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Now that the VIP is up and moving of her own free will, it is very much time for Team Works Too Hard to take a fucking break, relax, and enjoy being people for at least a few hours. Even if they're still on-call while it happens.
"I wouldn't have had to pick you up if you'd just listened and come with me on your own," Sturm's voice is a low grumble - but it's about as playful as she ever is. Did she really carry Sigrun to the truck? Well, it could be an exaggeration, but she's definitely big enough to have done so. The burly Jotunn hooks her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans, looking out at the floor in search of a table.(edited)
Mearc arrives shortly afterward, wearing his new leather duster and a pair of dark jeans, his usual messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The duster is black, strappy, sort of looks like it belongs in a Final Fantasy game, and there's a very faint panther-spot pattern in the leather if one looks at it in the right light.
"Ahoy, fellow emergency mom and local mead mom."
He seems to have gotten some sleep recently, his freckles cheery and bright.
Sigrun is sporting her most recent t-shirt acquisition. Princess Adora in black and red, hurling a molotov cocktail while She-Ra's sword is strapped to her back. It is labelled 'She-Ra, Princess of Power' with an added spray paint style tag 'to the people'. She's in her civvies. Black denim, black patch jacket, a bandana tied around her hair. She slides into the booth, as exhausted as everyone else, it seems. She has the faint smell of creosote and oil about her, meaning she was probably literally pulled out of the forge to come here, indeed. "You're looking better, Mearc. Did Sturm drag you out, too?"
Sturm's jacket comes off, and she tosses it onto an empty space in the wrap-around booth before sliding in after Sigrun. She's sporting a new piercing - and bull-like septum ring - and wearing a Doom Patrol shirt featuring Crazy Jane that reads: 'control is a weapon for fascists' in a big letters.
"I did, actually." The Jotunn beams, reaching for a menu. If course she's proud about it. "He's worse than you are when it comes to working - and we've all been running our fucking asses off so. Food. Quiet."(edited)
"Hey, now that the guard is set to be secured this evening, I'm in good shape. I've spent the past day in recovery mode--though there may have been some strenuous activities in there admittedly. But once the guard comes down, I'm strictly support and coordination. And waiting for Wren and Alex to give my personal all-clear." He chuckles and takes a menu as well. "Lux, Jack and I are fucking off for a bit, when the dust settles, by the way. Out of state, we're going on a vacation."
"You've all definitely earned it. I paid a visit to Alice the other night and have what I need to start tracking the bitch down. So I'll be back in the saddle again shortly, I'm sure." Sigrun is pretty much always in the saddle. But she's one of those annoying sorts that blossoms during adversity. Clearly. "I was able to finish Teagan's parrying dagger, and have the blade mostly finished for Glitch's sword. I just need to finish grinding it and acid treating it, then put on the hilt and guard and such. Probably another day's work. I don't know how Drake churns stuff out like he does, but I'm kinda envious."
"If you're hunting Robin, that means you'll be working with me directly." Sturm nods, looking over the menu. "I've already been laying the ground work for some non-magical means of tracking her - and any potential co-conspirators - with Glitch and Alex, but I'll be relieved to have you along, too." Her expression brightens when she looks up at the Specials board. "Oh, was that Glitch's sword that you were working on when I pulled you away?" She turns back to the table, closing her menu and tucking it off to the side. "... and fuck, I didn't realize how badly I wanted to take a vacation until you mentioned that just now. Where're y'all planning to go?"
"Hawaii." He grins. "Jack convinced a friend of mine to pay for it, by mentioning how much I was overworking. We're going to make a thing of it."
Then he looks at Sigrun. "Hey, I know this is absolutely bottom priority, all things considered, but would it be a lot of effort to dye my messenger bag black to match this?" Patting the front of his duster, then the brown leather messenger bag. "It's not, like. Any kind of urgent, just might look nicer together that way."
"If it's natural leather with no sort of finishing treatment to it, yeah. I can dye it for you. Take about two days to be able to use it again. And I'll have to put a finish on it to keep the dye from leaching back out if it gets wet. If it can't be dyed, though, I can just make you a new one. So, sure, is the short answer." Sigrun snatches up the menu and flips it open, considering her options for food. "Hawaii does sound sorta neat. Though after Miami, I think I'd sooner vacation in Anchorage or Toronto or the like, personally."
The door to the little diner opens and, to those who can only see the Mask, a fair-skinned woman with hair so pale it's more silvery-white than anything enters, but to fellow Lost, her visage is frosted-glass in mathematically perfect proportions, beautiful and eerie and, to some, mildly disconcerting. Alain notices the trio at the booth as she walks in, and gives her chin a small dip in a silent hello. [in case it's relevant, SL2, Winter Mantle 3, Gentrified Bearing]
Sturm grumbles her agreement with Sigrun, flagging down the server with a wave, and - more unusual - a smile to order migas and a carafe of coffee for the table. "Hawaii's probably less hot than Miami, but after living in west Texas, I'll take the cold over the humidity." She looks up at Alain when she enters, muttering to the table. "That chick that just walked in. Wasn't she one of the Onieromancers that worked on our VIP's head?"
He nods slightly at Sturm's question, before ordering himself blintzes. "Again, Sigrun, no rush. You let me know when you have time, energy, or fucks to give for it. Speaking of, I have information on hobs for you, but...time, energy, fucks to give. I can email it to you so you can get to it when you can, if you're minded."
"Please. My personal axes I grind on my own time. Got to track down the outlaw first and perform my civic duty to society." Murder. She means murder. Sigrun sets the menu aside with a massive yawn and takes a moment or three to run at her eyes before looking on over at Alain. "I didn't make the trip inside the head in question, so I dunno." Still, Sigrun lifts a hand and waves Alain over, "Hey, we're shamelessly discussing you. C'mere, please." See? She's helping!
Alain had given Sturm a soft, polite smile, recognizing her from some previous path-crossing, but was well off and prepared to seat herself at the long and empty row of eats by the bar before she heard herself being addressed. She turns towards Sigrun and arches a cool eyebrow at the directness, but she curves her preternaturally well-arranged features into a gracious smile and obliges, course-correcting and arcing her path over towards them and resting a slender hand on the edge of the table as she approaches it. "Ah, hello," she starts. "I'm Alain, I don't think I've met any of you before, except, I saw you, at the Statesman," she adds to Sturm. She's dressed in a barely-blue blouse with a high collar, and a coat in deep wine that sweeps down.
Sturm grumbles, nudging Sigrun with her elbow none-too-subtly. Fuckin' Summers. The Jotunn doesn't really blanche as Alain approaches, but she does look mighty uncomfortable. Probably at having her comments made public. "Yeah, that's me. From the rich people bar. Was working a gig." She gestures to herself before going 'round the table. "Sturm. Sigrun. Mearcstapa." Beat. "You were one of the people doing the dream shit, right?"
“Right, yes, Mearcstapa. I arranged the safehouse you worked in on Sunday night.” He offers Alain a crooked smile, all his freckles going vividly green, before he turns to look at Sigrun again, continuing the previous thread of conversation. “Given what’s up with the hedge blight, I’m not sure it actually is your personal axe to grind, unfortunately. This might end up being something something ecology something, as I said before things ended up going critical.”
"The blight is something separate from what I was asking about hobs for, though the information you have will probably be of use there, too. Since I imagine the local hobs are as upset with this infestation as we are." Sigrun gives Sturm a sidelong look at the nudge and rubs at her arm for a moment. "What?" Sigruns aren't known for being subtle. She probably has no idea what she did, even. "So, yeah. On that score, send me the e-mail, I guess? We can meet again once we both have time, but the information should be sifted through and disseminated and used. By all means. I just have a big long check list of things to do, now!" She sounds happy about this fact. Weirdo. Another wave for Alain, "Hey! Have a seat, we're having waffles and such. It's nice to meet you."
Alain inclines her head, granting a knowing grin, and exhales a small breath, accompanied by a sound only barely audible that only just qualifies as a laugh. "It is, it is pretty much a rich people bar," she agrees in Sturm's direction. "But they don't have waffles, so, what's even the point? And yes, I was there," she confirms with another nod, looking in between Sturm and Sigrun and Mearcstapa, and the indicated seat and wavering. "It's my pleasure to meet you all, but, I certainly don't want to intrude on a private conversation," she says.
Sturm opens her mouth to say something, but catches the genuine confusion and then chuckles instead. "Don't worry about it, Sig." She shakes her head. "I'll tell you later- and don't worry about it, Alain." she grumbles. "With the home stretch in view, we're taking five - and you helped take something huge off our plates, so sit and relax with us. You deserve it, too." Beat. "Speaking of Hobs, did you ever manage to make contact with the locals - or was that one of your personal axes?"
"Alain, you're welcome at the table if you want to be. You don't have to join us if you're not comfortable. I'm too tired to do social dancing right now, and I'm a little sorry for that, but...sit or don't sit, that's yours to decide." He pours himself a cup of coffee when the carafe arrives and sugars it lightly. "Either way's fine by me."
"I was getting set to go out and do my good works with Mearcstapa's information, and then everything blew up and it got backburnered. I usually have a few irons in the fire so that I have something to be doing when things quiet down. I really don't like being idle. I actually have a couple of projects lined up now for when we settle our current issues. But first: Robin. Then the blight. THEN the hob visitations, the trod to the sports center, researching the relocated and missing hob villages, and so on. Plenty of work for a while yet." Sigrun's turn to pour herself some coffee and add some cream and sugar, "How could you be intruding if I invited you? Have a seat! I'll buy your meal, even. Thanks for helping."
"That's very generous, certainly too generous, Sigrun, but thank you," Alain replies in a voice that's soft and yet fills a certain amount of space, casting her pale eyes over the motley trio before sliding into the booth and seating herself. She only barely has to raise her hand to summon the attention of a server, and kindly indicates towards a coffee mug with a charm-laden, companionable wink. "Thank you," she tells the server with warm eye contact when they bring it. As she fills the mug, her eyes dance back over to the assembled. "I must imagine you all are on the more... martial end of this debacle," she supposes at them, as much an observation as a question.
Mearc lets out an audible snort at the comment about being on the martial end. “Hi, I’m the Scrivener of the Autumn Court. I do paperwork and organize people and things. Sigrun and Sturm are martial, but the closest I got was organizing guard shifts and standing a few with people better at fighting, just to make sure they didn’t fall asleep or anything. I mean, not that I don’t respect the fuck out of our fighters, I’m just not that sort myself.”
"I get shoehorned into being martial, but I do a fair bit of social stuff, too. I'm a little bit of everything, I guess. But my main talents are in warfighting and making the speaky words for justice. So long as the speaky words are true and the purpose not at all duplicitous. I suck at lying." Clearly. She lifts her coffee for a sip, then sets it back down with a gentle clack of ceramic on formica. "But if you're asking if I'm going to murder hobo Robin, yes. Yes, I am going to murder hobo Robin. That's my current plan."
"Ah, my mistake," she smiles to Mearcstapa, before sliding her attention over to Sigrun, and glancing down into her own coffee mug for a moment while the steaming nectar cools. "Ah, yes, making the speaky words for justice. A fine tradition," she allows with a small grin. "Almost as ancient and revered as murder hoboing. I admit that like Mearcstapa, I am ill-equipped for those particular enterprises, but I do want to help out where I can. Besides, the," she gestures vaguely. "'Dream shit'," she borrows from Sturm's vocabulary. She even uses air quotes. It's adorable.
He nods a little bit at Alain. “If you can define that a little more clearly, I think we can point you at an aspect of the problem where you’ll be helpful. Heck, if you’re a regular at a rich people bar, I wonder if you might be able to throw money and force of personality at making sure that Tornetta construction doesn’t go back to work on their dangerous, dangerous worksites. That ties into this matter pretty directly.”
"I take it the Jason Mendoza approach has been discounted as over the top and foolhardy?" Sigrun gestures at her shirt and the molotov cocktail hurling Princess Adora helpfully. She means arson. "With an Easy Access hollow door, we could hit a bunch of spots simultaneously and be gone before the 911 calls even started. Just. You know. As a hypothetical." Sigrun sips more of her coffee and shrugs her shoulders a bit. "Just an idea."
Sturm, meanwhile, has been focused on her phone - she's still on call, after all. The device is tucked back into her front pocket as she re-focuses on the conversation - taking a sip of her coffee with a relieved sigh. Sweet, sweet caffeine. "Teagan and I tried, actually. Not with molotov's, but. The sabotage angle probably works - it's just that there's so many projects - and so much iron at each site - that it's hard to coordinate effectively for scale." Beat. "But that was before I had access to Downtime, so I had to hoof it the fuck out on foot. Might be easier now."(edited)
"Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. I spend most of my time, as I'm sure you do, surrounded by people for whom my reputation precedes me," Alain apologizes, and she seems to mean it quite earnestly. She smiles again, this time, a bit knowingly. "I manage the Knight Foundation. My full name is Alain deVahl." That might be familiar; the name 'deVahl' is on the side of an amphitheatre in downtown Philadelphia.
"I used to work for the U.S. Department of State, and, I have some little local pull, but it is with limits. Whatever assistance I can offer, resources or influence or more besides, I certainly will. You need only point me in a direction." She pauses. "Or perhaps some legal retainers in the event of a Jason Mendoza." [Civil Statuses: High Society 3, Government 2, Art 1, Media 1.](edited)
“Jack Martingale has mobilized the unions to halt construction, but we need some real pull to shut them down for good. Note that this might make you a target, of course. She’s attacking reputations. And doing a poor job of it in some ways. But yeah, that’s what would probably be most helpful, given the givens.”
He sips his coffee. “We want something more legit than just sabotage and arson. Something that will make them not want to start this whole thing up again, just to spite us.”
"More arson?" Sigrun suggests only half jokingly. She's got one note, but she plays it really well. Honest. "Sugar in the gas tanks of the big vehicles. Termites. Ooh, termites is a great idea, actually. They'll need to get termite treatment, then termite inspection. And that can buy us another week or two at the least. We could also drop some archaeological artifacts into a job site for them to be 'discovered'. There's a bunch of little tricks I can think of to close some of them down to buy Alain time to play the big whammy." She adds after a sip of coffee, "And only most of them involve property damage! So."
Yeah, unfortunately Sturm tends to be pretty one-note with her suggestions, too - and it sounds like Sigrun has the sabotage angle on lockdown, so she's content to lean back in her booth with a cup of coffee and listen to her friends and metamour discuss a plan of action for a change. "I could put you into contact with Wren - I know she had some ideas for shit like that," she offers helpfully at last, stretching an arm out over the back of the booth.
"A target?" The concept seems foreign to her; it seems to. Snowskin... "She's welcome to try." The words come out in a near-purr, and Alain's smile shapes the lower half of her face exquisitely. "It is my predilection to play my cards a little closer to the vest than most," she allows with a demure roll of her shoulders. "If she could see me coming, then frankly, she deserves to. But I don't think that would be enough. My instinct always leans towards extensive information gathering, but we may be beyond the timeframe for such deep-dives." And then Alain glances sidelong at Sigrun. "It only counts if you yell 'Bortles'." She says this with a completely sincere expression.
Mearcstapa looks at Sigrun, and all his freckles, green and red, grow brighter. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. And then lets out a bit of a chuckle. "I am very glad you're with us, Sigrun."
"I usually yell 'this is for Rosa' but I can make an exception in this case." Sigrun lifts her coffee in toast. To Bortles. She finishes her coffee and reaches over to pour herself another mug, shooting Mearcstapa a wink and a crooked grin. "Me, too! You all are great." She tucks some of her hair back behind her ear and nods to Sturm's suggestion, "I can reach out to her. Honestly, if there's as many sites as all that it'll take a bunch of different ideas in conjunction. For example: It'd be a shame if someone cooked meth in their buildings while they're idle. Cos industrial decontamination is expensively and lengthy. You know. On the off chance anyone was wondering about that." She drops her chin onto her palm, rests her elbow on the table, and just sighs. Anarchist fantasies.
"Actually I still have a few... contacts left out in the world - they used to smuggle weapons in my old man's day, but they've since moved into the meth trade almost entirely. Not that we should encourage them to cook more meth, but if they're going to do it anyway, I could possibly convince them to do it in a few specific places. Ones that it would probably benefit them to tarnish the progress and reputations of," Sturm shrugs. "Assuming I still have pull." Beat. "... and yeah, Sig. You're great." She nudges the valkyrie again. How cute. They're not murdering one another.(edited)
Alain blinks exactly once at Sigrun's implication of oh-how-terrible-t'would-be if the buildings were used as a meth lab. "Is that... within your repetoire of skills, Sigrun?" she wonders with a kind of pinch-your-cheeks, wide-eyed naivete.
Mearc grins. "And yet, I'm the one currently wanted for questioning by the police for a break-in that I kinda actually did do. So unfair..."
"It's something I could, in theory, make happen. I don't cook meth, personally, or do meth. But I know people." Sigrun's shoulders shrug in an equally wide-eyed and innocent manner. Who, me? "But, again, we can't set up meth labs everywhere. So targeting key structures in the web would make the most sense with that tactic. I'm just spitballing ideas because there's a lot of ways to tie up a site like this. It's the volume that's daunting, is my understanding? So. Lots of ideas." Sigrun gives Mearcstapa a wide grin, "If they hook you up, I'll cover your bail! Everyone should get arrested at least once." She nods her head at her own claim, then over to Sturm. Yes.
Alain considers their words as they talk back and forth; she seems exceedingly comfortable just listening as she sits there, sipping from her coffee before she sets the mug down and rests her elbows on the table, folding her hands together and leaning her chin on the bridge of her fingers. "I'm usually playing these scenarios out from the role of building, rather than disrupting, but infrastructure is always the most important piece in any organization. Like a spinal cord. If you cut it, all the rest of the nerves go limp," she offers.(edited)
"Well. We're working on murder-hoboing that spinal cord. As Sigrun said." He lets out a warm laugh, shaking his head slightly. "I think it'll be easy to blow it all away once Robin's out of the picture. Hopefully. In the meantime...the meantime."
He pauses for a bite of his blintzes. "Also, I'm really, really hoping not to get arrested for a break-in Tornetta hired me to do, back in November? Like. There's a lot fucked up there. Wren and Alex are working on clearing my name. I'm just waiting on them before I go back to having a public life. Which means three weeks in a row, no video on my channel."
Sturm's phone goes off, and she sets her coffee cup down with a mighty sigh. Such is the peril of trying to sit down to breakfast while you're on call. She retracts her arm from behind Sigrun, and fishes through her pocket for the source of the ring. "Fuck." Beat. "I gotta take this, y'all. Do me a favor and have 'em box my food up when they bring it out? I'll head back if I manage to patch things up in time, but if not I'm sorry to leave you floating here without a ride, Sig."(edited)
There's only one place in town where Teagan can be consistently counted on to actually open the door and walk in, visible, and it's Maddy's. Because, you know, there are probably rules about that sort of thing. Teagan doesn't remember the precise bits as they can't read, but -- the sentiment is understood as 'don't be a dick', and that they can handle. They hold the door open for Sturm as she leaves, rolling up to their toes to kiss her on the corner of her mouth. Smooth as a mirror, their expression. "We'll walk home together if so, doll. It's fine."
"She had you break in to her own building? Oh, this bitch is clever," Sigrun approves with the sort of smile that says her approval will in no way spare Robin's neck from being cut. "Enh. Don't worry. I can always get home." Which is true enough of more or less anyone in Direct Action that's near a functional door. "Go take care of what you need to take care of, I'll be here." Sigrun offers Sturm a smile, then waggles her fingers at Teagan, "Hey, Teabutt."
Alain upnods her chin at Sturm as she makes off to handle a phone call. "Bye," she says after her, before sipping from her coffee again to observe the person addressed only, so far, as Teabutt. "Hello," she greets, waiting graciously for someone to offer another name. Please say it isn't Teabutt; it can't possibly be Teabutt.
"Oh, no, it's not that she had me break into her building. Tornetta Construction hired me for a pen testing exercise last year, less than a month after I got into town. Which I seriously doubt was because she wanted dirt on me. I hadn't made any sort of name for myself in the Freehold or otherwise, back then. If she predicted me being worth having this dirt on back then, she had more faith in me than I do." He chuckles, then looks up at his fellow Darkling. "Teagan, how're you now?"
"Maybe she just reflexively gathers dirt on people," Teagan offers, apparently picking up on the thread of conversation as they approach the table. "Not that I'd know anything about having been a person like that, once upon a time." They offer Sigrun a lopsided smile and lean down to kiss her at the corner of her mouth. It's fair to say that the Mirrorskin lights up when they're around Sigrun -- the Bright One's light catches on the broken mirrors of their eyes and reflects silver from the mirror-dark of their skin; the former casts prismatic rainbows every which way across the table. "Hey, Significant."
Greetings for the most important person at the table in Teagan-world completed, they straighten up, ticking their chin up at Mearcstapa. "Good, and you?" they answer in rote reply. Alain gets a hand offered across the table. "Teagan, Summer of Direct Action." The scar across their palm is thick, bone-deep, and old.
Smooch exchanged, Sigrun scoots to make room for Teagan to join them all. "Teag, this is Alain De... Vahl? I wanna say? I'm shit with names, I'm sorry. Alain, this is Teagan as they said." Sigrun settles back and begins picking over Sturm's meal despite having said she wasn't hungry and not ordering anything. Not that Sturm will notice, cos she left. "We're pretending to relax while not actually really relaxing cos all we've done so far is talk shop."
"Teagan," Alain says, grateful for the clarification, taking their hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. Ah yes. These are the hands of the bourgeoisie. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Alain deVahl, yes, and, ah, the Winter Court." She tips her chin towards Sigrun in a confirming nod. "They've done a terrible job of relaxing. Some coffee was had, but otherwise," and she gives Teagan a conspiratorial shake of her head.
"Not so bad." A nod at Teagan, and a bit of a smirk, his freckles shifting redder. "Hey, hey. I'm eating a warm meal, in the company of people I give a fuck about--and you, Alain, I'll need time to build the fucks up to give you--instead of sneaking one of those ready-made tuna meals alone inside a dark abandoned building. Fuck you, this is quite relaxed, compared to how I have been."
Once Sigrun scoots in and the handshake that signifies class war is completed, Teagan carefully arranges their charcoal-grey duster around their shoulders (no, no, it's just that dusters made by Sigrun are terribly comfortable, I think that everyone will be wearing them in the future) and scoops up both the duster and the machete it conceals when scooting in to the booth. A vague roll of their shoulders. "That's how it is," they answer Alain. "I'll sit on Sigrun until she relaxes later, but I'm the wrong shape of darkling to sit on Mearcstapa and likewise." When a server comes by, Teagan orders pancakes and bacon, and coffee. "But I'll accept that," they answer Mearcstapa.
"If you really want me to relax, it'd be vice versa," Sigrun points out with the wide-eyed innocence often displayed by the decidedly prurient. "But, sure. You can try to wrassle me. That would be fun. I still have Glitch's sword to finish and then Robin to hobo murder, the blight to confront and resolve, hob villages to meet and diplome with." She just said diplome, yes. "And mysteries to resolve! A trod to build. Patrols to run! So much to do!" She sounds happy about that.
Alain blinks at Mearcstapa and tilts her head to the side, a small quirk of her chin, and a calm smile curling the corner of her pale, pink mouth. "Well, that's certainly very charming," she assesses graciously before she turns her attention back to Teagan. "As you can see, the non-relaxing situation has only been escalating," she intones with a wry flick of her pale gaze at Sigrun.
"And Guilder to frame for it." This he appends to Sigrun's litany of shit-to-do, before glancing toward Teagan. "And it's not a function of shape, Teagan, really it's not. But yes, my partners spent most of yesterday sitting on and laying across me very nicely."
The Mirrorskin acquires the wry deadpan of someone who just set up a joke that just came out exactly the way that they intended. "Yes, my love," Teagan answers Sigrun, leaning back in the booth and wrapping their arm around her shoulders, leaning in to kiss her on the temple. "So noted, and placed upon the agenda." They stretch their legs out under the table, off to one side, so they're not kicking anyone. "Oh, I meant 'shape' as a marker of 'identity.' You don't have to justify to me why you're not into me." A flash of their bright white teeth at the other Darkling. "What's your jam, Alain?"
"Teagan has the opposite of a self-esteem problem, yeah. They're super comfy in their malleable skin." Sigrun's reassurance is offered to Mearcstapa, by way of bolstering any concern he may have that there's been offense paid. She does clap quietly at the answer from Teagan, though. Yaaaay. With the topic shifting to Alain, Sigrun falls silent and eats more of Sturm's food. The monster.
Alain turns her pale-eyed attention back on the most recently arrived Darkling. "Oh, I prefer preserves." Da-nu, dun. "I manage the Knight Foundation, it's a non-profit organization, but before, that," and everything, "I was a foreign service officer." She pauses. "A diplomat. Oh, and I have been made aware that I also do 'dream shit'," she annotates, and again the air quotes come into play, slender fingers bobbing before her hands return, one to her coffee mug and the other to her lap.
"I mean, you have successfully enough done 'dream shit' that you'll likely be called upon for it again, if the need arises." He smirks, pouring himself another mug of coffee from the carafe on the table. "It's pretty impressive work, not something I'd have known how to handle."
"It's true, I have absolutely zero self-esteem problems. Even if I did, the evidence that I'm hot exists, so, we good." When Sigrun claps quietly, Teagan flashes one of their little smiles aside at her, and leans to kiss her cheek this time. Coffee arrives for Teagan, and they reclaim their arm enough to doctor it: a whackton of cream and a very little sugar. "Right on. Everyone should at least be conversant in dream shit, and it's good to have people who are real good at it." The Philly accent is strong with this one. Either native, or real good at pretending.
"I've done dream shit before. For headology purposes, and to help find my old shield. Which, as it happens, we found. In addition to a shred of my soul. Which is pretty weird cos it looked like one of my wings that I used to have? Only those were added after I was Taken, so why my soul would be in that bit, I don't quite understand. But. Anyway. It's stuck in my somewhere. If you've never found a piece of yourself, I highly suggest it. It's a great high. I was bouncing off the walls for a week. I got so much stuff done, it was awesome." Sigrun reaches for the coffee again. Someone should probably cut her off before she begins vibrating.
"That's very kind of you to say," Alain returns to Mearcstapa with an inclination of her head and a warm smile, delicate and genuine. "I'm sure I had the advantage in this particular instance, with winter's affinity on my side." She pauses, reflecting on the recent recollection with the focus of someone who perhaps has a contentious relationship with their memory. "Winter's isolation is a self-selected one. Small numbers, only so much trust to go around. I," she digs her tooth into her lip, and raises her shoulders in a somewhat uncertain shrug. "Hypothesized that giving the impression that those few people she trusted were no longer trustworthy, no longer themselves, and that she was more alone there than here, would be a shock to her system that would resonate, well, particularly deeply for a Winter." She gives a small, grimacing smile at that, but then flickers her eyes to Sigrun, and gently holds out her hand, resting it on the woman's forearm as she reaches for the coffee to still her, and giving her an extremely kind, reassuring shake of her head.
"In fairness," she adds. "It did work."
"It did work, and now we have her back, and now we can move forward. Lots to do, lots to get done." He chuckles, then looks at Teagan. "You're very hot. And I enjoy talking to you. And I like having you as a friend."
"Dream shit is a necessary skill that I think that every Lost should have at least at a base level. Like Hedgespinning, and putting on your own pants without falling on your face." Teagan stretches their arm back around Sigrun, and does not stop her from drinking exactly as much coffee as she wants to, should she wish to. She's an adult. Besides, vibrating girlfriend is a joke best suited for NSFW. "Probably because your soul changed to your expectations of who you were then, and you had to deal with that, I dunno. But it was pretty."
They lapse into silence while Alain explains, and their expression shifts to obamanotbad.jpg. "Clever," they agree with Alain. Coffee set down, they offer Mearcstapa a loose salute in response.
Sigrun offers Alain a pout and withdraws her hand from the coffee pot with a longsuffering sigh. They're going to make her raw dog reality, and that's not cool. "Yeah, I don't know how souls work. If I did, I'd be in a different line of work for sure." Sigrun resumes munching on Sturm's abandoned bacon and such, cronching it. "Move forward. With murder," Sigrun concludes with a tap of her nose at Mearcstapa.
In a manner that most prominently conveys 'this is for your own good and probably also your blood pressure', Alain scoots the carafe away from Sigrun by gracious inches. "I, don't particularly know very much about that either," she agrees of the soul-talk. "And I know they're very similar, but dreamweaving does seem to come a bit more naturally to me than hedgespinning," she admits in Teagan's direction with another raise of her shoulder, baring her teeth in an apologetic smile.
The scooted carafe is claimed by a Mearcstapa, who grabs it like a gremlin, holding onto it with both hands, but only for a moment. "I've been learning hedgespinning. thanks in part to Sigrun's tutoring. She made the most awful flowers outside my office and dared me to get rid of them."
"That's a base level. If you know like, how to do it, in an emergency, then that's great. I've met -- way too many people who just did not understand it at all. One guy I met in Vermont barely seemed to understand that we're all lucid dreamers." Teagan puffs out their dark cheeks, picking up their coffee again to drink it. "Good," they answer Mearcstapa. "I'll help you with it too, if you want. Or anybody. I'm serious about that shit being -- something that everyone should at least understand. Like putting on your pants."
"Oh, I don't, I don't really go to the Hedge, very much. Not even really the Hollows, but, maybe sometime I should learn anyway. It's always too late to prepare when dealing with the unexpected," Alain opines from behind another sip of coffee. "Pants, I've got down pretty cold, though."(edited)
Mearc glances down as if to check that he did remember to put on pants, nodding thoughtfully. "I may need to find a method of spinning that's faster--while I have a reliable method, it's not always something I can do on a moment's notice."
"As long as you know how and can do it if you need to, I'm not gonna be, like, climbing up your ass and yelling 'git good!'" The Mirrorskin assures Alain. As if that's not an image. "Y'mind me asking what it is you lean on?" Teagan asks Mearcstapa, unlooping their arm from around Sigrun's shoulder as their pancakes arrive, all the better to pile on butter and syrup.
Superficially Lucia is a short brunette in dirty overalls and a tank top, but she looks like one who had most of her body replaced with cybernetics. Gleaming chrome and neon green glow show behind the seams in the artificial skin that covers her arms and what portion of her chest is visible, and she glances around with darting eyes that glow with a green light that's probably familiar to at least one person in the diner. She spots the group of Lost at a table, freezes a moment, and then boldly strides toward them. "Hi"
"The last few times I've seen him Spin, he was picking a lock. He's really quite good at picking locks." Sigrun offers helpfully of Mearcstapa's methods and talents. "I don't know how much teaching I really provided, just encouragement. Anything you do well can be done for hedgespinning effectively, so it's just a matter of applying the right talent to the task." Sigrun then offers to Alain deadpan, "I too am cold with my pants down." Which is just the perfect first impression to make with a new person. Who she greets cheerfully, "Hi!"
"I'm pretty sure I know how," Alain murmurs, more to herself now like she's wondering if she actually does, and trying to confirm it, but she blinks the momentary confusion away and sips from the coffee, and her attention is tugged over towards Lucia, all chrome and neon-lime - how could one's eyes not be drawn? She looks sideways at Sigrun, eyebrow only raising, and then looks back at the new entrant again. "Hello," she greets.
"Yeah, I always carry an antique brass lock when thornside, to..." Mearc seems like he's about to say something more to Teagan or Sigrun, but he stops when Lucia walks in. His freckles flash red, and then the green ones brighten very strongly--the exact same shade of green as Lucia's light, as her eyes. He watches her quietly, metaphorical hackles raising, holding onto the coffee carafe almost defensively.
Smooth mirror-dark skin and a lazy, boneless sprawl in their side of the booth, and Teagan waggles a fork at Lucia when she walks up. "Hi." THey're in the middle of cutting up their pancakes, see.
"I'm Lucia. I'm often cold even with my pants up, I'm going to be helping now, I'm new in town." Obvious it's Lucia who says this, which she does with just a hint of a smirking smile trying to hide itself from her lips, but not quite succeeding. The smile melts away as her gaze locks on Mearcstapa again and she takes in the color that his freckles turned. Her entire demeanor shifts, her squared shoulders lowering and her posture hunching. "Sorry to interrupt," she says more quietly. There's a faint Spanish accent to her words.
"It's certainly no interruption, Lucia. My name's Alain," she offers, gesturing to the table, taking note of Mearcstapa's reaction but without giving it one of her own. "Would you sit with us?" she asks, all attendant social graces on display and in full color. "Where are you coming away from? Oh, and this is Teagan, Mearcstapa, and Sigrun," she adds, gesturing to each of them in turn.(edited)
Sigrun offers another wave to Lucia when she's introduced, followed by another, "Hi!" There's not an awful lot of room left, which means Sigrun winds up essentially cuddled up against Teagan which is not the worst fate to befall her, to be certain. She catches up with the general vibe between Mearcstapa and Lucia after a moment, and then a lightbulb goes on over her head. Figuratively, in any case. "Oh," she says quietly, offering aside to Teagan, "Sturm."
Mearcstapa's attention lingers on Lucia--though it's hard to tell, really, if he's making eye contact--due to his eyes being pure black, not even eyeshine to them. They look like holes into his head, quite frankly. "Lucia? Welcome to Philadelphia." The tone of his voice is flat. Perhaps even cold. His freckles remain pure green for the moment. His mantle flares up with a rustling sound and the feeling of eyes on the back of everyone's neck.(edited)
"Yeah," Teagan agrees, though they've never run into someone that they reacted to this way from their Keeper. Or many people that they even know from their Keeper. So they only know from the outside. "Sturm," Teagan reiterates, and scoot scoot in to snuggle Sigrun more efficiently and touch her boobmake room. "We all good, bro?"
Lucia responds to the invitation from Alain with a slight acquiescing dip of her head before she slides into a seat at the table, head bowed and making an obvious effort not to touch anyone. "New York," she answers the direct question in a soft voice, while shooting a look at Mearcstapa like she's watching him to see how he reacts. She continues watching that way while she elaborates on her answer. "I came back a few months ago, but this was home so I'm back."
Alain passes her pale gaze in between Lucia and Mearcstapa, and politely clears her throat. "So, just reading the room here, but?" and she gestures at either of them with her coffee mug.
There's a pause. "Have you sworn the local Freehold already, Lucia?"
Sigrun is squished in the middle of things, which is not how fighty summers like to be in situations like this. So she just winds up looking vaguely uncomfortable for any number of socially awkward reasons. Mearc's question has her looking to Lucia in a manner that can only be interpreted as 'please say yes truthfully'. "Yeah," Sigrun offers to Alain. A very unhelpful single word that could mean anything, really.
"Yes," Lucia answers in the same soft, concise tone while she makes a motion with her hand like a head nodding. She looks around the table at the other people sitting there, takes in the uncomfortable air, and tries very visibly to force herself to react. If anything she seems like she's scared of Mearcstapa and the way that he might react, which means that her eyes go back to him before she says more. "There seem to be some irregularities going on right now, don't there?"
"Irregularities is an understatement." He pauses, and then gestures to the server to bring a fresh mug. And he proceeds to pour Lucia a coffee, and slide it across the table toward her. "You picked a hell of a time to come, really."
Alain looks at Sigrun and narrows her eyes with an expression universally understood as 'what?', but attunes her attention to the exchange as it plays out. She blinks. "There's been some local bother recently," she summarizes to Lucia - a Herculean undersell.(edited)
"Winters," Teagan rumbles, forking up some pancakes and shoving them into their mouth. "It's been a bunch of fuckin' bullshit," they offer with a raised eyebrow. "Some local bother does not even begin to cover it."
"We're at war with a murdering traitorous outlaw. There's parasitic roots crowding out native hedge vegetation. A whole hob village disappeared. There's killer rat spirits undermining the city. A giant dreamcatcher built by the murdering traitorous outlaw. Uh. Police abuses. Stuff like that. Yeah. It's been pretty wild." Sigrun bobs her head agreeably. "Pick your problem and try to solve it, really. You've got your pick of them, to be sure."
The peace gesture from Mearcstapa does seem to make Lucia relax considerably, which means that some of the boldness of her initial approach comes back. "It sounds like I got here at the right time," she says. "There are problems to fix, and I love to fix things. Eventually someone will be able to tell me the details, but..." she cuts off when Sigrun starts doing exactly that and takes the chance to pick up her coffee. "Well, that was direct. I like direct, but lets save details for when there aren't bystanders."
"To be fair, Sigrun, if the hob village you're talking about is the Mourners, they disappeared in 1994. So that's...not recent 'local bother'." As Lucia accepts the coffee, Mearcstapa's freckles normalize to a roughly 1:1 ratio of red dots to green. About standard for him.
Those pale, pretty eyes flicker over to Teagan and twitch into smile that reads 'Guilty'. "Then we're certainly glad that you're here," Alain assures Lucia diplomatically, her features brooking that refinement that seemed to go, in her, bone deep. "We need a lot of help," she concedes, nodding her head at Sigrun's long, long, very long List of Local Bother/Bullshit.
The Mirrorskin doesn't chime in, because Sigrun explains, and also, these pancakes are very good, and the player needs to answer tickets for the plot to progress, too.
"Yeah. I sort of am always direct. Not necessarily that direct, but you're typically not having to spend too much time wondering what I think about stuff. I'll tell ya." Sigrun grins at this claim, with a full sense of self-awareness there, clearly. "And Mearc, I'm a Type A, high strung personality. There's an unsolved mystery from 1994. Can you imagine me having an unticked box on a to-do list from the Clinton administration?" Her eyebrow lifts wryly at this question.
"No kidding," Lucia says to Alain. "Will someone meet me more securely later to give me the details, so I can find ways to help? I need things to do." She sniffs the coffee suspiciously before taking a single sip of it and looking perplexedly toward the kitchen. "This place actually has good coffee. What kind of diner has good coffee?"
"Details, I can do later, certainly. And marching orders, if you want to dive into helping." He nods, and then stands. "For now, though, I'm going to head out. Will you all please be safe as possible, given the givens?"
"There is a certain refreshingness to being outside of my court, to not playing 'guess the emotion' so much," she allows towards Sigrun, before training a glance on Teagan, and winking. "Except for you." She nods her head at Mearcstapa as he rises, starts to make his leave. "And I hope you'll do the same. It was a pleasure to speak with you."(edited)
Teagan's phone makes a sound like a fist hitting a punching bag, and they set down their fork, digging in their pocket for their headphone, and put it in their ear. Then their phone comes out and gets tapped at, and they say, to the phone, apparently. "Yeah, of course babe." Sigrun, right up close, can see the texts if she so chooses. "We'll be home soon enough. Talking to a new girl. Love you, doll." They tip their chin up at Mearcstapa. "Yeah man. I do my best." One hand absently pats at the side of their hip, which makes a subtle metallic sound. Alain gets a subtle smile from Teagan, there, and the feeling that they'd wink, if they could, which they can't, because their eyes aren't eyes but mosaic'd eyepits. It's kinda creepy, really.
"This place is a treasure," Sigrun assures Lucia, "the food is amazing and the coffee is beyooond. So, yeah. If I'm not cooking it myself, I'm usually getting it from here. Or whatever place Teagan gets their 'steaks from." She says it in the manner of someone who doesn't really 'get' the cheesesteak and is probably getting sick of eating them. Mearcstapa's departure has her nodding her head, though clearly not happy to see the Autumn leaving. "I'll talk to you soon, Mearc. Give Lux a hug for me!" She then admits to Alain, "I pretty much only have four emotions. I'd be really bad at that game."
"Sigrun, before I forget, I do need your email address to send you the things. Text it to me, please." He nods, and then claps her on the shoulder lightly, before heading out.
Alain drags her attention up from her coffee when Teagan's phone thwacks that punching sound, curiosity piqued, but then she looks over at Sigrun and lifts an eyebrow. "A whole four?" she seems to quip with an impassivity on her features that, going by Teagan's disposition, is surely familiar to the Bright One. "Show me, let me see if I can guess them. I will try to recalibrate around your caffeine intake," she observes with a wry grin.
"Magical portals to the woods I can accept, but a diner with good coffee? Suspicious," Lucia says in a demonstration of the fact that her fear about Mearcstapa may have subsided. "Later," she tells him. "I should eat. What's recommended?"
"Oh, it's not even a game." Sigrun counts off on her fingers, "Happy, Hungry, Horny, Murder. Sometimes I'm a blend of two or more all at once, and those are usually good days for Teagan." This accounting made, she plucks another bit of Sturm's abandoned meal into her mouth and chews it with a grin. Mearc's reminder has her giving him a thumbs up, pulling out her phone, and doing just that. Once that's done, she tucks it back away. "I'm told they have waffles," Sigrun suggests to Lucia.
When they come back from looking at the phone, they blink repeatedly. "I like the days when you're all four," Teagan agrees. "But the Horny Murder days are also really fun. Sturm is too tired to come back, babe, but we gotta pick her tips up before we leave. She's gonna call over to the office and explain." And then finally attention to Lucia. "Sorry, my girlfriend-slash-our motleymate was texting me. The coffee here is exceptionally good."
"Happy, hungry, horny, murder," Alain repeats like she's taking note of this. "You can't really go wrong on the waffles," she then counsels Lucia, nodding her head in agreement with Sigrun.
Lucia seems to be thinking about the whole food ordering business, but she gets up from the booth instead, chugs her coffee, wipes her lisps with the back of a cybernetic hand, and says, "nice meeting you, but I'm not that hungry and there's shit to do." She fixes her neon green gaze on Alain. "Let's talk later." To everyone else, "see you around." She just leaves then.
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