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Silver-haired and pale with a complexion that redefined 'lustrous', Alain was seated as she was prone to, in a booth, following a conversation with a colleague. She was, after a fashion, a creature of habit, and often had her socially-flavored meetings here, often in this booth, and often took about thirty to forty-five minutes to wind down and decompress after said meetings concluded before taking her leave. As ever, she was clocklike in her routine, and curved the corners of her pale pink mouth upwards with a polite inclination of her chin to the server who came around to replace her drink with another, affectation distant, though not stiff, apart, but not condescending.
Jack's the kinda guy who can make himself at home in any manner of bars, from the seediest dives to high class places like this. And he's certainly dressed the part, tonight - crisp pale blue shirt with a subtle stripe, and skinny black slacks, paired with black buckled dress shoes. The silver sheen of the buckle is mirrored by simple silver cufflinks at either wrist that shimmer as he moves, and he leans against the bar, sipping his drink and letting his gaze wander over the rest of the place. He may be looking for someone in particular, but he's not obviously doing so.
Several people stop by Alain's table, making pleasantries with her, exchanging double-cheek kisses and doting on the next Event of the Season, inquiring after some society gossip nonsense, and the like. The Snowskin bears it all with unflappable social grace, smiling enough to be warm and ingratiating but not so much that one might call it enthusiastic. Two, and then three, and then four. Her drink level hardly budges, for all the talking. Finally, a chance to take a sip from the drink, clear, whatever it was, and garnished with a lime.
Well, Jack's about to make it five, after she takes a drink or two, and he pushes a way from the bar, half finished drink in hand. His mantle rolls forward to meet her as he gets close - the fresh smell of a spring rainstorm, undercut by something more metallic, and he brings a hand up to wave a small greeting. He looks as if someone animated him in charcoal, but never bothered to erase all the slightly 'off' lines, like a hundred different gesture sketches piled on top of one another. Dark gray lines slide around his face and hands as he moves, and sketch in a polite smile.
"Ms. deVahl, right?"
Alain picks her head up and slides her pale grey gaze over to Jack - well, no, it's more like a blue, just a near-colorless one. "That's right," she replies reflexively, voice like a bell, mantle smelling like the first winter snow, the morning after, and her Mien like frosted glass, in the unnerving likeness of a Keeper. Her smile tugs the corners of her mouth. "And you might be?"
"Call me Jack." The polite smile doesn't waver, but his mien flickers a little as he takes in Alain's appearance .
"D'you mind if I sit? I won't be long, I've got a...question or two, for you. And maybe a project."
As calm as his facial expression seems, that flicker of his mien implies a deep nervousness at how much she gives off a Keeper vibe. It's possible that his mien broadcasts his emotions, like that, in a way that he's only marginally able to control.
"Jack," Alain repeats, gesturing at the seat and nodding her head in approval at his question. "By all means." She can sense his nervousness, and like they're a slave to her whims, she softens her features, she moves languidly. "How can I help you, Jack?" she wonders.
"How much do you know...about the current events with regard to...our shared organization?" Jack risks a glance around the place as he speaks, and is clearly choosing his words carefully. Only after he's asked the question does he sit, and take a small sip of his drink.
Alain's polite smile takes on a much more polite-than-smiling quality and she glances around to ensure that there's enough distance between them and the next occupied table for her to reply. Even so, she chooses her words. "Mm," she hums in a non-answer. "As much as has been publicly shared. Disappointing, to say the least. Horrific, to say more."
"This projects is tangentially related, in that it requires...discretion. One of our members has become...catatonic, as it were, and Lumi is putting out a call for those skilled in assisting with something like that." Another drink, nearly draining his higball glass.
You know. Lumi. The Left-Hand Knight of the Utmost Silence. Who, for some reason is...sending a Spring courtier to talk to Alain about this?
"One of your members?" Alain repeats the words stoically, dark grey eyebrow arching only slightly. But she passes over it. "Cata-" Ah. It dawns on the oneiropomp quickly. "Anything that Lumi asks for that is in my power to provide, I certainly will."
"One of yours, more specifically," He clarifies. "If you know any others who might be willing to assist, and will bring the same level of discretion, the more the merrier." Jack's smile widens a touch here, a small joke to lighten the mood.
Alain knits her brow together, the calculus running behind her pale eyes, and then the number-crunching is complete, and she cants her head slightly downward and to the side, levels Jack with a knowing look. "Marjorie is the best one. And you wouldn't be coming to me unless she wasn't able to help. And if she's not able to help, then that means," and she exhaled a breath. "Discretion is putting it mildly."
"That it is." He nods, his voice soft. "I doubt I'd even know about it, but I was there when it happened. This is the best way I can help, by getting word out to people who can actually assist with it directly."
"I don't know anyone else who has the precise skillset. I was meant to work with it more, with Marjorie, but I suppose," she undersells. "That will certainly have to wait." She pauses, brow still knit in concern, and drops another studying gaze over Jack. "Who should I speak to? Where should I go? When?"
"Get in touch with Lumi, I don't have any other information about it, at this point. Presumably as soon as fucking possible - if you pardon my language." Another small smile.
Alain inclines her head in acknowledgement, returns the smile, politely, all attendant social graces on display though not perturbed by the language, at least not outwardly. "I will. Thank you, for coming to find my personally."
"It seemed like the best way to go, given the circumstances. I hope the next time we meet it'll be under better circumstances." He drains his drink, and stands. "I have a few more things to take care of this evening, have a good night."
"It was nice to meet you, Jack, I wish the circumstances were different, too. I'm sure we'll see one another again soon," she intones in that chiming voice, taking a sip from her drink herself, if anything just to clear her head. She wears stoicism like a glove but this is news. "Thank you again. Good evening," she tells him, reclining back into her seat. Preemptively, she orders another drink.
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