[sharp dressed man]
There's a restaurant on the Mile that's been getting some exceptionally good reviews lately. It's been there for years, but lately they seem to have decided on a new advertising campaign: those who read the paper or frequent local sites see their ads; small slips of paper have been left on the windshields of cars, tucked neatly beneath the wipers. As they're driving or riding the bus, or even walking around on the streets, there's a sort of urge to go up and visit the Mile and check the place out.
And, in walking by it, the place evokes an intense interest. Quiet music plays through the speakers outside, drawing people in; the music is difficult to pin down. Familiar, and yet nothing like one has heard before.
Inside, the place is comfortably modern. The furniture is angular, in blacks, whites, and dark reds and browns – vivid, but not stark and unwelcoming. It's quiet, calm – the sort of place one might bring a business associate or a friend, but is lively enough to accommodate a larger group. Though, it seems, too rowdy a crowd might be politely asked to leave.
And it does, in fact, look expensive. But what's the harm in going in and getting a drink, after all?
The hostess, a young collegiate woman with blond highlights, turns a bright smile to anyone who walks in.
[Owen]
The place looks expensive, and the young man that walks in at some point, shaking snow out of the collar of a worn leather jacket doesn't exactly fit the clientele that they're perhaps trying to attract. Not that he looks cheap, by any means, but he's working class, clearly. It's there in the age of the jeans he wears, in the old sneakers and the lack of gloves in this in-climate weather.
The hostess turns a smile on him, but she doesn't get one in return, because the young man has already moved away to perch himself a touch uncertainly at the bar. He's young, couldn't be much older than twenty-three if he's that and he'll likely be carded if he orders anything stronger than a soda.
He doesn't though.
He puts an order in for something that might pass for a Scotch and soda without closer inspection and leans his elbows on the bar, shoulders slightly hunched. The aura is leave me be, but the expression is just melancholy, as if all his troubles began and ended in much of what was being consumed around him.
[Wharil Choc]
Blacks. Whites. Dar Reds. The music calls to him from the sidewalk. He'd been at home, working out the kinks in a plan and drafting a certain form of constitution and following up on what he thought might be a lead all simultaneously.
The Atman was at it again. The limestone and jade snake was writhing up and down, up and down, and round and round and round in ever widening, ever loosening circles. It made his hands shake. It made his hands tremble. Made his legs shake. Made him jittery. Unfocused. Useless. Sometimes, he'd told someone just this afternoon. You have to put your foot down. Remain the one in control.
He'd gone out for a smoke. It turned into a walk. And before he even realized it the music was calling to him from the sidewalk. Wharil felt about his coat for his wallet. It was light. Too light for this place. But...maybe one drink wouldn't hurt.
[Izzy Hargreaves]
Izzy is tall at about 6ft 3, slightly curvy with a pretty face which has a semi smile threatening to burst into a grin. She wears thick rimmed glasses and she has long dark hair with bright blue streaks running through which is swept up into a ponytail. She’s got a long leather trench coat and a big chunky long scarf to keep out the cold but underneath she’s dressed in a fairly skinny black long sleeved top and some dark purple combats. She looks like she’s in her early 20s.
She walks in like someone who knows they’ll get in and can’t imagine being asked to leave. She looks around, smiles to the nice blonde woman and after a brief pause heads to the bar to get a drink, if anyone is in earshot it’s Jack and coke. While there she’s still glancing round incase she sees anyone she recognises.
[Kaya Talayesva]
Kaya was hoping to have out with Jon, but at the last minute, he got called to work. She had found one of the slips in her truck windshield. It had somehow peeked her interest, so she decided to check it out. She made her way to the Mile, and parked. As she got out, she looked around and found Storm sitting up on power lines.
It was the first day of the Spring Semester at U of C, so she decided to wear her traditional native Hopi clothing for her students to see. And this was what she was still wearing when she arrived. Entering, she requested a table for one.
[K. R. Jakes]
This. K. R. Jakes: does not stand out in a crowd. Her hair is red; her eyes are dark. Her clothes are, today, practical, sedate. Her coat is the only touch of flamboyance. There is something about the way it sweeps: pulp fiction action heroine (nothing good happens to them) or silver screen irradiance, shadow and not-shadow, snow in the folds. Her hair? is messy, falling out of [ordered] its upsweep into a mess of girlish waves, snowflakes caught catched [blood on the snow].
"Because," she says, wry and amused, and she is talking into her cellphone: "I am not a jackass. And I am not from your Hollywood inner circle of sin. I'm going to -- " and she was walking to her car, see. The black truck parked somewhere aways a way, because parking in a city is always murder, especially in winter, especially in Chicago, and that's when the music catches at her. The name is familiar. " -- celebrate my newfound solvency, huh?" Also, was that a woman wearing traditional native Hopi clothing? This place could be interesting.
Owen's in. Izzy is in. Kaya is in. Kage is opening the door, and the hostess will have a little line.
[Gregor]
...There is an alleyway across the street, stretched wide enough to allow two bodies, shoulder to shoulder, to walk down comfortably whilst avoiding the garbage. The alley is known for it's dumping grounds, where dumpsters line the sides and the excess of the restaurants attempting to compete with the 'New Fad' in town across from them, are dumped each night. These days, the piles were growing less and less. People were intrigued and no amount of cajoling or coercing from the Hosts standing outside in the falling snows could prompt them to visit other fair.
Tonight, across the street was the place to be.
So perhaps he was a little confused. A little wrapped up in the half-mind that wanted to go over and try to talk his way past the hostess, a vagabond with no social card to warrant even approaching such places before. A vagrant with years of experience avoiding such patronage. A Street beggar with a sudden case of anxiety, tucked far back in that alleyway with hollow sockets and staring eyes regarding the sign above the door, the speakers spitting music into the crowds.
...And outside, in the alley, glancing at the window, looking in.
"...What...?" He'd shaken his head a half-dozen times by now, trying to clear the sensation. To little avail.
[sharp dressed man]
Gregor finds that he can't quite rid himself of that urge to go in and have a look. It seems to be an accepting place, after all. There are different varieties of dress, and he can see a few people seated who look like college students - though none that look quite as tattered as he does. People waiting in the doorway clear him a path so that he can come in if he wants to.
A nice line forms near the door. The magi are not the only ones entering the restaurant: there seem to be quite a few people waiting. They step up and give their names.
And, one by one, are approached by a young man or a woman who offers to take them to their table.
They are ushered past crowded tables toward a separate room in the back - not shut off by doors, but clearly sequined off from the rest of the restaurant. It appears to be there for a small party, perhaps a reunion or an office meeting over dinner. They're encouraged to sit at the table, of course - where there are two men already seated. One in his forties, with dark hair and a beard kept trimmed close to his face. The other a much younger man in his twenties, with brown hair, friendly brown eyes and a shag cut. A round, smiling face. Neither are dressed in suits or the like, just slacks and buttondown shirts, untucked. Business partners out for the evening, apparently.
[Gregor]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
to sharp dressed man
(Perception 4 + Awareness 3. Diff 6)
[sharp dressed man]
to Gregor
Gregor catches the feel of resonance here. Something friendly, inviting, and almost warm in feel.
[Izzy Hargreaves]
when Izzy is approached she smiles and nods her head slightly in silent agreement and follows to the table, if she's confised she doesn't show it but she does look slightly amused. she sits down and raises her glass slightly to the 2 men in turn. she simply says "Good evening" and settles in, taking her coat, scarf and bag off while still keeping an eye out for people she knows.
[Owen]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 4)
[Perception + Alert, -2 Diff Acute Senses: EH?]
[Gregor]
He scrubbed at his face, feeling the beginnings of stubble hiding just below the surface. Another day and it's be growing again but the shave that morning had...been...why again? Ahh yes. The same reason he was here today. The flyer. The pull. He'd even opted for one of the cleaner jackets, a long piece thrown out for the tears on the inside seams, the wear under one of the arms and along the cuffs. A quick pass with the sewing needle and thread had done wonders to dealing with these issues and the wear of the jacket took care of the rest.
He paced around inside the alleyway, adjust the collar and sleeves of the jacket, trying to dispel the nagging discomfort whilst his gaze rode the edge of perceptions well outside the human norm. He frowned. Confused. Mixed up and-
"Damn it." A quiet whisper followed in the wake of the other Mages as they filed in one by one by one. This couldn't be coincidence. He was beginning to lean heavily into the idea of power convergence when it came to the Alters. Moreso for the problems it inevitably brought up.
So Gregor, a little more cleaned up then usual, pushes out of the alleyway and crosses the street, hurrying as traffic picks up. He pushes over the curb and hesitates only marginally as the blonde hostess is greeting and greeted and allows him access with little to no trouble.
He enters, still frowning.
[Kaya Talayesva]
Kaya follows with a light smile on her lips. Being gestured into a room sequistered from the rest of the resturant did make her a touch confused, even more so when she joins Izzy at the same table. But she just shrugged a bit to herself, figuring that's how busy the place was. She pulled off her coat, and, more than likely, stood out like a sore thumb.
A pleasant smile was given to Izzy. "Good evening."
[sharp dressed man]
to Owen
Both men are armed. Their weapons aren't carried on them at the moment, but they both have jackets draped over their chairs, hung in such a way that he can see the outline of a pistol beneath the younger man's jacket. And, out of the corner of his eye when he turns his head once, he can see a few people watching the small procession of magi from a table near the door.
[Owen]
Owen shifts his attention to the young woman that approaches him at the bar, and tells him there's a table ready for him in the back. Interesting, considering I didn't ask for one, the Chorister silently notes and studies the young waitress' face for a moment until he realizes he's not so much studying as staring at her, as if he didn't understand her.
He collects his drink and his jacket and rises, gesturing that he'll follow in her stead with a slight smile borne of hesitation, or perhaps a life spent without people and the social niceties they brought. He notes as he goes the table near the door; eyes upon him and the others being shown through, though he keeps it to his peripherals. Counts them.
Interesting.
His brows lift as he's shown to the room, his eyes, a very dark blue, slip over the others and his discomfort with the numbers shows. "...hello." He says, low-voiced and oddly gentle. He hasn't missed the two men's jackets, he notes them as he navigates to a corner of the table; the subtle bunching of fabric pulled taunt suggestive of a weapon stowed in it.
He stiffens, and doesn't sit.
Not yet.
[Wharil Choc]
"Well...." Wharil says as he enters last and sees the collection arranged. His eye goes from face to face, an eyebrow raising at Kage, and a curious, if slightly suspicious look to the others. He steps in properly, taking off his coat and folding it over the back of a chair before sitting down.
"This happened to me before once. I was invited to a party and didn't know it. Only that time I missed the part and found the invitation in the mail a week later."
[K. R. Jakes]
The room is secluded (but not cut off). The restaurant is crowded (cacophony of people). This doesn't cause her to raise her eyebrows. This separate room; this one table. At least, no: not yet. The redhaired woman had been courteous (her cellphone, off) to the hostess, courteous to whoever lead her on back, and she was still courteous now, when she slipped her coat off, folded it over her arm. "What everybody else said, I suppose. Introductions?" This is a restaurant. Gregor, however. Gregor gets both eyebrows lifting, and a quizzical look (what's wrong, oh no, something's wrong).
[sharp dressed man]
The hostess looks at Gregor for a moment as though she's just seen a cockroach climb out from under one of the plates in back. But after a moment's hesitation, that practiced smile comes back into place. "...You can follow me back, sir."
The older man soon joins his companion in beaming a bright smile at the gathered, and he stands to greet them. "Sorry I couldn't send out any invitations," he tells Wharil, his voice the sort of pleasant, warm baritone that naturally relaxes other people. "I was afraid you wouldn't show up."
He waits until they are all present and seated, giving Gregor a nod as he too files in. And then he gives Kage a nod when she asks for introductions. "Operative James Carlan," he says, "and this is my associate, Operative Travis Kulesza." And before anyone can panic he holds up his hands. Placating. "You can call me Jim. Feel free to order whatever you'd like here, it's on my tab."
[sharp dressed man]
((Posting order from now on, just to clarify real quick, is Sharp Dressed Man, Owen, Wharil, Izzy, Kaya, Kage, Gregor.))
[Owen]
Everyone might be sitting aside from the young Chorister, whose fingernails are stained with the earth he works with on a daily basis; all year round. It's amazing he hasn't lost them to frostbite yet, digging around in frozen dirt like that. He clasps the back of the chair provided for him to sit in with one hand; his attention briefly on Kage, then back to the men.
He shifts his weight.
He seems to be growing cagier by the second.
"Why?" He manages to get out quietly. "What's the reason we're here?"
[Wharil Choc]
Wharil's lips tense. He stares at the two men anew, more suspicious of them now than of anyone else. Owen asks at least one of the questions that he wanted to know himself. He also wanted to know where the exits were, and how close to them he could get before they tazed him, tagged him, and dragged him back to their 24-hour cerebral dry cleaner.
Wharil dragged a hand through his hair. He was really looking forward to a drink. He wouldn't drink a thing in front of these two, however.
[Izzy Hargreaves]
izzy smiled and raised her drink to Kaya when she sat down and said hello then watched, still looking vaguely amused, as everyone else came over.
when the older man speaks she tilts her head and narrows her eyes as though she's trying to place him or weigh him up. her eyes widen slughtly with an eyebrow going up at the mention of operatives. she glances between the others then back to the 2 men, not saying anything yet since they seem to have it covered. she just sips her drink quietly.
[Kaya Talayesva]
The title 'operative' causes Kaya to tense greatly. Slowly she gets up, and grabs her coat. "I think I'll just eat at McDonald's." And starts to leave.
[sharp dressed man]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
to sharp dressed man
[Jogging Carlan's memory for Kaya. Intelligence + Alertness.]
[K. R. Jakes]
Her eyebrows draw together for a second [contemplative], and she drops her jacket over the back of a (her) chair. Owen asks the obvious question. The same question she would've asked, next. Kage doesn't have the same reaction that the others all seem to -- she watches Kaya get up, a touch of concern in [inscrutable, dream-dark] eyes, and it is still courtesy, courtesy, courtesy:
"How mysterious. I hope it will be a pleasure to meet you, Jim? Travis? I'm Kage. And I'd also like to know why and what you have in mind. As well as what's good here."
The stereotype is this: wary, suspicious, paranoid.
The truth is this: wary, suspicious, paranoid.
Kage? glances at a menu.
[Gregor]
Gregor's hands are wrapped around the table's edge. Of all those present, he seems the least clued in to that word. 'Operative'. There is a distinct flash of eyes reaching toward the various faces that line the table, his chair held with the bare minimal relax, muscles bunching beneath the overcoat that clings to his framework. His features, dour and serious, shift from body to body, face to face and finally end up on Kage's. Most known. Most readable-
Courtesy
...and he finally settles completely into the chair beneath him, his gaze lifting to regard the pair of operatives. One of the wait staff arrives with a pitcher of water and some glasses, setting them on the table with professional care and then departs. Gregor leans forward to take up the glass and set it infront of him, the pitcher plucked up without a word or mention from the older fellow.
[sharp dressed man]
As Kaya gets up to go and leave, Carlan's gaze rakes over the woman for a moment, and whatever he sees makes his smile falter for only a second or two. Then it's back on his face. "I think it would be better if you stay to hear me out," he says, his voice easy. "No one is going to be harmed here, and I'd like to work together past any former disagreements. Please sit."
There is a little shuffling at one of the tables outside the room.
"Nice to meet you, Kage," he adds, with another nod toward the orphan. Travis gives her a wave. "And everyone else, of course."
And then, when the waiter arrives with a pitcher of water, he sits again. Carlan and Kulesza both appear to have started in on a drink or two: an amber liquid poured over ice. "If you've been paying attention to current events at all lately, the reason for the visit shouldn't surprise you. Marauders and Nephandi worry us too."
[Owen]
The dark-haired Chorister is frowning, hard, at both of the Operatives.
While his presence is by no means uncomfortable, there was an edge of something to the boy that made you want to be on guard around him. Perhaps it was the leather jacket [gang member?] or the dirty fingernails [grease monkey?] or it could have just been the spark of something withering, something intense and fixated and somehow -- corrosive. It fit; it always did fit with him.
He seems to be having trouble catching and holding anyone's eye though, his keep flitting away to the side, or glancing at the drink in his hand. "I'd be more comfortable sitting here if you weren't both carrying arms in your jackets." A muscle ticks in Owen's jaw, but he sits, very slowly. He doesn't sound overly happy about the weapons [who would?] but then, he doesn't sound like he's about to jump either man and wrestle them over the menus, either.
[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)
"Huh." Wharil says at that point. Under the table his leg shook, making an occasional thump-thump-thump sound underneath the table. Above, though. He was placid. Aloof. And maybe a little bit condescending.
"I wasn't aware you guys made the distinction. Or maybe this isn't the first time you've been slumming it with the obscenely unnaturals. No, that's not the word. What is it? Anomalies? No. Deviants. Right?"
[Izzy Hargreaves]
Izzy looks interested rather than amused although the smile is still there but it looks more friendly, she's used to this kind of tension..well almost.
[Kaya Talayesva]
Kaya stops, and closes her eyes, her hand coming up to rest on the small pouch that hung around her neck. She turned around slowly and her eyes fell on Jim. "I will listen, but one wrong move, and I swear you will find out what the afterlife is truly like." She moved back to her seat, hanging her coat on the back, and sat down. Past experience has taught her not to drink the water, or order any food. Damn it all, she wished Jon was here.
[K. R. Jakes]
The Orphan slants a frown (brief) toward Owen. Then toward Wharil. Then toward the operatives. The frown isn't there by the time Kaya speaks her piece, hot on the heels of Wharil's remark. Wharil, she knows Wharil, and she knows Gregor, and both Izzy and Owen are as mysterious to Kage as Jim and Travis, and they're all, from her perspective, equally separate from her.
"Let's not debate philosophy," she says, careful and quiet, the righthand corner of her mouth touched by a smile, and this is to Kaya. Or Wharil. Or everybody. "Or be too disingenuous?" Not looking at the menu, now. "The visit is still a surprise. What would you like to touch base on?"
[K. R. Jakes]
The last you, clearly for Travis and Jim again, of course!
[Gregor]
The Mention of guns. The measure of tensions. The rising animosity between the two obvious factions in the room. There is a distinguishing and growing level of discontent amongst each and every body present, shaped and reflected in features and frames with varying reactions. Gregor slides his gaze down to the table and pulls his glass of water infront of him, eying the liquid without reaching for a sip.
Mouth opens. Breath sucks in. About to say something, without looking at anyone. Then, a better thought. A better judgment. Sighing. Listening.
[sharp dressed man]
"And I'd be happier if you all weren't walking weapons, but there you go," Carlan says to Owen, taking the sting out of the words with a wide grin and a sip of the whiskey he has on the table. Kaya just gets a nod, and he lifts his glass in her direction, simultaneously acknowledging and dismissing the threat.
"As for the rest...yes, we do acknowledge a difference. It's like...grapefruits and lemons...no no, that's a terrible metaphor. But the point stands." Carlan shuffles his rocks glass back and forth between his hands over the tablecloth as Kage again asks the purpose for the visit. "We don't blame you for what happened, and I'm sure you acknowledge that they are both dangerous to the Masses."
Kulesza is still silent, sipping his glass and watching the others through brown eyes that are not in the slightest bit fogged with drink. Carlan continues. "I'm sure you can also see why your own involvement is dangerous. We handle these things professionally, and with things being as chaotic as they are, you might hurt someone without meaning to. Get caught in the crossfire yourselves, or confuse my personnel. Obviously, I'd like to help you avoid all of that."
[Gregor]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
(Perception 4 + Awareness 3: Diff 6)
[sharp dressed man]
to Gregor
Kulesza does seem to have some sort of magical effect active.
[Owen]
The boy isn't quite scowling, but his brows are still knit in deep thought, or perhaps it is simply his expression of choice. The brood-some fellow, he crosses his arms over his chest, and retains his silence. He is, apparently, listening to what they have to say, at the very least.
[Wharil Choc]
He tightens his lips into an unhappy but accepting line, and raises a relenting hand up toward Kage, and another to their two hosts.
Both hands get laid flat on the table. Wharil relegates to listening rather than speaking.
At least, for a little while.
"So you're asking us instead to...sit back. Let the big boys handle it?"
[Izzy Hargreaves]
Iz looks between Wharil and the 2 men with her head tilted and still looking interested. "i appreciate that this is probably premature but are you just suggesting a temporary truce until this is worked out?" her voice is even and quite soft, definite english accent there with only a hint of American, she looks and sounds curious rather than accusing or hostile.
[Kaya Talayesva]
Kaya shook her head. "Look, I don't know about any of this. I just moved here recently. So I am not to blame for whatever the hell happened." She was still very tense, her eyes never leaving the 2 men.
[K. R. Jakes]
(skip me, guys! having server-trouble, kage isn't going to say anything else this round anyway.)
[Gregor]
...And Gregor's attention drifts away from the standing Carlan to the silent Kulesza, gaze and demeanor separating from the conversation. His attention remains fixed, intently so, hands wrapping around the glass of water, the gloves and jacket remaining on, the mirrors stitched into the backs of either glove reflecting the situation in miniature tension.
He'd wait until Kulesza felt his gaze or happened to glance in his direction, before narrowing his eyes briefly and clenching his jaw. A deep breath flooded into his system and followed smoothly by a slow exhale past thinned lips.
"...If this is supposed to be...neutral?" A quick glance around the room to see if he had the right word "Then you won't mind if I keep an eye on things?" Something suggestive there. Not simply mundane measure. His head cants toward Kulesza slightly.
"I get the feeling it'd...even things out."
[sharp dressed man]
Carlan looks at Wharil and considers, and then Izzy asks whether he's proposing a truce. He smiles again, nodding in the direction of the young woman with the blue hair. "A truce is a good way of putting it. I'd like to minimize risk to the Masses, and of course it's much easier to -hold- a truce if we don't have to worry about any surprises from all of you."
Then both sets of eyes flick to Gregor. "I'd rather you didn't," Kulesza says. "I took some precautions before coming in, but I think it would confuse things here if there were effects flying around. If we wanted to harm you, we would have."
"Thank you, Travis," Carlan says, though the furrow between his brows was steadily growing the longer the younger man kept talking. "...The point is that yes, we would prefer it if you were to stand back and let us handle this. It's for your safety and ours, and the city's, most importantly."
[Izzy Hargreaves]
((Izzy remains quiet but watchful for the remainder of the "chat" and at the end or if there is violence will try to duck out quietly. no offense to anyone but she doesn't really know any of them. but she will agree to a truce of others do too. I'm gona go crash, g'night))
[Owen]
Owen reaches for his glass, which has been sitting, sweating, for several minutes now. He draws it to his lips, and then hesitates when the Operatives inform them -- well, okay. Something decidedly dark flickers through the young man's eyes, then settles.
He quells the urge to get up and just leave.
Just go.
Door's right there, who's to stop him if there really is some truce at play?
"I wasn't here for this." He adds, omitting exactly when he did get here, and who he is. They haven't pressed, he hasn't offered. "But I'd like to hear why you think you can handle this better than those who clearly," his eyes shift over the others quickly, astutely. "already have been."
[Wharil Choc]
"Woah." He says, turning to Izzy. "A truce suggests present aggression. And at present we're not even close to being aggressive, nor do we plan to." And then back to the operatives.
"I think its important to make that distinction, don't you?"
It would have also been important to make the distinction that there was an 'us', though not to the two men. They obviously already thought in terms of us and them. The rest of them there were undoubtedly thinking of 'me' and 'everybody else.'
There was more, of course. The tightness in his lips and jaws said so. But Owen's question was one that needed answering. Wharil looks to Kage, and then to Gregor, and then to the other faces he didn't recognize, two already washing their hands of the matter.
Why, Mr. Choc. Is that frustration twinkling in your eye?
[Kaya Talayesva]
Kaya held up a hand in frustration, as if dismissing the two men. "First off, I don't know what the hell is going on. Second, if something is going on, I am sure we are more than capable of handling it ourselves than you. I know that from experience. And third, even if we all agree to this.. venture, and it is handled, what then? Will the .... corporation you represent leave Chicago entirely? Or do we then need to watch our backs since I am more than sure you have cameras in here, and have taken all our pictures, and starting assessing us." She folds her arms with a smirk. "Well?"
[K. R. Jakes]
ooc: and skip me one more time!
[Gregor]
...Gregor lays his hands on the table and pushes up. He freezes half-way through the motion, regarding the table cloth. He completes the motion of standing slower this time, as if he didn't want the abruptness of it to interrupt the gathering. It isn't until the others have begun to pull themselves together and turn their animosity on the two 'Operatives' that Gregor steps back from the table.
A helpless sort of smile (Wounded/Scared) is thrown at Kage, before he pulls away from the chair and the table. He glances at Wharil, steps taking him toward the man, where he offers him a hand to shake. A promise as much as a good bye in that gesture. His smile for the Euthanatos is grim but resolute.
Then he's moving toward the door without another word.
[sharp dressed man]
"Need I remind you that you had your chance to handle it, and stop those of your own number from going mad with their own power. That chance has been lost." Carlan's voice hasn't lost any of its warmth - even chiding, he manages to sound kind, like a father reminding a child of its failures and ignored responsibilities. He glances at Owen, brushing a lock of hair back off to the side, his jaw set firm. "Moreover, we have resources and intelligence that you do not, have a vested interest in the city's people that I have yet to see any deviant display, and protocols in place to assuage their safety."
"I also have no intention of being aggressive, as previously stated. Nor does my associate." He looks toward Kaya, bemused at her latter questions.
Gregor gets up to move toward the door, and Carlan and Kulesza both half-rise to their feet before settling again. "Sir. I'd like you to remain until we can all depart together," Carlan says. "...That said, I have little else to say. I'd simply like your agreement and understanding."
[Owen]
"I understand you," the Chorister says in his quiet manner, voice grim. He doesn't look at Gregor as he rises; he only has eyes for the two Operatives, or rather, their lapels. "But I'm not in the habit of agreeing to things that I don't actually, well," there's a tiny expression of mirth, of a deep-seated belief [faith] that what he's saying is true.
"Believe in."
[Wharil Choc]
Wharil takes his eyes off the negotiators only long enough to shake Gregor's hand with both of his. An unhappy frown tells him 'please don't go' but with a shaking leg and worried eyes that say 'save yourself' at the same time.
The same look is passed to Kage as well, even though she still made no move to leave, and then passed over Kaya and Owen in turn. Ignorance was a weakness. Disorder. Their cards were set plain on the table for everyone to see.
"Obviously." Wharil starts again. "Theres a misunderstanding. And at the risk of insulting you or your...organization, your intelligence is faulty. The people that you see here aren't the people that you would have seen a year ago. Perhaps not even a month ago. As they've admitted they don't even know the circumstances, much less the current situation. Hell, we hardly know each other."
Again, his eyes wander around the table, but mostly at the two faces he didn't recognize, and the two faces he didn't exactly trust.
"I, on the other hand can speak for my organization. The events leading up to this point were..." His chest swells, his shoulders tense as he tries to come up with a diplomatic term.
"...Fucked up, since we're meeting over drinks. Fucked up beyond repair. But, being a varied group, we don't have the luxury of getting trigger happy the first time someone freaks us out. Sort of the pot calling the kettle black, y'know?"
"Now lets stop dicking around. This is either a negotiation or a threat. Now I like you guys." Said flatly. Unconvincing. "I like your style. Want the name of your tailor. So I'm gonna tell myself that its a negotiation."
He looks around now, stretching his neck to look beyond and toward Gregor, wondering if he'd turn back. "Are we...not allowed to leave then? Am I to understand we're being held here against our will? Not very good negotiating tactics. Not very convincing neutral ground."
Wharil reaches for the pitcher of water and pours himself a glass finally. Under the table his leg still shakes. Above, he is still placid, if a bit resigned.
"My associate isn't good with public interactions. As a member of our organization I...I speak on his behalf."
"So there's what you want. For us to remain uninvolved. For us to 'stand back.' You should know its not that simple. Can we talk this out? Exchange certain assurances, perhaps?"
[Kaya Talayesva]
She looked as Gregor tried to leave, and he too was stopped. Now she was curious to what would happen if someone did try to leave. Her attention turned back to Jim and the quiet one beside him. She listened intently to Wharil. His arguements were sound.
"Personally, I want nothing to do with this. Or with you. Well, make that, -especially- with you. Now, from my understanding, something really shitty has happened. And it's so bad that you want to intervene. Maybe you think you can handle it better than us. But you really haven't given us a chance to remedy this situation ourselves. But, if we are doing this by vote? Guess what. I vote no. I will not agree to this truce or negotiation, or even if this is a threat. From what I see here, and my experiences with your organization, we are more than capable of handling this ourselves, and still able to remove you from the city."
[K. R. Jakes]
The red-haired (Orphan) woman has listened to the conversation now for a little while without saying anything. Her attention has switched from man to man to woman back to one of the men and thence to Kaya again. They've built up an image, the Technocracy: this slick, untouchable image, and it scares people like Traditionalists (and Orphan mages, too). Conventionalists. The war is over: but is it -- really? How do you end a war like that? What do you do?
She hasn't been saying anything, but she's been thinking quite a lot of things. We don't blame you, they say, and you had your chance, and her eyes tarnish [no brightness, no gleam, no luminaries], and her pulse flickers like a star about to gutter (or explode). Otherwise, well -- whatever she is, she is assured, collected, woman who is poised no matter (almost) what. When Gregor stands, she looks after him seriously.
Wharil talks, a lot. Most of what he says, if not exactly how he says it, she is on the same page with. Owen, she's on that page, too. Kaya, though: Kaya makes her eyebrows draw together, makes her gesture [careless elegance] toward her water, for an instant. All this time, Jim and Travis have referred to you. Have shaped the mages around this table into an entity (deviance [weapons]). This didn't bother her. This wasn't a thorn, catching her wrist. This wasn't a papercut on her thumb. Kaya says we, and that threat, and Kage clears her throat.
"You don't sound like you're seeing very much here except your past experiences. And, well. I'm talking not just talking to the pretty lady. I'm listening, and I do understand, and I also really appreciate the head's up. You guys are on it: thank you. But how many deviants do you hang with? The city is just something that people made; it's the people who are important. And if there are a couple of people here who don't want to have this conversation, why would you like them to stay?" Because she doesn't understand it.
But she doesn't like meetings, either. Better to get people one on one.
[Gregor]
Gregor remains in the doorway threshold, regarding the Dining collective as Wharil speaks, eyes regarding the...Sleepers? was that the name they'd referred to them as? Appropriate if condescending. He sighs as Wharil pushes at the operatives and puts something in Gregor's head at the same time: Are we not allowed to leave?
Gregor pulls back from the curtain and the outside, turning slowly to regard the pair of 'Suits', his features gone from grim to grave, a vague pallor climbing into his features, fingers flexing around the leather and felt of either glove, mirrors catching low light reflections.
"...I..." He starts, just in after Kage, gaze flitting to the young Orphan, then back to the Operatives. "I think neutral ground is necessary. This feels too..." A beat. Hesitation. Eyes around the house.
"...So many of us and we obviously don't know each other enough. Feels more like we've been herded into a pen and you're not helping that by telling me what you'd like. You did this wrong. You did this poor. You make me nervous and I don't like it. I want to leave and you should...you should talk to those who want...who can talk to you without letting things get in the way. Then they can talk to the rest of us when we're ready to listen."
Another pause, next words a low sort of dismissal.
"...Not like this. Not like fish, not like barrels."
[sharp dressed man]
Carlan and Kulesza are both attentive while Wharil speaks. Relaxed. They both sip their drinks; Kulesza drains his first and frowns at it for a moment, rattling the ice about before looking back up at the Euthanatos.
"My reluctance to let you leave," Carlan says, with a glance in Gregor's direction, "has less to do with a desire to -force- you to stay and much more with the recognition that this is tenuous ground. I would prefer to have all of you in front of me until we depart." He makes a broad gesture to the other magi in the room, and the implication is clear: they outnumber the two of them.
Then he pauses. Sets his glass down. And he folds his hands on top of the table in front of him and seems to be giving the other man's words some thought. "If you would be willing to compare intel and keep me updated on your movements - all of your movements, for the duration of this operation - then I think we would be well informed enough to work together temporarily."
Kaya gets an almost lazy glance. "And you, perhaps, might want to consult with your compatriots before you jump to conclusions about what has or hasn't been done here."
[K. R. Jakes]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[mrr? anything up?]
[Gregor]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
(Perception 4 + Awareness 3: Diff. 6)
[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
Wharil sighed deeply and noticeably when Kaya spoke. He spared her any whithering looks or rolled eyes, however. Obviously annoyed, he only adjusts the position of his as-yet un-quaffed glass of water. They were talking. Actually negotiating. That was good. They were also afraid, they admitted, to let them out of their sight. That...could go either way.
"By 'this operation' are you referring solely to the Marauder's activity?"
[Perc 4 (Hidden) + Awareness 4 (emotions)]
[Owen]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4)
[Percept + Awareness, -2 Acute Senses]
[Kaya Talayesva]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
((rolling: Where's Waldo?))
[sharp dressed man]
to Gregor, Owen, Wharil Choc
There is definitely something that Carlan is trying to conceal from them. They all notice it in different ways - his hands stiffen a little when he mentions the Marauder, or he speaks a little faster, or he tries to deflect their attention. Either way, there is something he's trying to cover up. They can draw the conclusion that there's a -reason- he doesn't want them working on this.
[sharp dressed man]
to K. R. Jakes, Kaya Talayesva
Carlan is definitely hiding something. There's something he's not telling them, or not being entirely upfront about, when it comes to the Marauder.
[Kaya Talayesva]
She frowned, shaking her head lightly. "Perhaps, if you told us everything, we might be a bit more...understanding. Don't you think so?"
[K. R. Jakes]
Her glance shades to something -- sympathetic [and wry] when Carlan answers her. Because Kage is a contemplative creature, and because she'd like to hear what their answer to Wharil's question is, she only listens -- only cants her head slightly to the side, gaze skimming over Owen, over Kaya [stop, for a second], back to the two men who didn't send out an invitation in case it wouldn't be answered. She takes a sip of her water.
[sharp dressed man]
"I'm referring to the containment of the Marauder and possible Nephandic entities as well," Carlan says, with a glance at Wharil.
Kulesza's eyes narrow at Kaya. "You aren't really in the sort of position where we -need- your understanding," he begins, and then Carlan raises a hand to cut him off. Silence, bad cop.
Carlan looks at her and continues to speak. "I don't think I have any information about this that you -don't- have, miss..." He pauses where he would normally say her name, and then gives a quick shrug. "I think, some of you having known the parties in question before they - converted? - you in fact have the advantage over me."
[Wharil Choc]
Kaya turns the tables now, and after a moment of contemplation Wharil seems to nod in agreement. They didn't know her name. Neither did they. But they knew that already.
"Right, lets bring everybody at the table up to speed then."
"There's a Marauder." He says, holding his hands out to his sides and speaking with the same simplified concern with which one would state 'There's a rat in the house.' For those of you that don't know that's a mage, one of us, that's gone crazy. Crazy like you've never seen before. Crazy and dangerous. To everyone. To reality itself. Now that Marauder, we believe was driven that way by a pair of Nephandi."
And here he turns to the other stranger, fresh-faced Owen. "That's...well a bit more complicated. Same sort of danger as marauders, but sane. Calculating."
And finally, back to the operatives.
"And recently quite dead. Hm. You mention containment." A pause, noticeable, in which Wharil's face turns serious and his eyes drink the two men in. Watching. Daring for them to flinch, twitch, or otherwise tip a hand.
"That's an expensive venture. Containment. You really have those kinds of resources?"
[Owen]
Owen has been making a quiet study of Carlan while he speaks; his midnight blue eyes on his hands when he mentions the Marauder, on his speech pattern, the way it ebbed and flowed; the way he caught and diverted attention. His eyes drift briefly to Kage when he finds himself the subject of study in return. The line in his brow smooths, and is she imagining that he gives her the tiniest of smiles?
Some half hooked corner of his mouth before he looks away, back to the floor; the glass.
The empty space in front of him where food should be.
His stomach rumbled.
"What sort of position are you suggesting she is, in?" Owen asks, quiet and menacing -- well, maybe just quiet and not-quite-pleased. Then Wharil speaks up, and tells him a few things he already knows, but he looks at the man as if he appreciates being included, none the less.
[Kaya Talayesva]
"Nephandi are demonic sources. Whether they are mage or not, doesn't really matter. But they can be even more dangerous than mauraders sometimes."
She sighed. "No, I never was in any position for anything, was I? And since clearly I have no involvement in this matter, why do you continue to persist that I stay? Oh wait, let me guess. Your thugs still can't find my file, can they? And that won't happen, I promise you."
[sharp dressed man]
"The sort of position where it would be much more mutually beneficial to work together with us," Carlan says, looking sidelong at Owen. Still with the warm tones: smooth, attempting to deflect and reassure. Perhaps even somewhat understanding - he knows why they feel threatened.
"Madam," he says, looking at Kaya with a strained expression, "I've explained why I wished for you to stay. But thank you for confirming your identity for me. I was slightly in doubt."
The operatives listen to Wharil's explanation, and at one point they glance toward each other, as though something has been confirmed. Carlan takes a moment to ask for another drink before he turns his attention back to Wharil. "We have the sorts of resources and procedures that would allow us to completely contain and neutralize high-class threats like these, yes," he says. "They aren't used often."
[Gregor]
...There is a sudden and sharp reaction, Gregor leaning forward. Stepping forward, head canted, eyes narrowed.
"...What procedures?"
[sharp dressed man]
"Procedures that neutralize deviant activity," Carlan says, unblinking.
[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Perc + Awareness]
[Wharil Choc]
"Mm." Is all he says. An understanding sound. One that, coupled with the slight smile just showing at the corners of his lips.
"And the Nephandi? You undoubtedly have a plan to round up the rest of their number in the city. How can you assure us that our people won't get caught up in your investigation?"
[Kaya Talayesva]
Kaya shook her head and got up, coat in her arms after pulling it off the chair, and started out. "I'm leaving. And if I am followed, you will be sorry."
[sharp dressed man]
to Wharil Choc
He isn't attempting to deceive them there. If he's vague it's mostly because he isn't sure how to put it into terms they would understand and isn't prepared to elaborate because he isn't sure they'd like the idea of tearing out someone's Avatar.
[sharp dressed man]
"So long as we know where they are and know where they'll be moving," he tells Wharil, "I doubt there will be a problem. But I am going to have to leave it to the discretion of my people, unfortunately, if we don't have information available."
Kaya prepares herself to leave, and Carlan frowns at her for a few moments. The five people sitting at the table right outside the door stir for a moment. Then he says, "I think we're finished here, anyway, unless you have anything to add. I'm willing to leave you with my contact information so you can keep me updated on your movements."
[Wharil Choc]
Wharil looks up as Kaya stands and makes to leave and does so quite determined in fact. Quickly his eyes try to catch Gregor's at the door, and nods toward Kaya as she leaves. If there was danger out there she might need a hand, assuming Gregor was willing to lend one. And if not...She'd been invited to this party just like the rest of them. It'd pay to find out just who she was.
"That sounds fine to me. I'll have to talk to the rest of our group before I can give you an answer."
[Kaya Talayesva]
Kaya just looks at those at the who are noticably ready to move in. Her eyes narrow a bit. "Not caged in, huh?" she looked over her shoulder to Jim. "If you are as smart as you say, I'm sure you won't have a problem finding me. Just remember this, alot has happened in 10 years. Like a fine wine, only gets better with age. Maybe even....stronger?"
And with that, she continues on her way.
[K. R. Jakes]
Kage -- watches Kaya go; sits up straight this time. Stays wordless, though; closes her eyes for a moment (don't dream). Opens them, and words have found her. Brief glance, for Wharil, briefer glance, for Gregor -- or Gregor's back, when he disappears through the curtain after Kaya. "Well," she says, and reaches up, to press her palm against the back of her neck. So, okay, maybe only one word has found her.
[Gregor]
Gregor steps aside for Kaya to exit, catching Wharil's look with a flicker of a frown. His head shakes slowly, fists clenching, lips doing some odd dance that threatens words only to clap shut around the edge of discomfort in the room. He misses Kage's glance, turning instead to regard both the Operatives. The moment for more conversation and questions is-
"Whatever you're going to do...however...however you're going to do it? You're gonna get someone hurt." The frown deepens, jacket pulled closed and buttoned as quickly as he can.
"...Should have just left it alone." And he turns a nod toward Kage and Wharil, before vanishing out the curtain himself.
[sharp dressed man]
Carlan passes a business card to Wharil before he leaves, and hesitates with another in hand, ready to hand it to Kage or Owen if either of them want to take it. His eyes meet Gregor's and he just gives a slow shake of the head.
"Good night," the Operative calls after them, and then turns back to the table as his drink arrives.
[Owen]
Owen watches Kaya with mingled surprise and some degree of confusion -- there seemed to be an amazing amount of anger in that young woman, Hell, there was an awful lot of restrained anger in himself. He sits there, reaches for the card if it's offered his way and flips it over, scanning it with his eyes.
"Thanks." He says to the pair of Operatives, and rises to his feet, he shrugs his arms back into the sleeves of his old, worn jacket and doesn't glance at the others more than fleetingly, before he makes for the door; still as nameless as when he'd entered.
[K. R. Jakes]
"Hey," Kage says, to Wharil, once the rest flee. "I'll catch up with you." And she means it. She'd actually like to talk to him. "I'm going to order some food." She does take a business card -- why not?
[Wharil Choc]
Wharil glances at the card before sliding it into his pocket, then stands, unfolds his coat, and slides his arms in. He doesn't offer a parting salutation to the Operatives, and little more than a pointed look to Kage. Another one was leaving. He'd have to catch this one himself.
A hand falls tentatively on Owen's shoulder and his voice comes soft and tightly apprehensive. He doesn't stop him, only catches up close enough to touch, and then speak as they walk out together.
"Hey. Uh...I dunno. We should have a beer or something if you're up for it. Somewhere other than here of course."
[Owen]
The hand goes to fall on Owen's shoulder, but he's just a touch too edgy, or too aware perhaps, that Wharil -- that someone is behind him -- and he slips just shy of contact. He gives Wharil a good look at his expression though; that marked wary slash curious look on a youngish face that's handsome, but clearly constricted by something very real that is taking its toll on his interpersonal skills.
"I don't drink," he says quietly, somewhat apologetic, and then says, easier now with just the one. "But I'll come." There's a pronounced leap of silence, it stretches like melted taffy until Owen finally summons himself up to offer across a rough, worker's hand to shake. "Owen."
