The Corinthian

Elijah

[How did I sleep?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (5, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 3 )

Dan

The Corinthian is a small, lively little place that serves craft beers and craft cocktails and barsnacks. The sort of place that has singer-songwriters in on the weeknights to draw in a crowd, but no live music on the weekends since the bar is always crowded on a Saturday night.

A patio spills out onto the sidewalk, hemmed in by wrought-iron railings that are easily jumped, scattered with high-top tables at which you can stand, and ordinary tables around which are scattered small metal chairs. On fine evenings they open the big garage doors that join the interior and exterior spaces - all metal and glass - but when it's too cold or too fucking hot, well, smokers, you're on your own.

--

Here's the thing. Sera's impossible to miss. Even the amplitude of her resonance - visceral and enthralling and liminal - she is fucking gorgeous and goddamned magnetic and even if she weren't goddamned magic (and she is, darlings, goddamned magic) the world would just bend itself a little bit more around her.

Dan though, when she's not around. Isn't he just another face in the crowd? Tall guy, close-cropped blond hair, well groomed blond beard that is closer to scruffy than otherwise. Tattoos covering his arms in what seems, from a distance, like stained glass, all that color, see?

He's on the patio at the Corinthian. Checking his phone, smoking a cigarette - or, rather, sharing a cigarette - drinking whiskey and waiting for someone.

Elijah

He parks. The herald to Elijah's arrival was the sound of a motor cycle, and not something nice or not something crappy, merely a mediocre motor cycle that got the job done when push came to shove. More importantly, there wasn't a lot of pushing or shoving that was really involved. Elijah parked, and was off to the patio with a grin on his face because damned if he wasn't happy. Damned if he wasn't pleased and grinning like the world was worth grinning about.

He's never been to the Corinthian, but he does have a love of craft beers. Jenn opted not to come with, because for some reason she had something to do. If she'd known there would be a man with stained glass patchwork tattoos, she would have rethought her response.

The relationship between Dan and Sera was not the same as the relationship between Jenn and Elijah. He didn't even know what Dan was to Sera, but frankly Elijah didn't care.

Dan?

Dan was just fuckin' cool.

"Hey, man," he said with a smile that was at once bright and delighted. Because he was awake, because there was booze to be had. Because.

Dan

"Hey." There's a wry warmth to Dan's expression as he hands off the cigarette to the person with whom he'd been sharing it - a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman with a strong set of shoulders and a roller derby t-shirt - and they kind of wave each other off because Dan's turning back to Elijah and extending a calloused hand.

Not enthusiasm. Not exuberance. Just warm good feeling matched with a kind of steadiness that feels almost primordial.

He takes Elijah's hand and it is more of a smack than a shake see, there is intention to it, and movement and momentum.

"How've you been? Sera wanted me to look in on you."

Richard

[HELLO. MIND ANOTHER? :D]

Elijah

"Holy fuck, Dan," he sighed, more an exhaling of air that comes before a laugh that is at once tired and relieved, "my friends were in a coma, and now some of them aren't in a coma, I thought I almost drowned on dry land and-and-"

He laughs, he laughs while he shakes his hand, because sometimes all you can do is laugh. He shrugged, "it's been a trip this month, man. Good or bad, a real fuckin' trip."

It then hits him what Dan said. Sera said to check in on him.

"Oh yeah?"

Dan

(you can totally join damon!)

Elijah

(Dibs!)

Dan

"That sounds like a month." There is a flash of teeth behind his beard; this reflexive response to Elijah's instinct to laugh in the face of all of that. Drowning on dry land, the comatose. The truth is the consor knows something about all of that because unlike Serafíne, he actually checks Ginger.

Gray-blue eyes on Elijah's face, though, crinkled at the corners, because Dan is older than you might realize, as he continues in a rumbling, rumply baritone. "You seem to be holding up well, though. All things considered. That's a good sign."

A small snort. Lifts his whiskey to take a drink, mouth a bit wide as he does.

"And yeah. She wanted me to make arrangements for you to see another friend of ours, if the timing worked. Jim Thompson."

Elijah

Elijah… Elijah is young. He is young in many senses of the word, unashamed of his lack of experience but more than willing to make up for it by diving head first into heaven knows what else. One had once remarked hat Elijah was hurtling off towards his own demise, but he was heading towards that end no faster or slower than precisely the time he intended.

Mister Poirot arrived at things precisely when he intended, kind of like Gandalf.

Except, of course, he couldn't hope to be half as cool as Gandalf. That required a beard, and frankly Elijah Poirot was beardly challenged.

"Could still work," he said, "Sera's not back yet, we could still have some wiggle room. What's he like? Anything I should avoid talking about? I've had a month to process, so I mean, all things considered I'd say I'm okay."

Dan

"No she's not."

Dan agrees and he doesn't mention the gigs he had to cancel or the fact that she was supposed to be gone three fucking days and now it is three fucking weeks. Just says it like that, a little wry, because of course he goddamned misses her. The world seems just a little less vibrant when she's not close by; when she's not there, when she doesn't need him, which she always seems to. He's also way too fucking mellow to think about resenting her vagaries.

"As for Jim - " a brief, sharp exhale. Fond you see, but not familiar. Not precisely. "I don't know where to start. But he's never struck me as the sort of person around whom you need to avoid certain topics of conversation.

"I think he's probably almost entirely the other-way-round. You know? Nothing off limits. He's sort of a badass hippie guru surrealist peacenik.

"I mean, if I had to put a label on him."

Elijah

"Only sort of a badass hippie guru surrealist peacenik?"

Dan

The guitarist gives a brief shrug with his skinny shoulders. There's some movement of his mouth beneath his beard, all quirk.

"Sometimes he has a mustache."

Whatever the fuck that means.

Elijah

Sometimes, Jim Thomspon has a moustache.

Elijah looks at Dan, with the sort of careful eye of a perpetual student. He poked like he was trying to dissect meaning, find the importance and the significance of all the symbols and sensations and the meaning of the elements that make up this mystery man.

"Dan, I am too sober to understand the significance of a moustache," he said with the utmost sincerity, "let's go remedy this situation posthaste."

Eleanor

The Corinthian, you would think, is not the sort of place you would find Eleanor. She is in her early thirties, quite early in fact, but she carries weights that are older than that, seem to have gone back to time imemorial, over and over. She was a lawyer and now she is a professor; it hardly matters that she is also a slender woman with clear skin and even clearer blue eyes, with hair that is long and sometimes unruly at the ends and thick and blonde. It hardly matters that she is pleasant to the eyes, because: she is known to the young people around this area as a professor, and she is known to the community of magi -- some of them -- as a Disciple, when there aren't many of those to go around these days.

Yet here she is. And it is not because Richard has dragged her, or anything like that. Richard has his life; Eleanor has her own. They intersect quite a lot, that's true. But they aren't chained together. She's here because she wanted to go out, and she likes this place fine, and perhaps he texted her and said something about coming over and she told him she was going out and he asked where and so now, he's going to meet her here.

When she comes in, she is dressed well, and not the way she is at the campus. She is in very, very skinny jeans, the ends tucked into a pair of slight-heeled ankle boots. Her tank top is long and lean. The vest she wears over it is the sort that drapes, that flows around her hips, that hangs open, that has a crocheted upper back. The jeans are dark, the boots are gray, the tank is black, the vest is cream. She carries a small bag, and it is British racing green. Her hair is loose, and there is a stack of bracelets around her left wrist she was given as a gift, which she was wearing even before Richard texted her.

The room does not get colder when she walks in. Her resonance does not make people feel cold, though they often mistake it for such. It makes them feel like it is winter outside. It makes them feel other things, too. Most people do not find any of them pleasant, or peaceful, or serene, or sympathetic. She knows this. It does not bother her.

First she looks for Richard, though. If he is here, she will see him. Extraordinarily tall people do have that going for them. But while she's looking, she catches sight of Elijah, and she smiles. If she catches his eye, she waves.

Elijah

[I'm good!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (7, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )

Dan

"I don't think the mustache has any significance," an easy grin slices through Dan's beard. The expression is slightly hooked, see, the wryness lingers as he picks up the remainder of his whiskey and tosses it back. The hint of teeth behind the gesture, and he drinks it not neat but on the rocks, so the ice cubes make their delicate little chiming sounds as the roll around in the glass.

Then the whiskey's gone, but just the ice left, so Dan sets the drink aside on one of the hightops where a server will swing by and pick it up.

"It just means that he didn't feel like shaving his upper lip."

Dan glances up at Eleanor. Catches perhapsthe edge of the smile or the note of recognition in her face, or the movement of the wave. "Friend of yours?"

Richard

"Elijah!"

It turns out Richard is already here, or at least: is arriving. Arrives from sort-of-behind Elijah, clapping him on the shoulder as he pulls out a chair.

"Okay if I sit?" He pauses just long enough for invitation, then looks across the table -- across the room -- waves at Eleanor, that easy relaxed grin of his making an appearance. Then back to Dan. "One of Sera's housemates, aren't you? Have we officially met? I'm Richard."

Elijah

Now, his reaction should be one more severe, but instead when he feels that cold, griping end it isn't a feeling of despair that comes over him. It isn't fear and memory and nostalgia, it is light and familiarity that comes to his eyes and that budding sense of upheaval met against something much more notable. Instead of being off settled?

Elijah smiles. Bright- friend of his?

"That's Eleanor, she's cool," and a clap on the shoulder, a call of his name and his first reaction was to jump, then laugh? Because laughter came easily.

"Richard! Hey, man- Richard, this is Dan."

Elijah

Eleanor waved; Elijah waved back, and waved over.

Eleanor

Eleanor gives a polite wave, and does not head over, because Elijah might be trying to flirt with that tattooed young man.

Richard doesn't give a shit. Elijah! So she is waving toward them and hearing, and seeing, her very tall apprentice who seems to know them both. Or at least be acquainted with both. She begins to head over, which is suitable, since Elijah is waving her over.

She walks over, and there's a fluidity to her stride, an ease in her body. She knows her body. She does not seek to transcend it. She does not worship it. But she knows it, and its limits, and she is comfortable in each step. It's the confidence, and the aura of power, that gets glances over shoulders, that gets people either watching her or edging out of her way.

She's cool.

"Hello, Elijah," she says. Gives a smile to Richard, a wordless greeting. She looks at Dan, though, echoing the introduction he was just given. "Dan?" she confirms, and offers her hand to shake his. "I'm Eleanor Yates."

Dan

"If we haven't met officially," Dan returns, to Richard, looking: up, and up, and up. See: quirk. "We've met unofficially. Yeah," affection, deep and abiding, warms something about him. His voice or his gaze. "You've got it. One of Sera's housemates. Good to see you again - "

Then Dan's standing, clapping a hand on Elijah's shoulder rather as Richard did. Something warm about the gesture. The way his hand lingers.

"Listen. I'm actually gonna head out. Have an early fucking meeting tomorrow. Elijah, gimme a shout if/when you wanna go meet Jim. Keep in touch in the meantime. Seriously, I promised her I'd look in on you."

That's what Dan says by way of farewell.

Then he releases Elijah's shoulder, and heads out.

Dan

"If we haven't met officially," Dan returns, to Richard, looking: up, and up, and up. See: quirk. "We've met unofficially. Yeah," affection, deep and abiding, warms something about him. His voice or his gaze. "You've got it. One of Sera's housemates. Good to see you again - "

Then Dan's standing, he's standing up as Eleanor approaches and joins them, and something in the coincidence of her approach and his exit gives the gesture a courtly patina, of which he is smart enough to be aware. Eleanor offers her hand and he takes it, and his own is warm and calloused and his grip is stronger than you'd imagine, just looking at him.

He is closer to Eleanor's age, we imagine, than Elijah's.

"Dan Goshen. Nice to meet you. I'd stay, but I have an early day tomorrow."

Then, clapping a hand on Elijah's shoulder rather as Richard did. Something warm about the gesture. The way his hand lingers.

"Listen. Gimme a shout if/when you wanna go meet Jim. Keep in touch in the meantime. You've got my number. Night all."

That's what Dan says by way of farewell.

Then he releases Elijah's shoulder, and heads out.

Richard

This is not an unusual thing, really: for Eleanor to meet Richard somewhere by design or accident and find him already in the company of friends old or new. Never, not once, has he ever seemed unwilling to be approached or embarrassed by her presence or unwelcoming or -- anything of the sort, really.

He waves. Elijah waves. She comes over, this acarya of Richard's, this professor of law at Sturm. She is not dressed like a professor of law tonight. While Richard isn't half so immature as to remark on it, or worse, to crack some joke about her cleaning up nice or looking like a normal human being or some such thing, he does get a certain slant to his grin, surprised-delighted.

"Later, Dan," he says as Dan departs. "Say hi to Sera for me."