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Vasha:
It's not always the best idea for Ukrainians to hang around in the basement bars of Irish mob locales. Guys get the wrong idea, start asking questions, one thing leads to another and pretty soon everyone's having a bad night. Fortunately, Vasha is good at hiding out in plain sight. He still reads like a common thug, but effort has been taken to read like an american tough guy, rather than just another Gopnik in a track suit with a pistol. He occupies a corner of the bar where the service is best, but infrequent. It also lets him watch the door, which he does while pretending to do otherwise. People come in, people go out, and he just waits and watches the wall clock. Fifty eight minutes forty-six seconds. That's how long he's been sitting there. Not that anyone apart from him was counting.
Erik Samuelson:
Such places weren't a normal haunt - pardoning the pun - for Erik either, but he had his reasons for being there this particular evening. The Bound was dressed casually to fit the location, dark eyes scanning the room to see if the regular he was there to talk to was actually there or if he'd need to try another evening. From what his son had said coming here was practically a ritual for the old man, so fingers crossed...
Vasha:
It's actually quite the little local hot spot. It's a real piece of shit bar, no mistaking, but it's the kind of piece of shit bar that is a piece of shit because it's well loved and well cared for, not because of the opposite. It's a piece of shit, because it's always been a piece of shit, run by piece of shit people to serve the pieces of shit that frequent such places. A noble purpose, indeed. There's even a bocce yard in the back underneath the street grates. So you get light filtering in and people walking overhead while you play. It's pretty wild.
It's just also mobbed up all to hell and back, you see. So maybe the old man is there and maybe he isn't, but the clock is nearing the sixtieth minute, and so Vasily fishes himself out a cigarillo in anticipation of the effect he's under bearing no fruit and thus giving him an evening off. He even flicks out a match and strikes it to let the burn settle in.
Erik Samuelson:
That brief flicker of flame off to the side caught Erik's attention, watching it and the source for a moment before giving Vasily a quick nod and going back to his search. A faint whiff of ash hit the air as he moved towards the bar, clearly structural rather than simple cigarette smoke to those who had the nose for such things.
Vasha:
It is only a moment before the effect wears out, when Vasily has just lit up a cigarillo that costs more than his bar tab, that Vasily's attention settles on the newcomer properly. Several pieces of information are processed all at once, and none of them seem to alarm him particularly much. It does mean that the cigarillo smoke won't be an issue, from a health perspective at least. And so he watches the man approach, attempting to remember how Americans socialize in such places. In the end he opts with dropping the act. His accent comes out thick, and that gets a sidelong glance from the bartender.
"You look like a lobster on a mountain, too. Do you drink? If so, allow me to exploit that fact." He taps the bar twice and ticks two fingers Erik's way. The annoyed bartender now has a tip to think about.
Erik Samuelson:
"That's a new one, but apt." He nodded in response, his own accent a native one with a little bit of German wrapped around the edges for good measure. "Whisky neat, please." He said to the bartender, then looked back to Vasily. "Something I can help you with?" He seemed more curious than pushy, if anything, giving the other man a proper once-over.
Vasha:
"Now I know you've never traveled east of Poland," the slav remarks to the teuton with a small, considering frown. As though to say 'and that is as history would have it'. "We said that all the time where I grew up. Only in a different language, of course." He gives a pointed look at the bartender who decides to get about pouring the whiskey. A tap of the bar gets two fingers poured for Vasily as well. Once it's poured, he lifts a glass in toast, "Na zadrovye."
Down the hatch it goes. "Yes. Very possibly so. Yes." He clears his throat against the burn, then adds, "Though I believe my role in all of this is more facilitator than solicitor. Middle-man. Go-between." He considers how best to phrase it in a way that will make any sense, "If there were a recruiter for the sort of lives we live, that is my role here. Strictly human resources, you understand." He reconsiders that term, then reconsiders reconsidering it with a slightly broader grin. Nah, Erik qualifies.
"I have many names," he offers along with his hand, "Yuri. Ivan. Grigoriy. Vasily. Pick one. They're all equally true."
Erik Samuelson:
"Cheers." Erik lifted his glass in a toast before polishing it off, an eyebrow arching a touch as Vasily continued before something properly clicked and he nodded with a small smile. It seemed that he was making waves after all... "Erik. Good to meet you."
Vasha:
If Erik is a particularly astute person, he will pick up on the fact that people just stopped registering that Erik was around a short while after Vasily shook his hand. Someone accustomed to being the center of attention may find the experience deeply alienating. Fortunately, Vasily is there, being equally ignored now along with his company. He even nabs the bottle and pours Erik another glass himself. "Doooon't worry about the bartender. I'll pay for the bottle and tip generously. I simply thought you might appreciate the privacy. Easiest to hide right in the middle of everything, I always find. Seems you agree. To a degree."
His eyebrows twitch. A nonverbal 'I digress'. "Please forgive me if you're thinking to yourself, 'you know, I might have liked to have been asked before being approached in public like this'. And it's true. You might have in some other reality. In this one, if you examine your feelings, I think you'll find this is actually something you were hoping would happen in some fashion. If only to get it out of the way. Just please do understand that the parameters I used to find you-- a nonspecific you, by the way --would have ruled out anyone genuinely bothered by this sort of theatricism."
Vasily pours himself a second glass and toasts his companion silently. "Are we agreed that all that has happened up to now has been unthreatening? Dare I even venture pleasant in some fashion? If so, I'll get to the point. But this does serve as the single moment where you might have done something other than you're about to do, and I think I owe you the consideration of the moment for all that it is."
Vasha seems intent to wait on the decision. Which he believes to be imminent. Or entirely perfunctory, perhaps. Wizards.
Fox:
Speaking of wizards and lobsters on the mountain, a woman just walked in the door. She's short, with stringy black hair and bright yellow eyes, wearing a t-shirt, a jean jacket covered in buttons, patches and pins, jeans, and beat-up sneakers. The moment after she wanders in, she goes from content to befuddled for some reason.
Stepping out of the way of the door, Fox props her hands on her hips and frowns.
Erik Samuelson:
Erik was a rather keen-eyed fellow, and realizing that those eyes were no longer on him did bring him pause for a moment. He took the second glass when offered nonetheless, giving a little nod. That hint of ash hit the air again, although his spectral companion didn't seem to be throwing a fit so he wasn't as concerned as he might be otherwise. "Handy trick to have, for sure."
"Better to be straight and to the point in certain circumstances, this being one of them by the sounds of it." He lifted his refilled glass with a small nod. "Been looking for a 'in' to the local community as a whole, and I have the feeling this is it. How can I help?"
Vasha:
One of the electronic dart boards makes two sharp OONTZ OONTZ sounds before flashing the bullseye lights. The dartboard score runs up to 263, which happens to correspond to the angle one must turn from the dart board to find a single flickering bulb over the end of the bar where nothing sits, having a discussion with nothing.
The familiar, guiding the newcomer in for a landing.
Vasha does take note of her arrival, and it is perhaps at his behest that the familiar goes to all that trouble. In any case, it doesn't distract him from the conversation at hand in the least. "This new arrival was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It may be she was out looking for others, similarly. Or possibly me. She'll find her way over shortly and I'll let her in to meet you."
Vasily sips his drink now, wincing a bit at the burn again. Or perhaps what he's about to say. "You see, that's just it. I don't know for certain." An awkward laugh. "We believe someone, possibly many someones, are intending to do terrible harm to the underworld. It's not my thing, it's not what I know about. I know about espionage, which is why I'm handling this part. I just know that the dead need someone like you, and so does my daughter."
"I am doing this new thing? Trusting people? Radical honesty? Ethos says it will assist with my deprogramming, which is probably more than you both want or need to no. Let's just say, it's been a hell of a war you're wandering into around here. Have you been to the waffle house?" He flicks some ash.
Fox:
The buzz and the flicker draw her attention, and Fox winks at the dart board as if she's seeing something there; probably she is, after all, since Spirit Mages automatically detect Twilight entities in their Peripheral Sight. Those gold eyes flick toward the stuttering bulb, and her smile laces her face easily. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she wends her way through the people over to the vague location of that buzzing bulb over the bar's end, whistling to herself. At one point, she turns around in place, as if doublechecking her tail.
Some habits one picks up without thinking about it. But it does show off the painted back of her jacket, flames with the words FREEDOM IS A VERB painted across them in black.
Vasha:
Sure enough, in twilight there is a small glowing ball of energy, sparking and buzzing haphazardly about, but tending to stick fairly close to Vasily. Should one be able to see such things.
Erik Samuelson:
Erik glanced towards the door at the mention of a new arrival, giving Fox a quick once-over before turning back to Vasily. The mention of something possibly happening Below certainly caught his attention, standing up a little straighter on reflex as he nodded. "Definitely willing to help where I can there, then. That place is rough enough as it is for the people there without someone taking a metaphorical sledgehammer to it."
"I have, yeah." He looked towards Fox once again as she approached, admiring the jacket with a small smirk before looking back to Vasily. "Talked with a few folks there and got some of the lay of the land."
Vasha:
Once Fox is close enough, and the moment is right-- which is to say, at a random moment which just sort of works out for Vasily --he reaches out a hand and gently takes Fox's in his own, lifting it up for a quick smooch, fond and familiar. "There's no hiding from you, is there? Fox, this is Erik. Erik, this is my wife. Fox." The slav upends a third high ball and pours three fingers of the whiskey for Fox so she can catch up if she likes.
"We were just discussing the fate of the underworld, the future, special desitinies and so on. He has been to the waffle house, but was hoping to get more connected with the local secret societies. I really have to hand it to fate, you know, for just pounding the ass of every technicality."
Fox:
She doesn't seem surprised -- quite the opposite. Once Vasha's hand closes around hers, her gold eyes glitter, and her smile broadens into a grin. The kiss to her hand is countered by her head bonking against his shoulder, a soft, almost canine thump, just as fond and familiar as the kiss. "You're the one who taught me how to luck on to people's location," she answers, leaning in against him for a moment before spotting Erik. "Oh!" Now his appearance surprises her just a little, but not unpleasantly, and she wiggles her fingers at him. "Yes. I am Fox. Fox is me. Hello, Erik!" Her smile is all vulpine teeth, but she takes the scotch like a civilized person and sniffs at it thoughtfully.
"Kara Thrace and her Special Destiny," Fox intones solemnly after sipping scotch. "Yes, it is like that."
Erik Samuelson:
The affection between the pair earned a small smile as he lifted his glass in a salute in return for the wave. "Good to meet you." He replied as he took a sip from said glass, that sharp smile noticed but not commented on. Not like he hadn't seen odder things, after all. "I'm going to hazard a guess that you're with the same folks who set up the waffle house?"
Vasha:
The face journey that Vasily goes on to decide whether or not he and Madeline are 'the same folks' now or not is quite a thing. In the end he decides to answer noncomittally, "Probably yes if I take your meaning correctly, possibly not depending on how factitional you're intending to be. But in general, I am for democracy among the working classes and freedom for all working peoples. So. So long as you're not a fascist tyrant, we'll probably get on pretty good. So." He decides to wind that all back and answer instead: "Yes."
Look, Fox. Vasily is doing a human being.
Fox:
The way in which Vasily is Very Much Humaning makes the semi-feral Thyrsus smile and lean in against him all the more. This is like the Vasha equivalent of look at me using Fate and Time!! really. She raises her glass toward Erik, then takes a swallow of scotch, and laughs at Vasha's explanation. "That about sums it up. Yes, we're the Same Kind of People. And you're -- ??" She hasn't gotten much, here, 'cause she missed the first bit.
Vasha:
"Erik. I said that, didn't I? He's Erik." Vasily gestures at him helpfully. Erik.
Erik Samuelson:
"Noted." He replied with a quick chuckle, giving a little nod. "We should get along fine on that front, yeah."
"Bound, if you're familiar with the term. We deal primarily with the dead, helping them to resolve what keeps them here."
Vasha:
OoooOOOooooh. That's what she meant. "Yes. I am spending time out meeting new and interesting supernatural people to recruit them to the cause. If there is indeed a perfect future for all of us, surely there must be ordinary people who make it so. Even if the ordinary people can do magic or talk to ghosts. You know? I just have to find them, tell them about it, and let them do the rest." It makes sense to him at least, even as he finds himself feeling the need to explain himself to Fox.
"I thought. With the issues in the underworld..." Someone is asking for forgiveness having been caught having not asked for permission. You can take the boy out of the Guardians...
Fox:
"You did, darling. I meant more which club he's part of," explains Fox. "I hate the word 'club' for this but at least you know what I mean." She sticks her tongue out through her sharp little teeth and shrugs her shoulders, then props her chin on Vasha's shoulder. She seems quite content to just stand next to him and lean on him. "Ah! Yes. I am familiar with the term. I knew a few of you in Maine, and some in ... no, none in Russia. Hmm. Maybe I did. I don't remember."
She stops when Vasily starts talking, and her soft smile expands as the subtle request for forgiveness sneaks into the conversation. "It was a good choice," Fox agrees.
Erik Samuelson:
"It gets the point across." He nodded to Fox, smiling a touch as he watched the pair. "No harm no foul. Don't think the guy I was here to see is here tonight anyway, so I'm glad I was able to run into you."
Vasha:
"I did. In Saint Petersburg. Afghan war veteran. In the 'police'." Vasily's radical honesty has reached a logical end point, it seems. Which brings him to a mental tangent which he leaps on as only an Acanthus can, "In any case. There are those like us who specialize in the dead. And one girl in particular whose focus is very much intensely directed at a specific bit of the underworld. It is to her that I believe you should speak. I will do some auguries and attempt to give some good intelligence to her that she can parse into something that will make sense to you. Stygian visions for me-- it's like reading pencil written on lead. This is why I stated my function here was as a facilitator."
Vasily looks aside to Fox and explains, "I felt it best for her to do the disclosing on her own terms, if he'd be willing to meet her. Which it seems he is. I'm getting no warning lights from him, and he has a decent taste in top shelf scotch."
Fox:
"Mmm," agrees Fox thoughtfully to everything. "Yes. I know who you mean, and I agree. A resource for her is good. She is one of my most favorite people. And also needs more friends. Not that she doesn't have friends but she could use more friends." One might get the impression that Fox thinks most people need more friends.
"You are right across the board, My Heart. I think she will want to talk to him, but such disclosures and meetings are best determined by the individual." One might also get the idea that Fox is affirming decisions and providing guidance at the same time. This is correct, that's exactly how non-Guardians do it, boo.
Erik Samuelson:
"I like to think I have decent taste in general, but I'll admit I'm biased. Part of the job and all." He allowed himself a smirk, taking a moment to polish off the aforementioned scotch before setting the glass down on the bar top. "I'm up for it. Can give you my number so you can pass it along."
Vasha:
"Excellent. If the meeting place is anywhere other than Maddy's at first, it's not actually us. Only take a meeting there at first. I can vouch for the security there as regards the things that we believe may be intending the underworld harm. I imagine it's also safe from whatever might hunt your sort, but not knowing what that might be I can't say for certain. I can tell you, however, that if it comes for you there it will get absolutely no waffles subsequent to your murder. Which, knowing you have had her waffles, you understand to be the threat that it truly is." There's a brief flash of an actual mercurial smile from the typically surly and grumbly Acanthus.
He presses his hands down onto the bar and states, "So! Once I have your number, I will drop the effect, and the bartender is going to get really mad once he realizes I'm still here. So. I imagine that will be it for us for the evening."
Erik Samuelson:
"Sounds good." He nodded, pulling a slim notepad from his pocket and writing down his number to hand off to the pair. "I may not answer if I'm at work, but feel free to leave a message."
"It was good meeting you both." He said to the pair with a small smile. "Look forward to working with you all on this."
Vasha:
"You as well. Here's a card." Vasily hands over a white card with a phone number printed on it. That's it. "Call that if you need help. You earned that tonight." With a small, regretful sigh, Vasily lets the world perceive them all again. And after a double take, the bartender barks at Vasily, "Hey. I thought you left." His hands go up, and he slids off his stool, leaving behind a pair of hundreds for the bottle and tip. He makes a point of pouring more for Erik before he leaves, though, setting the bottle down in front of the bartender.
"пизда," he says cheerfully to the bartender as he starts for the door.
Fox:
"Whereas if you need me, just sort of shout towards your nearest pigeon." She may not be joking.
The little vulpine woman nods in vehement affirmation regarding waffles, then snorts when Vasily curses at the bartender. She wiggles her fingers at Erik, sticks her tongue out at the bartender, and follows after Vasily, hooking her forefinger in one of his belt loops like they're in high school or something.
Erik Samuelson:
Erik nodded as he took the card, posting up on the bar as the world realigned itself once again. He smirked a touch at the exchange between the pair and the riled-up bartender, giving the departing mages a quick salute as he watched them head out. "Very interesting..." he said quietly to himself, the low rumble of his spectral companion's distrust echoing through the Twilight as the charred husk emerged.
"It'll be fine." he replied, polishing off the drink before heading towards the exit himself, the shade leaving an ashen trail in its wake as it followed. "You worry too much."
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