks her what is wrong with the ceiling, and it's...
"The universe. It's wrong."
Way to inspire confidence in people, Grace. Bravo.
"I was just telling it off."
Caleb
"Why do you think the universe is wrong? That seems like a bold statement," he asks this, not in an accusatory way, but rather like someone who was seeking information, like he may well have been holding a notebook instead of a lap full of English literature.
He looks back at the shelf- from the shelf to Grace and back at the shelf. He leans a little to the side, trying to get a better look through the shelf and concludes that this isn't working. Caleb then decides to scoot to the other side to get a better look at people whilst still talking to Grace.
It's not Graceful, though. He doesn't get far with his butt-scooting.
Grace
"Because. I never come here. It's slimy in malls. But every time I do, I run into somebody."
Well, yeah. It's not that uncommon to run into people in malls. Malls are typically full of people. But not Mages.
"What's your name, Mystery Man?"
Nicholas
Nick rounds a corner. Nick passes the bookstore, in spite of the fact that the windows are lined with bookshelves and old pulp advertisements; this is how deep in thought he is. Or how distracted by something else he is. You decide.
Nick ends up somewhere far down the way and realizes he has no idea where the bookstore is. He consults one of the floorplan maps available of the mall stores, and tracks his path back to the place with a fingertip.
Back he comes.
And then, finally here he is, passing through the front archway.
Caleb
"... if you didn't run into anyone at the mall, I think it would be because the mall is closed."
His brows knit together again. He scoots over again and again before finally deciding to give up on that, get to his knees, and meander to the other aisle where the woman he poked with the book was. He keeps talking to Grace.
"I'm Caleb, what's your name?"
Grace
"Grace," she says. Her mouth curves up a bit when he calls her on the absurdity of what she's saying.
"Well. I run into people all the time. But few who resonate."
She doesn't quite stop saying the absurd, but yes. There is a point to this. The average person overhearing their conversation might come to the conclusion that Grace has a few marbles missing, but she's okay with carrying that burden. She follows along as Caleb walks.
Nicholas
[Alertness?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Nicholas
There's a voice that is beginning to become familiar; many of Denver's voices are, finally. Regardless: Nick hears Grace, and he hears Grace talking to someone he doesn't know. By the time she and Caleb are nearing Nick he is at one of the bookshelves in the metaphysics section, arms folded as his eyes scan the titles.
He is not content with whatever he sees, apparently.
Nevertheless, he hears them and so he pokes his head over the top of the nearby shelves to look for them and determine whether Grace is in the mood to be interrupted, and for how long. Not every social outing welcomes add-ons, after all.
Caleb
"... is everyone else inaudible?"
He... does not get what she is saying. It's clear on his face and he shifts awkwardly from one side to the next, off in his own little bubble of being vaguely oblivious and having, well, missed.
Grace
Grace notices Nick hanging out there. She doesn't understand why he might be hanging back. At the most, she attributes his reticence to something that makes sense to her. The last time they talked, she had to get away before starting a fight. Maybe he just doesn't want to poke a bear.
But Caleb, he is a mystery. A new thing to turn over and see if it is a threat.
"Inaudible to the sixth sense? Yes."
Caleb
[Do I notice Nick as a human person?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
Grace
[He is not a human. He is a meat popsicle.]
Caleb
"All people resonate in their own way in both a mundane and metaphysical way, they just don't know it yet. They're just not loud enough yet," he says, muses over it and seems like a thoughtful baritone instead of a stern and dismissive one. He doesn't seem to be a dismissive sort. Caleb takes a look around again, past Grace to Nick to Grace noticing Nick.
Nick gets a smile, and a wave. Obviously, Nick and Grace know each other, so they should want to be together and talk, right? Of course right. He smiles like a pleased golden retriever.
Nicholas
Resonance. Sixth sense. Nick can catch those words from where he's standing. And he does indeed remember how things left off last time with Grace; he of course knows that Grace and Pen had a conversation outside the bar, because there is little he and his wife don't share with each other.
Nonetheless, Grace's friend gives him a smile and a wave and Nick, too, smiles and waves at the two of them. "Hello, Grace," he says, and takes a few steps so that he can find himself on the conversation's periphery. There is a glance toward Caleb, a friendly incline of his head, a once or twice-over.
Grace
Ahh, good. Caleb is not a complete newbie. She was beginning to wonder.
"Nick. Hello. This is Caleb. I found him just now, wandering the stacks."
There is no friendly smile to greet him, not anymore. Just sticking to the facts for now, because that's how things go. There is more to discuss than just Caleb, but perhaps it's best not to do that in front of someone who might be a Technocratic plant, for all his talk about metaphysics.
Caleb
He leans forward, puts a hand on the ground, and stands up to his rather impressive height of... average. He's a couple inches over five and a half feet tall. Dark hair, dark eyes, and of an indeterminate ethnic origin.
There is a strange sort of tension, though, or rather he does notice the lack of smile from Grace.
"... you're not friends, are you?"
There's always a delay in his voice, a delay when the baritone is talking because it seems like he's taking the time to process what is going around, as though the world is full of data. As though everything is worth noticing and everything is worth latching on to.
Nicholas
"Nice to meet you, Caleb," Nick says, and he extends a hand toward the other man. "I'm Nick Hyde."
He is not as suspicious of Technocratic plants: at least if one takes him at face value. His regard for Caleb seems warm enough, at this point.
That is, until Caleb asks a very direct question and Nick's brows furrow in a wince. He glances sidelong at Grace. "We're on the same side and everything," he says, "but there's been a little tension recently, yeah. It's nothing you have to worry about, Caleb." When talking to people with observation skill but little tact, sometimes honesty is best.
Grace
"What Nick said," she says, because he's better at explaining things by far.
Then, she pulls out her cell phone. Types away at it for a bit.
Grace
Nick's phone alerts him however it is set to, with the following text messages.
Some shit's gone down. I need to tell you about it.
Meet me at Auraria Student Lofts, apartment 203, after the bookstore?
Caleb
There is a hand to shake! Ah, he knows what to do with this, and he reaches forward to take the hand offered and he grasps- firm and comfortable with work. His hands aren't soft. Up down. Up down. Stop. He nods once it's done, a confirmation to himself. Aha! Done right!
"Oh," he says once Nick gives his appraisal of the situation, and there is a lag in that moment before he replies, "I'm sorry that happened, I hope things get better." It's a genuine statement, devoid of all things resembling sarcasm not unlike when you're talking to a four year old. It's rare to have that lack of guile.
Grace isn't saying much, just three words and then whips out her phone.
"Oh! Where did you get that?"
Surprise, delight.
Nicholas
It's rare to have that lack of guile, and the slight curl at the corner of Nick's mouth indicates that he might appreciate it, even. "I hope they do too," he says.
There is a vibration there in his pocket, and Nick after a moment pulls his phone out of his own pocket and glances at the screen. He tucks it away again moments later, glancing amused between Caleb and Grace. "I was here to get a present for my sister, actually, so I can't really stick around. I'll hopefully see you around though, Caleb," he says.
Grace
He's getting a present for his sister, can't stick around. Sounds like an excuse, maybe, but whatever. That's not important at all. His knowing what she's discovered, that matters.
Caleb asks where she got her phone, and she says: "Online. Amazon."
Amazon has everything, and despite it being a similar interface with consumerist religious practices? At least you don't have to deal with actual people.
"It's a OnePlus Three."
Caleb
"That would be cool, I hope to see you around too, Nick Hyde," all one name. "There's some cool books here, there is probably one she'll like."
Grace tells him it's a OnePLus three... which makes Caleb's brows knit together and makes a frown cross his face.
"So... it's... a four?"
Nicholas
"Hope you both enjoy your day." Nick waves at the two of them and then circles back around to the other end of the stacks, wandering farther into the bookstore.
Nicholas
Once Nick has left, Grace receives a reply text:
Another day, maybe. Don't have long today. I'll text you later and we can meet up in a couple of days.
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