[I can start, unless someone else is raring to.]
Lena Reilly[[Go for it!]]
Jim[ Do it. ]
Jim[ We're so motivational. ]
Fr. EcheverríaTook him until halfway through the week to use the contact information left for him by a skittish Orphan. The information came with the caveat that the woman might drop in to properly introduce herself but Father Echeverría isn't terribly fond of waiting around for other people to act. He called Lena first.
He suggested they meet by the boathouse in City Park Sunday evening. Wasn't much of a suggestion--summers are busy for people in the business of baptizing babies and marrying and burying people.
And he may or may not have contacted Jim to be like Hey man meeting this Cultist you know her because he may or may not have Jim's info. His player doesn't remember.
Anyway here he is and he's wearing his usual stylish all-black getup and his aura is bright-as. Even if this is someone's first introduction to him the priest is difficult to miss.
Sid[magidar is a go-go]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )
Patience Mason[Scanning]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
Jim[ Who-a-har-you. ]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Fr. Echeverría[fine...]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 6, 10, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 2
Lena Reilly[[Spider-Sense Tingling? Spec: Uncanny Instincts]]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 3
SidIt's a pretty okay night to walk and talk with new friends. The air is still a bit wet from the recent rainfall, the sky is darkening toward sunset, lights around the paths of the park are starting to come on.
There is an odd looking pair of women walking together, odd because, well, mostly because of the one. The extremely tall one. The woman in the clothes that look like they came from another era, but this poster will let that player describe that character's clothing. The woman walking beside her is shorter, with a fall of long red hair that spills over her shoulders. Sid is a bit frumpy looking as usual in a faded black tee over a pair of worn out jeans, brown messenger bag slung across her body to rest against her hip. She is aware as ever of her surroundings, though more than a bit distracted by her walking partner. She's listening more than she's speaking, which means she's getting better at understanding Patience's strange speech patterns.
Her head comes up, though, as they round a bend, senses picking up on the faint traces of other resonances, familiar ones at that. When she spots Pan she nudges Patience's arm and nods her head in that direction. If the good padre is going to be introduced to one new mage tonight, he might as well squeeze in another.
JimThe Cultist makes his way through the park, flippity-flops-flapping and a'slapping on the paved path as he wanders his way over to the boathouse. He has an ice cream cone in one hand, and large strawberry scoop set on top of a jagged waffle cone that's threatening not to make it as melted sugar-cream runs down its sides and onto the napkin that wraps it up.
Jim is wearing a pair of red shorts, the crumple of fabric and bow of white drawstrings showing they're swimming trunks, and a dark grey v-neck that each drip threatens to stain. He walks stooped forward and face buried in the treat, working on getting as much of it as he can before the rest is lost to the heat and whatever bugs will find its remains.
His trail intersects with Sid and Patience, and he spies the one he knows almost eclipsed by the other. He shuts his phone, after firing of an Almost there text to Pan. Then he clears his throat, to get the two women's attention, smiling at Sid and nodding at Patience. He holds out the ice cream cone to them both, sputtering a, "Help," as he smacks the temple of his head like a bad case of brain freeze is setting in, eyes squinting closed as he joins them.
Patience MasonThe DMNS had been an interesting experience, as Patience often found whenever she visited science centers. She often described it an intriguing mixture of science and fiction, of course that wasn't necessarily the scientists fault, they weren't operating with a full understanding of the world around them, how could one postulate and formulate a suitable thesis without all of the data afterall?
Regardless of this the time spent with the younger woman named Sid had been refreshing, hell it had been downright fun. They had laughed, they had joked [in so much that Patience could manage a joke, and since the DMNS had closed they had wandered the park and enjoyed the evening air.
It was true that the woman who stood there like she was out of a movie poster or an old historical photo was tall. She topped out at an easy six feet, and that was without the extra inch or two added by the kitten heels she wore as they strode along at a casual pace. Her hair was an honest and dirty blonde, worn loose about her shoulders, but upon the top of her head rested a pair of victory curls which gave her the look of wearing laurels.
She wore an elegant frock which feel to her ankles in a dark blue with a lighter blue dress jacket covering her upper torso, upon her feet the kitten heels, much like the rest of her clothing looked old and hand made, a distinct lack of designer tags and machine stitching helped to make the woman seem...otherworldly.
When the man in his swim trunks walks up, and sputters help as he held out his ice cream Patience's sky blue eyes blinked and looked from Jim to Sid before asking.
"Inquiry, is this affirmed personage identifiable and itemized within your noospheric environment Sid?"
Lena ReillyLena was happy to hear from Father Echeverría and said she be happy to meet him. She agrees to the meeting place and time (after checking her calendar--okay Sunday, good, she rarely works then) and when that point rolls around she's making her way up. The girl is dressed casually; a silvery tank-top to avoid getting overheated and a pair of black jeans, just a little low at the hips. A pair of Docs complete the ensemble...oh, yeah, there's also the coffee. She has it so regularly you could almost consider it apparel.
She looks around as she comes up at the vicinity, but the caffeine appears to have hypersharpened her senses and she knows where to look before she glances around. She recognizes Pan and Jim very vaguely from the cabin, but they didn't talk. Sid and Patience she recognizes and actually knows, albeit Patience only once. She waves to them, a warm smile on her face, as she walks up toward Pan. He also gets a smile of greeting, more friendly than warm.
"Hi...thanks for meeting me." She reaches out a hand to the other. "I'm Lena."
Hawksley Rothschild[perception + awareness]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 4, 7, 7) ( success x 2 )
SidSid doesn't laugh, at least not in a loud, obvious, and boisterous way. But it's true, walking through the halls of the museum she had chuckled a few times, and her rare smiles had been not so rare in the presence of the scientist. It carried with her up to now, out in the open, seeing Pan in the distance and then having their trek interrupted by the appearance of Jim.
Help, he says, and she reaches out automatically for the cone. When she has it she just sort of holds it there, suddenly unsure of what the next step in this particular rescue was supposed to be.
She nods to Patience, though. "This is Jim. Jim, this is Patience."
Fr. EcheverríaAs Lena draws closer she can make out details about the man she'd only seen from a distance several weeks ago: his hair was black and his build was solid once, both before Time got ahold of him, and he wears his cell phone clipped to his belt. He smokes a cigarillo and from that rolled cylinder of tobacco comes the resonance the others can pick up from a distance. He's Watching the Weaving.
He turns towards her when she's maybe ten feet from him and her smile begets another. With the cigarillo in his left hand he offers his right. No rings on any of his fingers, no jewelry but for the watch he wears on his right wrist. Plain stainless steel casing, banged-up links. His grip is firm but not overpowering.
"Lena," he says, and his voice is bright as his aura. His island accent's gone watery so far gone from its home. "Francisco. Very nice to meet you." He glances to the congregation not far from them about the time his cell phone buzzes.
Hawksley RothschildAt the bandstand by Ferril lake, City Park Jazz is starting to wrap up. The majority of people in attendance are people who live in this neighborhood, across the street in the large houses, down Colorado Boulevard in the small apartments. Some have small children dozing on their laps or running around trying not to be bored by the music.
Over that-a-way, a group of magi are congregating gradually, an over this-a-way, there is another magi dragging a rented kayak up from the water. His boat shoes are well-worn, his shorts are made to wick water away but are not really intended for swimming properly, and he's wearing a yellow bandana like a sweatband. Other than the boat shoes and the shorts and the bandana and gold pendant in the shape of a single wing that hangs over his sternum, however, he's not wearing anything else.
He feels like sunlight. Or: like laying out in the sunlight, closing your eyes, letting it wash over you, soak through your skin, make you molten. The only thing cutting through that bright heat is the inexplicable feeling of flight, light as a feather that isn't made of gold, light as hollow-boned things are light, wafting on air currents in ever-ascending circles.
Straightening up after returning the kayak and its paddle, he looks over his shoulder. It isn't anything obvious. It's just a feeling, a clamor of sensations, all of them different. The people that are drifting towards one another, some here and some there, all have a strangeness about them, and that's before you get to the one very tall woman's victory curls. And then he sees Jim, and the quirk his mouth is taking burst into a full-on grin. He throws both arms in the air.
"HEY. JIM."
Patience MasonThe fact that Jim was awakened was not lost on Patience, the fact that so many people in one area were awakened was a bit of a revelation. To see so many awakened in one public place...was a rarity in these later days. Her lips pursed her lips gently as she took the ice cream cone from the man and gestured to him with her free hand.
"Positively aligned sociological and inter-personalized verbal approvals Jim. It is an acknowledgeable and indexable temporal juncture to affirm and categorize your existence." All of this is said with the warmth of a friendly hello and the offering of a hand to shake.
She watches him, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as she considers his state, both of his clothing and of his current discomfort, how things change..and how things stay the same.
"Dermal application of thermally conductive materials to the internal and external jugular veins will allay the onset of the malady commonly referenced as 'Brain Freeze'." She offers helpfully, gesturing to his neck.
Jim"Have...Some..." Finally he's remembered the trick. Always too late. Maybe always so late that by the time the brain freeze is wearing off you just convince yourself it's because you're pressing your tongue on the roof of your mouth like your friend told you that one time.
"Patience," straightening, taking back the cone if Sid or Patience in fact doesn't want some, though he looks at her like maybe the former has been replaced by a murderous robot if she doesn't. Especially after hearing the way Patience talks. And then Sid introduces her and he feels the familiar resonance. Knows it's her. A smile spreads on his face, first directed at Sid, and then at Patience. "Jim. That's me. I like your curls," a glance up at her hair, and then back down to her eyes. "And your words."
His name comes shouted from lakeside, finally, and Jim breaks his attention from the two women. He waves his hand at Hawksley, arm high and back and forth, then waves him over.
Attention back on Patience and Sid, he points up at Pan. "The Padre's meeting with Lena up at the boathouse. It's a regular hootenanny. I know that guy. I'm going to go grab him." Leaving them, he jogs down to meet Hawksley halfway.
"We got..." Counting on his fingers, and then looking like he's lost count anyway, he throws his head over his shoulder, turning and expecting for Hawksley to follow. "A bunch of us. Let's just say if the mirrorshades were to show up they'd need a paddy wagon. Come on. Meet the group."
SerafinePer + Awareness
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )
Hawksley RothschildHawksley is waved over, and does come over, shrugging into a dark blue knit belted sweater with a couple of thick horizontal stripes in red along the sides. He doesn't tie it up, but at least gives the illusion of some form of cover, some protection against a rising chill. Halfway, Jim meets up with him, and you'd think that Hawksley and he were old friends... at least according to how Hawksley behaves, throwing an arm around the guy and slapping his back a couple of times, a regular bro-hug if you ever did see one.
"Awesome," he says, looking from Jim to the redhead and the lady-giant. He doesn't ask for an exact number. Paddywagon makes him laugh. That grin just won't quit. He checks his pockets and makes sure he's not missing anything, then walks back over with Jim.
SidSid took the cone first, and she did try it. She gave it a little experimental lick and pulled a face. Strawberry. No thank you. But she is still herself. More herself than the last time they saw each other, and more again besides. The quiet of her has no tension, in fact she seems more relaxed than she's been in his presence...ever.
Straightening a little, craning to look beyond him to the padre, she nods. "We saw him," she says, and her gaze shifts to the other Ecstatic. "And Lena," she says, and her voice is a touch brighter. Jim is going to grab that guy, and Sid turns a little to follow his gaze so that she can properly look at the newest with some concern. She looks up at Patience and nods her head over to the other two. "We should say hi."
Lena ReillyShe doesn't at all mind the smoking from Pan; its a habit that she engages in from time to time herself, after all. "Nice to meet you too, Francisco. I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to actually talk earlier...other things were obviously a bit of a priority, and I thought it would be best to hold off on pleasantries and the 'getting to know you' chit-chat until after the fact."
More people seem to be gathering in the location; a happy convergence of fate. Lena decides to hold off on getting too in-depth on conversation until everyone has intersected and instead chooses to engage in a bit of small talk. "I haven't had a chance to explore this particular part of the city yet. It's a nice area." She turns her sea-green eyes back to the Father, head cocking inquisitively. "Is this a common gathering point, or just happenstance?"
It's a question with nothing more than curiosity behind it; no apparent attempt to dig for more is evident in the way she asks.
SerafineToday Sera is wearing: a short pink dress covered with a print of cartoon bumblebees over thigh-high fishnets held up by black garters. Which are deliberately visible, thank you very much, and although she was wearing heels, some hours in the park (the picnic, the sun and the grass and the grass and the box o' win later) have worn her down and when she gets that niggling little feeling that something's fucking afoot our heroine has long since given up wearing the heels. So: she's carrying them in one hand, walking in stocking feet through the grass toward the boathouse, waving goodbye to her friends as she wanders over in that direction.
Coming toward Pan and Lena from the opposite direction as Sid and Patience and Jim and now Hawksley. Sidles up behind Pan gives him a side-hug and reaches for the cigarello he's holding like it is the sort of smoke you puff and pass, rather than the sort one enjoys alone by the lakeside.
It was a hot day so her hair is all pulled back and collar of her dress has slipped off her left shoulder to show a black bra strap. We are always proud of her when she remembers conventional things like saying hello and wearing underwear. Listen, " - Hey," to Lena, a lazy (stoned. indulgent.) smile.
Holding on to Pan like they're old friends, her left arm snaked around the priest's waist. "Can't be happenstance. Gotta be like. Like." A deep sigh, like Serafíne takes pleasure even in the movement of her fucking lungs. Then another one, like the first was a fucking revelation. Is she gonna say convergence or fate? No. " - summer. Who wants to stay in the fucking house?"
Patience MasonPatience had taken the cone after Sid had taken a taste, watching with curiosity as she pulled a face and shaken her head. The Etherite took a moment to examine the cone, turning it slowly in her hand, her head turned to the side as if to listen, and then briefly...she sniffed it. It seemed that in the end she took Sid's taste observation for what it was, and simply gave the cone back to Jim.
Jim the man who had offered her kind words, and which had brought a warm but small smile to her lips and a nod of her head. "Your verbal affirmatives are acknowledged and affirmed in a positively alligned category Jim." She said in thanks before the man ran off. As he did so the blonde levelled her gaze and took in the sight of the flock of magi that was steadily growing about them and turned her head slightly as Sid spoke of going to say hello.
She nods, but Sid might notice a slight tightening of her features as she began to stride forward, speaking as she went. "Such convergences of distinct and ideo-paradigmic individualized personages is of a statistical probability that at this temporal juncture un-correlatable, and quite infinitesimal. However the probability of opposing socio-political paradgmic amalgamations interfering in such circumstances is directly proportional in magnitude to the infinitesimal properties of the gathering." It is a warning, her tone says it is...but then her face brightens and she strides on.
"Statistical data points however are prone to inflexibility and a failure to account for auto-accumulative variables in the temporal equation...so...moot." She says with a shrug as her grin widens and she moves to join the others.
Fr. EcheverríaHe excuses himself between one explanation and the other, as if he's actually stepping away from the conversation to attend to the text message. As quick as he can bring it up and read it, he's got the phone put away again. It claps shut like a door and he puts it back in its clip with inexpert stabbing motions. It's a wonder he remembered to bring it with him. He and the phone aren't extensions of each other.
Lena wants to know if it's a common gathering point and Pan's eyes are tracking the points of movement across the grass. Can't track what's behind him though he can feel her approach from an arbitrary enough distance. Her arm doesn't surprise him and he gives up the cigarillo without a fight. It's hers now. He puts his right arm around her shoulders and gives them a game squeeze, silent submission to sustained physical contact.
"Well, Sera," he says, "you do have a point." To Lena: "How are you finding the rest of the city?"
JimJim's hand comes up to the shoulder closer to him as Hawksley loops his arm over, hooking on it to hold it there and steer them to the group, and when they finally meet up with the arrayed magi, his arm reaches up so that his index finger can point down at the crown of the other willworker's head.
"Everyone, this is Hawksley. Hawksley, this is everyone," like he might leave everyone to give their names. But he doesn't.
"We've got the Pan and Lena and Patience and Serafine and Sid," indicating each as he slaps the palm of his hand onto the top of Hawkley's head. As he gives the names his index finger snakes down from above his peripheral vision like an indicator on a heads up display, pointing to each name's possessor as he goes on.
"Hawksley seems alright. What do you think, Serafine? Oh, that's right, you know Serafine. Serafine, he's alright, right?" Looking to her like he expects a good joke for an answer.
Hawksley RothschildThere's only one person here that Hawksley finds familiar, and that is Jim here. It doesn't seem to bother him. In fact, walking towards Sid and Patience, he looks positively delighted at the opportunity to meet them. This is the guy who randomly met two Cultists at Red Rocks and after the concert had a list of more than a dozen people to invite to his inevitable house party. When he gets a house. He can feel the convergence of energy, he looks lit up with it.
So he's shaking hands with Patience, shaking hands with Sid, and he's the sort who makes eye contact, who has a firm grip and warm hands with unfamiliar callouses here and there, but not the sort you get from working a single damn day in your life. "Hawksley Rothschild," he says to the two ladies, with hearty pumps of their hands, even though Jim already said his name. "A distinct pleasure," he says to Patience when her name is given. "An honor," he tells Sid, for the same. All grins, those pretty blue eyes of his full of the sort of light he seems to be made of, even after dark.
They're walking as they're talking, Jim is lifting a hand and Hawksley is neatly ducking away from being patted on the head, but looking where Jim points all the same. He doesn't make an issue of it. He doesn't snarl or glare or grow violent. The grin on his face turns briefly into a smirk, he swivels his head away, and takes in the names given as Jim is pointing out Pan and Lena and Sera as well. "Oh no," he tells the Cultist, "I remember that one."
They're there. And he's folding his arms over Jim's shoulder, resting his chin on his forearms, which puts his head right next to Jim's head as they settle in as a gang of seven. He gives a nod to Lena, Sera, Pan. "Hey." Another grin.
Lena ReillyLena takes the arrival of Sera without discomfort; she doesn't mind new people. Hell, she's a DJ; she's used to being in crowds, though admittedly those crowds aren't usually about the people around you and more their heartbeat, heat and energy joining yours in the dance. This is an altogether different kind of group and yet she isn't any the more anxious for it.
Well, almost any less. It's never that easy to be the newcomer in a group where most others seem to know each other, and when you're pretty much set apart from most of humanity (in at least some degree) by that strange feeling you give off, it's that much more important to know people. And now everyone is all together, and names are getting thrown about. That leaves Pan's question to her cut off, at least for the moment.
"Hi." She gives a wave all around. "Nice to meet everyone."
SidSid does notice the tension in the taller mage, which echoes through her, as well. A month ago she would have seen a bunch of mages converging and said, Nope, not today, and she would have turned and walked away, hoping to avoid notice. Today she goes toward them willingly, if a touch nervously. She knows these people better than she would have thought, even likes a few, even gets defensive of one or two of them. One new face isn't enough to send her into a tailspin of fear that sends her running, right?
She reaches out to the woman and touches the tips of her fingers to the back of Patience's arm, once, very lightly as if to check to see...is this okay? Is this alright? Because Jim has already gone off and Sera's way over there and so is Lena. When the Etherite fails to react negatively to the touch, Sid relaxes her hand into the other woman's, wraps her fingers around hers and holds on gently. For support, really. And strength.
"Statistics don't take into account this park," she says in response, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faint smile. When they reach the others at last, Sid nods a slight greeting to those she knows, coupled with that slight-ish smile for Sera and Lena, who she knows better than Pan. Hawksley is greeted with a tightening of brows, but it's hard to stay terribly distrustful in the face of that energy, his resonance, his smile. She does not reach for his outstretched hand, but she does say, "Hi," as she averts her gaze from his direct look.
One new face isn't enough to send her running for the hills, but it's enough to bring that shyness of hers to the surface.
Serafine"I always have a point?" The statement turns into a question only because Sera has looped far enough around Pan to glance off port-side and identify: Jim and Hawskley and Sid and a strange and very tall woman and all their resonance hums around her like a cloud of feedback, the evening air seems to thrum with it. Identify them just as they are rolling up, with introductions and Jim and -
See: Serafíne in her little pink dress, stocking feet in the grass (or whatever), her eyes bloodshot, ridiculous heels hanging from the left arm wrapped around the priest who is (we will note) a solid nine inches taller than she is, so her head kinda comes up to his shoulder. Maybe.
She takes a lungful of the smoke from the cigarello then offers it to back to Pan, all thoughtful.
Exhales a cloud of smoke as Jim asks her if Hawksley's alright, right? She flashes them both a sudden, slashing sort of grin while the (tobacco, sorry) smoke is sort of wreathing around her head. "Dee's entire fucking roller derby team seemed to think so.
"Even the blockers. That's quite a fucking endorsement.
"HE," she goes on, pointing at Pan's head. " - is a fucking priest. With like confession and everything. And a roof.
"SID."
Not precisely an introvert, Sera. Give her five more minutes (or a bit more of some substance or other) and she'll probably flash her underwear.
Sid[i like rolling dice for no good reason: ack! why am i getting yelled at!: paranoid awareness-empathy roll]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
Hawksley RothschildDee's entire fucking roller derby team seemed to think so.
Hawksley's grin flashes anew, right at her, in answer to that. He remembers Dee's entire fucking roller derby team. And how that one, Emily (also known as Honey Bunches of Chokes of the Denver Red Ridin' Hoods), turned out to be a really good dancer. "Tell Dee I said hello," he says.
A few moments before, Sid ducking her eyes away from his gaze and refusing his hand caught his notice, those eyes sharpening on her with intrigue more than offense. He got over it quickly; curiosity may be chief among his sins, if one believes in sin, but he is not ruled by it.
He unfolds his arm from Jim's shoulder and reaches for Lena. Or Pan. Whoever gets to him first. "Hawksley Rothschild," he says, again unnecessarily. There's no flick of his brows at the fact that Pan is a priest, but then, he can feel the power coming off of him just as he does with Jim. There's something to that. When he gets a handshake from Pan -- please, please, let there be a handshake -- he looks him in the eye. He holds it a moment. He's smiling.
Patience MasonThe moments of movement between where they had been to where they were now involved an evolution of sorts for Patience and Sid, an expansion of trust and solidarity which served them both well. The tall women who stood over many but not over all took in the reactions and the responses, the stances and the smiles of all those who now stood together, a distinct sociological alloy of individuals of all stripes and walks. It has her silenced for a moment, the sky blue of her eyes seeming to deepen as Serafine speaks of the priest, and then to Sid.
Still she remains silent as she takes in Hawksley's resonance, a distinct similarity to her own luminous feel that has her watching him longer then most. When at last she has observed all she desired she responded in kind to all of them, though not accepting any hands, given hers is occupied.
"I have already postulated and extrapolated to my companion Sid upon the probabilities of such a unanticipated social convergence of ideo-paradgmic individualized personages in one geo-centric locality with no identifiable objective. This statement true and verifiable I must amend and apply an additional statement of distinct endorphin actualization." She looks at all of them with a smile.
"It would be necessary to subtract fifteen standard solar cyclical movements from this current temporal juncture to ascertain a distinct temporal unit in which this number of individualized paradgmic personages have been affirmed by my active senses. It is a categorically unprecedented sociological event, and I actualized each of your personages with distinct positivity." Its a mouthful to be certain...but man she seems happy to be here.
Fr. EcheverríaThe priest's resonance is bright but to call it warm would be misleading. It has all the warmth of a floodlight, or a road flare. If the man himself is as clinical as the stain left behind by his Work it would stand to reason that he wouldn't be at ease with a slinky party-girl latched onto him but it's hard to judge someone in a matter of seconds.
Sera introduces him as a fucking priest and in this order he laughs, that by-surprise shouldn't-be-amused-by-this teeth-flashing laugh she thinks makes him look younger. It does make him look younger but life has had its way with him so it doesn't take much to pull off a reverse-aging on him.
When the handshake comes his way he takes his arm off Sera's shoulders but his reach is long enough he doesn't have to jostle her off his waist if she isn't ready to let go yet. Grips the other man's hand firm-like and meets his gaze.
"Francisco," he says, which is not Pan but which is what he gives everyone as a jumping-off point. "Nice to meet you, Hawksley."
Jim"That is a dog pile I don't think anyone would mind being on the bottom of," he answers Serafine, extricating his arm from Hawksley as he does the same. He gravitates back toward his ice cream cone, which how now painted the crevices of his other hand a bubble gum pink. He's not long in finishing it, though slower and steadier to avoid being stricken by the freeze again.
As he's doing so Patience starts and his eyes slowly raise up until he'd practically chewing on the napkin he's so lost in her words. When she's finished his eyes are wide and interested. He looks to Sid, moving over to her, a bit closer as Hawksley starts shaking hands. And it also gets him closer to the tall woman with the awesomely technical verbiage.
"That long, huh?" He thinks he knows what she means, but doesn't dwell on it, instead focusing on how happy Patience is to meet them all.
SidSera exclaims her name, hers and no one else's (yet), and Sid, jolting a little away from Patience, looks at her quickly. Eyes wide then narrow. Her brows tighten above the rims of her completely unstylish black glasses. Lips turning down into a slight frown that shifts almost immediately back upward. Just a little.
That Jim and Sera seem to know Hawksley, that they think he's okay, right? He's okay. This isn't lost to Sid. But while she sort of trusts the both of them more than most, she would rather make up her own mind about him. People can be cool to some and not cool to others. And as she's been reminded recently, those who seem gentle on the outside can harbor darker motivations beneath the surface.
"Do you," she starts quietly, looking at the padre when he introduces himself. "Should I call you Francisco?" she asks instead.
SerafineHawksley gets a grin right back and a - "You should come over, tell her yourself," sort of invitation when he offers his hellos via messenger to Dee, Dahlia, who plays bass and works in a bakery and owns the house Sera inhabits, somewhere in Denver.
Then Jim - the dogpile comment - has her laughing aloud, the bright flash of her teeth, suggests that she agrees with him, whole-fucking-heartedly.
And she's not inclined to let go of Pan yet it seems (perhaps he's holding her upright), so he reaches over her to shake hands with Hawksley and introduces himself as Franciso and Sid asks if she should call him Francisco and Sera's about to stay something else, but then Patience is -
Patience is -
- are those words?
Sera's gaze flashes from Patience to Jim and back again and she's wondering now if Patience is a shared fucking hallucination even though she has not taken any hallucinogens, not a fucking one, since the night in the woods with the ring of fire and the corpses and the summoning-of-nether-things and he seems to understand the -
- well, it if is an hallucination, it makes sense that Jim would understand it. When it talked.
--
Except, very quiet and mostly to Pan's flank (accompanied by just a hint of elbow to obtain and retain his attention) as he's giving and getting introductions and clarifying names and nicknames and titles, this from Serafíne, of the Most Sober Person She Knows. "Do you see her too?" Patience, she means. She's looking in the Etherite's direction.
Hawksley RothschildHawksley hangs on Jim, Sera hangs on Pan, and it seems that both of the disciples are at least tolerant of this. He notes the shift in names, one given by Jim and one given by the priest himself, but he doesn't question it. After all, wasn't he handing out cards and calling himself Davie to Dee and her team after telling Jim and Sera to call him something else entirely? He was. He doesn't so much as quirk a brow at that. He shakes Pan's hand, he gives a nod, and he says: "Likewise."
He does, however, quirk a side-eye at Patience as he's drawing his hand back from the priest. He blinks, then laughs. "Awesome," he says, and that is all. His chin goes back to resting on his forearms which are resting on Jim's shoulder. It's a terribly close way to stand with someone you've only met once, particularly when your bare chest is aligned with their right arm, but Hawksley doesn't flinch away or seem shy. If Jim wanted him gone, he'd shrug him off. Or never would have let him settle there to begin with.
They do slip away and apart, however, as Jim is drawn towards the woman. He lowers his arms to his sides, slips his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and he smirks at Sera. It's a friendly smirk. His mastery of the friendly smirk with the twinkling eyes is second only to his mastery of the unabashed grin, also with twinkling eyes. "Don't think I won't," he says mildly. He glances at Patience again when Sera seems confused as to her existence and chuckles.
Fr. EcheverríaSera's answer is a wordless hand atop her head, squeezing gentle like to say there's nothing wrong with what's inside her skull.
To Sid: "Nah, Pan's fine. The only people who call me Francisco are Rosa and the Bishop."
SerafineSera lifts her head up toward the priest's hand as he settles it on the crown of her skull. She's been in the park most of the afternoon and the heat of the sun is lingering in her hair and on her skin.
A beat or two or three and -
- dark blue eyes remain steady on Patience and okay. Not a hallucination, maybe.
Back to Hawksley, in belated response to his don't think I won't and his friendly smirk: the quick flash of one of her edgy little grins. Just a hint of rallying challenge, there.
Then to Sid, the edgy little grin lingering in the curve of her mouth. "You could call him Pancho." A quick little glimpse of the priest's profile. "Or Padre," and her pronunciation is not anglicized. There's just enough to suggest she's spoken Spanish in some form since she was very young. " - if you wanted, but if you go with Padre I think you're required to join the vestry and the ladies' league of Mary."
Then, as a segue to a farewell as it is past her player's bedtime. "Hold that thought. I gotta pee."
And finally she detaches herself from Pan's flank and peers at Patience and hugs Pan again and doesn't hug Sid but does sort of look like she wants to doesn't hug Hawksley not yet but does hug Jim when Jim isn't looking and while his hands are ice-cream sticky so maybe I gotta pee is Sera-speak for I think my friends still have some drugs I wanna take or something because she's still sober enough that she flashed no one, but no one, tonight.
Because you normally don't run around hugging people before heading to the restroom. Normally.
Patience MasonIt is to Jim that Patience turns first, he had drawn closer, obviously interested in what she had to say and it surprised her that he understood what she said so easily. She nodded at his inquiry, a look of momentary discomfort interlacing with the congenial smile upon her face.
"Your inquiry for affirmation of the afformentioned data is acknowledged Jim, fifteen standardized solar cyclical traversals is correct. Albeit a fraction of the sum total of this physicalities temporal biological progression it is still substancial when applied via its own points of interest." She turned back when Sera inquired ever so discreetly as to wether Patience existed in her mind or in reality and the tall woman laughed gently before nodding.
"A profound and astute inquiry as to the generalized perceptive notions of this actualized physical plane Sera, however according to most theorum and thesis, this physical-noospheric personage." She says pointing to herself. "Exists with as much statistical certainty as the existence of yourself." She seems delighted at the idea, perhaps she see's it as a debate of some kind, if others can misunderstand her...surely the same might be the same for her.
She looks around then scanning the area about them in momentary thought and seems to consider before inquiring to Jim, and in general. "From which physical structure in this generalized geographical locality is it theoretically possible to obtain an appropriate nutritional serving of a non toxin laced variety of the mammary secretive derivative identified commonly as 'iced cream'?"
SidSid frowns at Sera's reaction to Patience, the look a little sorrowful, but more for the woman whose hand she's holding than the reaction itself. She gives that hand a little reassuring squeeze.
"She's real," Sid affirms quietly.
At the mention of ice cream, though, she tugs gently on Patience's arm. "I can find us some. I don't want an appropriate nutritional serving, though." Turning back to the others, she gives a little nod that passes for her farewell.
Hawksley RothschildPan. Pancho. Francisco.
Sera is giving everyone a hug, or at least a few of them. Well, two of them: the priest and the other cultist. Hawksley catches her eye for a moment there, when she's caught up deciding who to hug or just doing it without deciding anything and maybe she's too high to see anything in that glance at all and maybe she's not. But he gives her a nod as she's headed off, his hands still in his pockets. He is hanging back, observing more than interacting, even as he seems unshy about what interactions he does engage in.
He makes his guesses. He knows about Jim and Sera. He's reasonably certain about Pan-Pancho-Francisco. He's got a damn good guess about Patience. Not sure about Lena, but he barely met her. Not sure at all about Sid. What he does know, what he can tell, is this: none of his own tradition. If any of them turned out to be, he'd be stunned. And that wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to him, but he's rarely stunned.
If Jim lets him, he takes a taste of the strawberry ice cream himself, but then he's glancing past the group to someone over at the bandstand. He gives a sigh. If anyone follows his gaze, he's looking at a tall, older gentleman with black hair and a gray beard in dark clothes who is waving him over: palm up, fingers beckoning. "I apologize," he says, returning his attention to the group he's with, "but I think I have to go be introduced to a conductor. If any of you want to get in touch, Sera and Jim have my number."
With a strangely formal bow of his head, he smiles again at the gathered and excuses himself, heading towards the bandstand, toward the dispersing wealthy in their summery garb enjoying the last lingering notes of jazz.
JimWhere Patience was talking to a woman who is going to pop a squat, Jim seems more than happy to segue into the conversation as Serafine goes to find someplace private. Especially when he hears her ask about iced cream.
"I know a guy," he says, winking at her and chuckling at his own joke as he does so, joining Sid and Patience to show them the way. "I could use seconds as well."
He gives the polite goodbyes, even gives Hawksley a hug, and calls out into the darkness where Serafine had disappeared to. "We're going to get iced cream whenever you're done."
And that is all he wrote for Jim.
Fr. Echeverría[THANK YOU FOR SCENE PEOPLE GOODNIGHT <3]
