It was his idea to meet. It was his idea to meet at the Pour House. He even mentioned the rooftop patio, which is a great big space with tables dotting the surface, an L-shaped bar under some awnings, and a great view of the street for weekend people watching. On a Saturday evening it is crowded, especially a summer Saturday evening. Hawksley is leaning against the railing between patio and empty air, and taking advantage of the view. He's drinking something clear from a tumblr with some crushed ice in it.
He has yet to discover that Sid is 'shy', that Sid doesn't like crowds, that Sid is anything but an intellectual with glorious hair who keeps her wits about her when faced with some nutcase forcing telepathy on her and does math or something on her forearm when she needs to warp reality. It never occurs to him that this might not have been the best place to meet her in, not when the fucking Yankees are playing the fucking Red Sox and the Yankees are winning and this bar is an absolute madhouse for the first two floors.
Why would it?
He sips his drink.
Sid RhodesHawksley mentioned the PourHouse and he mentioned the rooftop patio, and if they had been talking face-to-face Sid would have cut him off mid-word with her assent. Another thing Hawksley doesn't know about her is that Sid doesn't like enclosed spaces, and she wouldn't be able to handle an enclosed sort of bar on a night like this.
Or maybe she would be okay. The thing about sharing the experience of having a nutjob forcing her way into their skulls is that at the end of it, Sid felt a little more okay about Hawksley. He became less questionable-man-who-draws-circles-in-hotel-rooms-and-keeps-unconscious-girls-around and more the-guy-who-took-the-lead-in-communicating-with-the-nutjob. Maybe soon they will be friends or sort of friends, or something else that uses less words.
Sid manages to get through the interior of the bar mostly alright. It's worse down there than it is up on the roof, there are walls holding people in and those people are loud and boisterous.
When she hits the roof the open air hits her and she breathes it in, trying to relax a little. Then she starts looking for Hawksley as much with her senses as she does with her eyes. She is not surprised to find the man who feels like flying while bathed in warm sunlight leaning against the railing.
She makes her way over, chin lowered and sort-of frowning as people get a little too close to her or she has to get a little too close to them. The weather's nice enough that she's left her hair down to spill over the shoulders of her light green t-shirt Cheers t-shirt, which looks newer than the things he's seen her wear before, and it fits her. The jeans do, too. She's not hiding her figure anymore, which is slender-ish and athletic-ish, and also curvy.
When she sees Hawksley the corners of her mouth lift in a slight smile. If he doesn't see her first, she comes to lean against the railing beside him.
"Hey."
Hawksley Rothschild[Awareness]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Hawksley RothschildThe thing about Denver, and in fact most of Colorado and much of the midwest, is the sheer closeness and enormity of the sky. Despite all the chaos in the two floors beneath them, the patio is open to that sky and the sky grants it some serenity. It's still loud, and crowded, the sky shares the noise instead of pushing down on it, and it's easier to breathe. The clouds overhead lose the color and tinge of sunset.
Hawksley is in jeans tonight, and one of those shirts he wears that look like they're tailored to bring out the taper of his torso and accentuate the exact shape of his biceps. They look like they're tailored because they are. This one is heather gray, some design or another on the front. There's a leather cuff tied around his left wrist instead of a watch, and the smell of ethanol in his nostrils.
Something slides up the back of his neck and into his hair when Sid emerges onto the patio. His spine straightens, head lifting, even though she's behind him. He thinks for a moment he is just feeling the sense of the people around him, the mood tonight, but then he feels its familiarity like a breeze over his flesh and turns his head over his shoulder, fixing her with those eyes of his,
which one imagines could see anything, and everything, though that's seldom the truth of the matter.
She gives him a slight smile as she heads over, and he grins. She leans against the railing and he puts his side to it, facing her. "Hey," he says, and nods over at the bar. "You want something? I'm buyin'."
Sid RhodesThose eyes. If they were ever in the same place at the same time, Sid wonders how she could forget those eyes. Maybe they weren't so piercing before, or maybe she was distracted. Maybe he saw her and she didn't see him. Maybe she blocked it, as she tried to block everything that happened Before. So many possibilities.
She used to be terrified of the moment someone from her past found her. She looks relaxed, or mostly relaxed. As relaxed as she can be on the roof of a busy bar when the Yankees are winning.
Her eyes flick toward the bar before her head shifts that way, then she turns a little to look over the crowd on the roof. "Just, uh," she says turning to look at him again, "Coke or Pepsi or something. Thanks."
Justin Hale[Do you guys mind two more? :D]
Hawksley RothschildHis head tips a bit, but he doesn't question it. So she doesn't drink, or doesn't want a drink right now. So be it. He inclines his head, walks over to the bar, and when he comes back he not only has a Coca-Cola with ice and a straw, he has a refill of his own.
She was wondering how she could forget those eyes, which are such a pristine blue they seem to contain half the sky already. They are also sharp, perceptive eyes, and he looks so keenly at everything around him that one imagines he could spot an ant on the street below. At night.
If he was hungry, at least.
Handing her soda over, Hawksley takes again to leaning on the railing, peering at her. "So were you actually going to school there?" he asks, like they're picking up a conversation they were already having.
Sid Rhodes[join usssssssssssss *grabby hands*
Hawksley Rothschild[YESSSSS]
Justin Hale[Nightmares]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Serafíne[Perception + Awareness - aka why go looking for mages in a sports bar?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 7 ) Re-rolls: 3
Justin Hale[Per+Aware]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
Sid Rhodes[percept+awareness: EAGLE-EYE SID IS ON THE LOOKOUT]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Hawksley Rothschild[oh good lord sera what the fuck]
Sid Rhodes[juice cleanses for everyone now]
Sid RhodesWhile she waits for Hawksley to return with her drink, Sid turns to look out over the street. Her hands curl over the railing and she peers down, her hair falling around her face like a curtain of shining red. She surveys, and maybe she senses others nearby, friends who are familiar to her. Probably not until they've gotten closer, if they've sensed Sid and Hawksley perched on the roof of the PourHouse, and already decided to find them.
When she does notice them, Sid leans out a little further from the railing and waves, as if that could possibly get their attention. Then Hawksley returns, holding out her drink to her. "Thanks," she says again when she takes it from him.
And then the question. She doesn't answer immediately. Old habits die hard, and these habits have been the keys to her survival these past few years. Hiding, witholding information, ducking direct questions.
But she told someone she wasn't hiding anymore, that there was no point to it. Still, she answers with a simple, quiet, "Yes. You?"
Hawksley RothschildJustin has never met Hawksley before. Or seen him. Perhaps he has heard the name, perhaps someone has done him a kindness and warned him that there is a Hermetic roaming the city these days, and of course he's a young, semi-impulsive, filthy-fucking-rich Hermetic. Or maybe no one has warned him. Maybe no one has said his name, given it away like a drop of cool water on the tongue.
By the time Justin gets into the bar, and up two floors and onto the rooftop patio in a city full of rooftop patios, he will not need the name because he will know the feeling of the man himself in the air whenever he senses it. It's dark out now but walking onto the roof it is tempting to blink rapidly, to squint, to keep the sun from burning one's vision. The sun must be up, it must be high noon, only it's coming from the north side of the building.
Not the sun, then. But by god, it feels like walking into the sun. Like stretching your arms up over your head and tilting your face up and soaking it in, letting it suffuse you right down to bone, right through muscle.
The sun breaks, and rises, and as it rises and as it surrounds you in intangible gold, it runs its fingers up the back of your neck and lifts your hair and that is when you notice the birds, whole flocks of them, so high now that they hardly need to flap their wings anymore. They coast on air currents, they skim clouds, and they spiral and dive and rise again, chasing the feeling of that air. Oh, you step into the sun and you step onto air and briefly,
the soul knows what it is like to fly. Forever and forever and forever, til the ground is a lover you watch from afar, smiling.
Let's be honest. Hawksley stands out like a golden-fucking-god in an otherwise dark cave. Nevermind that he's tall or well-formed or handsome or smiling or any of those things. The sun shines for him, and on him, no matter what time of night it is. His skin and hair and eyes remember the light, as though everyone else has just forgotten to be so lit up.
Hawksley RothschildSera knows him. The taste of him in the air and the way he looks after dark and how he very well is the sunset, but tonight she feels him from down the street. From the other side of downtown. In the downstairs bar and the second floor bar and in the stairwell. She knows him, and she has seen him closer than most here.
But there are dangers to seeing so deeply, and so clearly. Or not dangers: unexpected adventures. Like walking out onto the patio and not recognizing him for a moment, even when she knows he's right there. Because on the other side of the roof there is a god.
Not a god in the sense of something to be worshipped. A god in the sense of an archetype, a vision, a mein laid down over the body that is Hawksley. He has not hair but feathers. He has predatory, forward-facing eyes that are more black than color, taking in all light, all motion around him. He has the head of a falcon. He has the body of a man, sun-golden. There are bands of lapis around his biceps, wrists, ankles, and he is clothed in a sarong of home-spun linen with a sash dyed in blue, indicating royalty.
A blink and it's gone, it fades, but for a moment there was a torque around his chest, carnelian and turquoise set in gold. For a moment his eyes were the sun and the moon. For a moment, she knows one of the forms of his very soul, even as she knows that is not the only form.
Even as she blinks, and that form erupts, and a thousand raptors burst into the air, taking flight and leaving only the man.
Serafíne"I swear to god, they're up here." Sera's been leading Justin half-way across the city because she could feel the familiar resonance and now she's leading up up and up through the layers of the crowded sports bar to the rooftop deck. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why a girl like her is in a place like this looking like that and drinking... something vaguely greenish and vaguely yogurtish and (we anticipate) not particularly good.
There's this moment where they emerge onto the patio though where Sera just stops moving, mid-stride, and is instead just fucking staring at Hawksley, open-mouthed through the crowd. Justin's following behind, not like to see the expression, the sudden open-mouthed wonder, but he is close enough that he can see the sharp intake of her breath, the way the bones framing in her shoulders move beneath her skin with it. This ridiculous fasting needs to end soon: there was never much fat on her to begin with, and now she's becoming sharp and sharper, marrow and bone.
Then something changes; she blinks, shakes her head in a way that sends the fountain of her ponytail lashing and turns back to Justin, all, " - c'mon." Though by now even he knows the way.
She cuts a swathe through the crowd because she knows how to move in them and move she does, see: in spite of her five inch heels, she moves like she's barefoot, she moves like she's wearing shit-kicker boots, not fucking stilettos. Because they are fucking stilettos tonight: jet-black with silver daggers by way of heels, the sort sharp enough that a polite person would never wear them on some stranger's hardwood floors.
It was hot enough today that Sera's hair is pulled back from her features and tied in a loose ponytail threaded with a few braids and the odd bit of black leather - which matches her black leather bustier, which is fitted like a glove and then outlined not merely in studs but in spikes that look sharp enough (that are sharp enough) to shred skin.
And by the time she says it, Justin too can feel Sid's strange and familiar double-helix of desperation and euphoria and the new sense of that soaring golden god. And Sera can feel them all, can feel everything, her senses are so blown open tonight that and the mixture so heady that it is nearly making her fucking high.
So: emerging from the crowd like a goddamned rock star (though no one knows who she is or why a chick like that is here?) in her bustier and her cut-offs and her fishnets and her stilettos and throwing her arms open for potentially dangerous hugs, Sera greets them: "Sid! Hawksley - you know Justin, right?"
And that last bit HAS to be for the Hermetic since Sera is not drunk and has to remember that Sid and Justin know each other. "What the fuck! are you doing here? This place is so ridiculous. It's fucking awesome."
Hawksley RothschildHis eyes brighten, and he beams at her. "I did! I dropped out." He takes a sip of his drink, pauses, corrects: "I was cordially asked not to return."
Then a shrug of one shoulder. He takes another drink and he, unlike many, does not constantly send out his radar. He's more perceptive than most, but not nearly as perceptive as most of the magi he's met in Denver, or maybe just less paranoid, or... whatever. The person he's expecting here is here, standing with him, talking to him. He isn't expecting anyone else. When he notices Sera and Justin, it's because Sera is sweeping through the crowd at them and try to ignore her, just try, no you can't, I didn't think so.
Hawksley, already a beacon, just lights up at the sight of her, as unabashed a reaction as it is sudden. It's easier to hide the fact that when he sees how thin she's getting he wants to -- well. That's being hidden, isn't it? Nevermind. But he doesn't bother to hide anything of his delight at seeing her, and yes, by god he'll hug her even if it hurts, wrap his arms around her and give her a squeeze.
Which is brief. Tight, yes. Fearless, yes. But brief, and though his cheek and jaw rest against her temple for a moment he does not let his face turn half an inch to press his lips to her. He's still hugging her, however, when she mentions Justin and how he knows him, right.
Hawksley fixes the other man with those piercing, sky-colored eyes over the top of Sera's head. And his arms unwind, and he cocks a smile and offers Justin his right hand. "No, but I imagine I should."
He has no idea if Justin is Awake or not. He doesn't offer his name. Either of them. Any of them. But his hand: sure. "We're here," said in an aside to Sera, "to bitch about English food and figure out whether we ran into each other at Oxford or not."
Justin HaleThe last time Justin and Serafine had gone out together on a weekend, the evening hadn't exactly gone as planned. Maybe this time the universe would condescend to allow them a proper night off. After spending most of the day working in the oppressive summer heat, Justin had finally relented to the urge to go and do something enjoyable with his Saturday. Thus, there was Serafine (and her extremely dangerous-looking outfit,) who more than outshone him in the attention-grabbing department. Except they didn't go to a bar this time. Not a proper one, and at least not at first. Because Sera was still fasting, and when Justin saw her he gave her another one of those looks that might have been suppressed concern, but he didn't say anything about how thin she looked and instead the two of them ended up talking about something else that wasn't especially important while Justin finished off whatever it was he'd gotten at the juice bar (probably something with blueberries.)
And then Sera felt Sid and Hawksley all the way down the fucking street, so of course that's where they went. And for once Justin didn't seem especially resistant to being tugged along. Mostly because Sid was there. The only thing Justin knew about Hawksley was that he had a Porsche.
So they made it to the rooftop area of the Pourhouse Pub, and there was Sid and a guy who resonated heat like the fucking sun. And Justin stepped aside to let a couple of people pass by, losing eye contact for a moment before he searched out Sid and smiled and raised his hand to greet her.
He didn't look as nice as he'd looked the other day when Sera had caught him at the tail end of a date, but he still looked nicer than Sid had ever seen him. Meaning that he was dressed in something other than his work or casual clothes (which really weren't all that different.) The same fitted black jeans that Sera had seen him in earlier, plus a thin white t-shirt that, while not especially notable, did cling to his torso in a way that showed off the lines of his athletic frame. A small black stone hung from a cord around his neck, and a couple of leather bracelets donned his left wrist.
And yeah, there the boots. Not that anyone could really see them in this crowd. Black leather Frye harness boots with a heel that bumped him up from an even 6 feet to nearly 6'2".
Sera was moving them through the crowd like a woman on a fucking mission, so they arrived at the table rather a bit more quickly than Justin probably would have on his own. He gave a little laugh at Sera's enthusiastic greeting, then looked at Hawksley and nodded (in greeting, not in agreement.) "We don't, actually."
When Hawksley said, I imagine I should, Justin canted his head ever-so-slightly and gave this little almost-smile and reached out to take the other man's hand. "Nice to meet you."
Hawksley has been around Sid, so maybe he was already familiar with the way that Justin's hands seeped warmth like he'd been soaking them in the sun. Like he had so much vital energy inside of him that it couldn't help but transfer over when he touched someone.
And then, to Sid: "You went to Oxford?" Justin sounded genuinely curious at that.
Sid RhodesHawksley brightens and beams at her and Sid, when she sees it, she has to sort of tilt her face away lest she be blinded by the beam. She is an odd thing to have beside him. Not as she is, which is a tall, lovely looking redhead, her t-shirt not fitted to her body as expertly as Hawksley's is to his, but well enough to show that she has curves, that she is a little slender, a little athletic in build. This is a sight of her that may be new to Justin, but then again, Justin saw her running once, sprinting with all her might through a park as though it could possibly relieve some of her paranoia, some of her fear. So. Maybe Justin isn't so surprised at the sight of her.
No, what's odd about her is that the aura she gives off is dark as well as it is light, in feel if not in a visual sense. She feels like crawling, scraping, frantic desperation and unbridled happiness all wrapped up into one being.
She notices Justin and Sera when they get to the roof, and when she sees them she lifts up a little toward the balls of her feet, stretching to keep an eye on them as Sera cuts her way through the crowd. And then they're there and Sid is coming forward to hug Sera at the side, because Sid has a drink in her hand and she's not so good at hugging-and-holding-a-drink as Hawksley is. She hugs Sera around the side and tugs her close, despite the spikes that dig into her side, despite that pain, which, if they knew, would show how much Sid cares for and trusts Sera. When she pulls back, it's only so far as to continue holding Sera's hand.
Which becomes something as a lifepreserver because suddenly everyone is talking about Oxford and asking Sid if she went there, and oh. Oh. This is why Sid doesn't tell people things. Because if you tell one person something, suddenly everyone else knows.
At least she has been sort of preparing for this. Perparing for it for one person and one person in particular, mind, but she had tried to brace herself. It means she doesn't crush Sera's hand and she doesn't try to change the topic and she doesn't panic and try to leave the roof by the quickest possible routes.
"Ah. Y-yeah."
SerafíneLast night Sera dreamt that she would see: Hawksley and Sid standing on a plateau at the edge of a cliff, flicking mushy canned peas off bone-white but mis-matched china with the flats of the their knives. And then they she felt them halfway across the city and climbed into the sky to find them. And lo: here they are on a rooftop bar bitching about English food and trying to figure out whether they ran into each other at Oxford. So: it was a prophetic dream and not one of the weird hunger-induced ones.
She returns the hug, brief and tight, and one-handed as her right hand is floating somewhere off to the side, protecting whatever the fuck it is she's drinking from being crushed or tipping over and spilling all over: the bar, or the Hermetic's tailored t-shirt. Then she's ducking out of the way and giving them space to shake hands properly, to be introduced. Supplying to Hawksley as his arms unwind from around her and she slips to the side so that he and Justin can shake hands. "I told you about him. Stays sometimes at the place out in the country?"
- and shifts her attention to Sid, her eyes quick and clear and a far darker blue than the Hermetic's, dark enough that the definition of color is lost as shadows deepen and night curls in. Oh, her eyes are keen, Sera. Quick, as in cut to the and they find the edge of Sid's profile and linger.
Even as the Orphan pulls her in for a side-hug, which Sera returns with a thoughtless squeeze and a sweep of her arms. So they're holding hands: Sera's left in Sid's right, the still-healing cut sliced through the meat of her palm, the scabby roughness of the healing tissue against the intense warmth of Sid's hands.
" - oh, and I don't know why you'd bitch about English food. Nothing wrong with bangers and mash." And if the mention of bangers and mash makes Serafíne look a little bit dreamy and a little bit far away, well. The Cultist's on a fucking juice fast. Some things are easily explained.
"Fucking cream tea. Jesus Christ, how can you hate English food?"
Sera squeezes Sid's hand when that stuttered y-yeah comes out. It is a squeeze that says, you don't have to talk about it now. And maybe, don't run away. Or even: I've fucking got this.
Then Sera tosses back to Justin (hey look at her changing the subject), " - you know, I don't think you ever told me where you're from? Did you? I'm pretty sure not. I don't think we ever had that conversation."
Justin Hale[Empathy on Sid - this a bad subject?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )
Sid Rhodes[nah man, it's totally cool 6_6: subterfuge (because she's TRYING not to look uncomfortable)]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
Hawksley Rothschild"Did you?" Hawksley says to Sera, of telling him about Justin, and it's teasing and cheeky and oh you mustn't have, I would have remembered that when nothing could be further from the truth. Sometimes he listens and remembers. Sometimes he listens and forgets. Sometimes, rarest of all, he doesn't listen very well at all. No telling how well he was listening when Sera talked about hands, about Sid and Justin's hands. Sid has never touched Hawksley, and Hawksley hasn't noticed that as odd.
But Justin takes Hawksley's hand, and Hawksley's pupils blow outward. He grips that hand, firm as any handshake trained in at an early age, but then he holds it, and the memory of something overheard erupts in his mind, about Sid and her hands and Justin's hands and --
--
Let's be clear: every straight man in this bar noticed her, not just in their bar but wearing a Cheers shirt, and Cheers was set in fucking Boston, and this year everything to do with Boston matters just a little bit more, and she's got skin like whole milk and hair like every Irish girl they ever had a dream about and a figure that lights up the lizard-brain, that makes the mouth water, that sets off every primitive instinct they've ever had.
She. Is. Noticed.
Maybe she doesn't notice that she's noticed. Maybe she tunes it out or blocks it to save herself the terror of being seen, and a valid terror that can be even when among friends, but glasses or not, not one Sleeper on that rooftop looks at her standing with Hawksley and thinks it odd. The assumption of everyone who saw him smile when he saw her is that two fucking pretty people with nice bodies are going to press up against each other and have a very pleasant evening.
They don't know she's never touched him, and that they've met before and never touched then either, because he would remember that, and they don't know that even though he can feel all that frantic joy in her, all he feels is the climb skyward, the aching need of it, the feeling that falls somewhere between panic and elation.
He doesn't think she feels odd next to him at all.
--
Hawksley still hasn't let go of Justin's hand. So there's that. And Sera waxing poetic about English food because she's starving herself not to death but to enlightenment, and Sera trying to change the subject not as smoothly as she thinks she is, and there's Hawksley, who is just mindlessly fascinated by everyone. Who came here specifically to talk to Sid about Oxford.
Who now is remembering that Sid's hands are supposed to feel like Justin's. "Jesus," he says, looking down from Justin's eyes to their joined hands, turning it over, looking at the man's wrist. He even sets down his drink on the side of the wall and traces a finger up his forearm unless he's stopped, inside-of-elbow to wrist, panting out a breath. "Jesus," he repeats, half-twisting to take Sid's hand in his other hand, like he's just too damn fascinated to stop himself.
"Fuck," he exclaims, loud enough that a few people stop and look, and he's laughing, and possibly getting hit in the face by three people.
Sid Rhodes[and a return one for Justin: that guy, he's holding your hand still and touching on your arm, how do you feel about that, hm? empathy! (paranoid because CROWD and FRIEND and yeh]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 8) ( success x 1 )
Justin Hale[Subterfuge - what? me?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
SerafíneI WANNA ROLL TOO. awareness-as-empathy
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
Hawksley Rothschild[NOT ROLLING EMPATHY. HAWKSLEY IS A NARCISSIST.]
SerafíneHawksley comes zooming in for Sid's hand, which is already holding Sera's hand.
Which has a sharkscissors tattoo on the palm and a healing cut and nails painted a deep and bloody red that is called Vampsterdam. And she gives the Hermetic this laughing look, the sudden flash of her teeth as he does that and bites her lower lip and would perhaps try to punch him if she didn't have that gross smoothie in hand but she does have that gross smoothie in hand so instead:
kick.
"I fucking told you," - but there's a kind of bliss and a kind of wonder and a kind of joy. Because she did fucking tell him. And " - it's bloody amazing, isn't it?"
Serafíne[Kicking Hawksley! ]
Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (2, 2, 5) ( fail )
Serafíne[ONE MORE TIME.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (4, 4, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Hawksley Rothschild[Dodge!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
Hawksley RothschildSera kicks at Hawksley, but even as fascinated as he is by Justin's touch and Sid's touch, he sees the flash of those stilettos and moves his foot back. The foot she was about to stomp on and possibly impale. He looks at her, a sudden frown casting the laughter from his features. The look he gives her isn't hard to read, should she or anyone else try, but it, too, is gone in a flash, smoothed away as he releases both the redhead and the newcomer.
"That it is," he says, a little more evenly.
Serafíne[Yes she's going to read that look. awareness-as-empathy]
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 9) ( success x 2 )
Sid RhodesThe hand that Hawksley reaches for is currently being held by Sera's. Sid frowns at him, the frown deepening to one of confusion when he touches her.
And if this were months ago - well, if this were months ago Sid wouldn't even be in this place, with its plethora of straight males trying unsuccessfully to check her out from across the bar, she would have bolted at the door, but let's pretend for a moment that months-ago-Sid came in here. She wouldn't have jerked back away from him the moment she saw Hawksley making any moves in her direction.
Instead, she...watches. She watches his hand take hold of hers, still held by Sera's injured one, and it doesn't occur to her that maybe she should throw her drink at him, or she should maybe kick at him for sliding his hand up Justin's arm like that. But to her eye Justin doesn't appear to mind it, and if he doesn't mind it, well-
But then Sera is kicking out at him, not once but twice. Luckily she misses, luckily Hawksley dodges, because who knows what kind of damage she might have done with those bladed heels. Sid adjusts her hold to keep the woman steady and on her feet lest she become unbalanced from these failed kicks and threaten to topple over.
"Are you okay?" This, to Hawksley.
Justin HaleJustin had never been to Oxford. Not as a student, not as a tourist. He'd never so much as left the mainland, so he had nothing to add to the conversation about the supposed merits or flaws of British cuisine. Sid's hesitant response to his question seemed to catch his attention though. Almost enough that he didn't immediately notice the way that Hawksley's pupils changed or the fact that the other man was still, awkwardly, holding his hand.
Almost.
Justin was far too aware of his physical space not to notice something like that.
But he did smile a little at Sid in a way that felt like an apology. And he didn't follow that question up with further inquiry. Just nodded and said, "Guess that makes sense." Then Hawksley started tracing his finger up Justin's arm, and Justin... snapped his attention back and gave a little tug of his arm, like he was about a half-second away from ripping it free. How exactly he felt about the contact though... that much wasn't clear. His face didn't give anything away.
"Um... you okay?"
What else does one say to a total stranger who had that reaction to a handshake?
Then Sera tried (and failed) to stomp on Hawksley's foot, and ok, Justin cracked a smile at that.
Sera had asked him a question.
"I never said cause it's nowhere interesting." (Ahah, cryptic bastard.)
Hawksley Rothschild[FOR ONCE. Sera gets fewer than umpteen billion suxx!
Hawksley has no idea wtf that kick was about, so he's confused and 'wtf'! But he's also really not okay with her lashing out at him physically like that. For Hawksley, that definitely crossed a line. Not understanding why he was getting kicked makes it all the more confusing/aggravating to him.]
Justin Hale[From what Sera can gather, Justin feels a little unsure about Hawksley's rapt attention, and is not especially thrilled with the way he's touching him, mostly because he wasn't expecting it (and Sera is familiar with how Justin can be with unexpected physical sensations.)]
Justin Hale[Actually while we're at it with the empathy rolls, this one's for Hawksley - seriously though why are you feeling up my arm?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
SerafíneSo this thing happens where Hawksley's grabbing both Sid and Justin's hands and Sera's both joyful and laughing about it because see? See how they feel? and kicking him (what she thinks of as) playfully and missing and then with a little more determination because she's not even drunk and because she hasn't had anything for - god - ever, and Sid's tightens her grip to keep Sera upright and Hawksley's expression changes and Sid's asking him if he's okay and Justin's being a cryptic bastard and for a moment Sera's attention is just hung up on Hawksley and she feels that -
- the line crossed, his confusion and aggravation, breathes it in as sharply as she breathes in everything else and her expression changes and her eyes drop from his face to the bar and her heart's beating faster and there's a flush of memory creeping up beneath her skin but: she's not fair like Sid or Dee and it's dark out here so it's not really visible.
A line between her brows as she glances over at Justin, takes him in in her periphery, and then lets go of Sid's hand.
Steps into the center of the space in the small group, far enough to park her smoothie on the bar.
"I'm sorry," she tells Hawksley, quietly, when she's close. She's looking at him aslant rather than directly and after she offers the apology, her mouth closes again around the words and her eyes drop away.
Then, a deeper breath as she draws away. Tells the others, " - I've gotta run to the little girl's room," with this twist of her mouth that approximates her smile, and a certain brightness to her tone. Like, hey! I just love to pee! don't you! " - be right back!"
And turns, and walks back through the crowd. Which parts for her, because of course it does.
Except: she doesn't come back.
Sid Rhodes[empathy on Sera before she goes!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 1
Justin Hale[Ack, me too!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Serafíne(Uh, manipulation + subterfuge)
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
SerafíneWhat Sid can tell is that Sera's a little bit stricken by Hawksley's reaction, suddenly ashamed, and there's an echo to that. It's him and now and more than that, too:but what that is is hard to measure or gauge. She also meant the apology and Sid probably gets some echo of confusion / aggravation too.
Hawksley RothschildTruthfully, if Sid had jerked her hand away, Hawksley would have let her go, and realized he was getting ahead of himself, and felt like a complete heel about it. Which he would have covered beautifully, by the way. But she doesn't jerk her hand away, and neither does Justin, even though Justin gives a little tug of his arm to get it back, and on another night Hawksley might have paid a little more attention to that, made up some explanation for it. He doesn't, right now, because Sera tries to stomp on his foot with a shoe.
And he reacts to that as he does, and when that dark look drops over his face, he loses Sid's hand and he releases Justin's arm as well, though slowly. It is not a cook with a hot stone, a child with a snake. The contact dies a natural death, and his hands feel colder for the lack of them.
For a moment.
--
And he grins. Sideways, when Sid asks him if he's okay. "Of course I'm okay," he says, with a huff of laughter, picking up his drink. "You just feel amazing." After a sip, he glances at Justin. "You do, too. What is th--"
Sera steps near. Hawksley's attention goes to her and surely Justin and Sid notice that, too, how quickly she arrests Hawksley's eyes, how when his head swivels around it is like he has spotted a morsel skittering along the ground and intends to pluck it from the earth, take it to the sky, and share its blood with the clouds. There's no anger in that. Only nature.
As though it is natural for him to turn to her, look at her, focus on her.
I'm sorry, she says, and doesn't look at him, and she's close enough that it takes nothing at all, just a gentle motion, to reach out and brush the back of his hand against the back of her hand, soft because he has not worked a day in his life, soft because the back of the hand is not where callouses form. He exhales.
If she could bear it, he might kiss her. As quick and delicate as an eagle plucking trout from a river before rising again. But he doesn't. And there is only so much one can communicate in a glance, or in a brush of a hand.
Hawksley doesn't say goodbye or goodnight or see-you-later. When she doesn't come back, he will notice. Unless he has a few more vodkas.
He lifts his head to look at Justin and Sid again. "So what is that?"
Sid RhodesEverything happens so fast, and then it calms down, and Sera is looking at Hawksley. She's letting go of Sid's hands and stepping forward to apologize, and she's seen that look on Hawksley's face before, or something like it. That rapt attention, like predator watching prey. She's been the subject of it before. She doesn't look at him more closely than that, she can't almost can't bring herself to look at him directly at all. So she doesn't try to read into him, to see if he's really fine or if he's covering it up. It wouldn't matter here anyway, not now, with Justin standing there and Sera leaving and possibly coming back. As Sera turns away that Sid, her senses alert in this place, sees the look on her face. She doesn't stop Sera, nor does she follow after her. Sid lets her go, but she frowns when she does. Not for the sharp cast of her features, made all the more stark and striking from fasting, but the things she reads in the younger woman's face.
But Sera will see if she looks at Sid the quirk of her mouth as she watches her go. She doesn't say goodbye, because she thinks Sera might come back despite history pointing to the contrary. Her dark eyes lower, and then they're alone with Hawksley, her and Justin. And Hawksley wants to know what that is, but before Sid gets to that she looks at Justin.
"You said your grandma had some cows," she says. "I think that's interesting."
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