Left, not right.

Arionna de la Babin

[Do I feels you?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )

Danny

(Awareness)

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 4, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )

Arionna de la Babin

It might be the end of the weekend, but that doesn't keep people from celebrating. There are gallery shows, cafes, restaurants, and general parties happening because...some people don't see Monday as the beginning of work, or at least see no reason to cry over Sunday coming to a close.

Arionna had slipped to the bookstore earlier, happily (inwardly, not outwardly) walking away with a new book to read in her off time. But now she wanders, pausing at the opening of some art gallery, filled with people who wear black...not because they're part of the goth crowd, but because 'they were doing it before it was cool.' Probably sipping wine too. Losers.

She has a short skirt on, with black stockings and a pair of boots. A black long sleeve keeps her from the cold, and a black jacket to go with it. She wears a black cinch at her waist and a studded collar at her neck, with a black crystal hanging from it. Despite her clothing, she doesn't fit. There are no square glasses on her face, or the indication of art snobbery. Her darklips and eyes denote that she is, indeed, sporting black for the most appropriate reason, and not to make a statement; she likes the color.

Ian

[Awareness ftw]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 5, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

Danny

*He had gotten dressed, he had. Being dressed was good, it was black cargo trousers tucked in around the ankles into those shabby combat boots he liked so much. Well lets face it, we all have our favorite things, his was his boots. A hoodie, black with a white motif on the front. It looked like a white triangle cut in half.

His leather biker jacket completed the look done up slightly along with the collar to keep the crappy weather at bay.*

Elijah

Jenn was making him interface with the rest of humanity.

Not that he didn't want to interface with the rest of humanity, it was just that it was incredibly early to be interfacing with people, and she had looked at Elijah with a quiet bit of desperation that came with please please please be my wingman because there was nothing that got him out and about more than the need to be a wingman at an art gallery. It was going well. Jenn was with a girl with dreadlocks and a septum piercing. A girl who smiled too brightly who could probably count as an amazon of some sort, but Jenn seemed to really like her so, maybe he wasn't so much there as a wingman as he was an escape route. Who knew, really. Jenn had just been specific that she had wanted Elijah to come out with her.

Maybe she just wanted his company and needed an excuse.

Whatever the case, there was an abundance of Halloween-themed and death-centric and rebirth-focused artwork at this particular event, and more things that tasted like pumpkin spice than you could shake a stick at. And an abundance of vegetarian tiny food thingies. There was a word for them. A word that was incredibly difficult to spell, so the author of this particular post just avoided using said word instead of noting that the food thingies actually existed.

Also: there was always time for vegetarian sambousa. it wasn't even an Ethiopian-flavored event, but goddamnit the young man with his trousers and his button up shirt and his vest (because pocket watch) was going to eat whatever was available so long as it wasn't meat-flavored. He could tell what the texture was. He'd had someone else clean off his phone.

Arionna de la Babin

She felt cold, as she always did. As winter approaches, it might even be harder to notice her presence, but not yet. The fingers of winter caressed clothing, sunk its nails into the flesh and burrowed far beneath it until bones were exposed to the reminder that winter was approaching, and despite the snow and glamorous glittering sun, it was not kind.

Night was hers. She never felt particularly strong or capable when the sun was up, but once it sunk beneath the horizon, Arionna felt the strength of her own blood. The darkness was her own, and with it, her magic flourished. But that was neither here nor there, as she stood outside of the gallery, contemplating crashing it, or at least showing the 'artists' what real black was meant for.

She adjusted the bag at her side, inhaled slowly, and made her way slowly past the threshold. Like a cold wind she stepped in, dark boots clunking on the floor. Pumpkin spice was the calling of every white girl in the great USA, and even Ari felt a calling for it. Maybe later.

Danny

*He made his way into the gallery just for the shits and giggles of it. Perhaps if he saw something interesting, he might buy. Maybe. He thrust his hands into his pockets as he slowed his pace. Walking past the desk, one hand moved to pick up a pamphlet on top of it. Then began to make his way around it slowly.*

Serafíne

Awareness.

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )

Ian

Ian was already inside the art gallery, though for the moment it didn't appear that he was with anyone. Less than a week and a half ago he'd been covered in a dead woman's blood, and now he was walking through a fucking art gallery in downtown Denver in one of his better suits like everything was life-as-usual.

That was a lie, of course. But not everyone wore their emotional state on their sleeves.

The suit was a black burberry creation. Tailored and very slim-cut. Beneath the jacket he had on a deep teal shirt and a black silk tie. He probably looked a little overdressed for this type of gallery exhibit, but then, art shows tended to draw a pretty eclectic crowd.

There was a painting of a man trapped in some kind of nightmare. He was sitting in what looked like a pool of blood. The piece was crudely effective, if not precisely nuanced. Ian hovered in front of it for a long time, the glass of wine in his hand momentarily forgotten.

Danny

(Scrub me from this. I'm knackered, sorry. Got to be up early tomorrow)

Kiara Woolfe

[Spidy Senses Roll, yo.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Serafíne

This is a kind of close encounter and this is her neighborhood and these are her people and she's not tonight at the particular gallery where so many of her sort are converging, no. She's down the street, in a little bar so narrow that even the skinniest chicks are all "scuse me, scuse me" and sidewinding past the strangers tucked into the bartstools. The place specializes in non-traditional whiskeys, whatever the hell that means. Sera doesn't know but at least three of the people in the extended group she is with tonight think they know.

They are probably wrong, but you've probably never heard of these things, either.

Halloween was several days ago but today is All Soul's and anyway Sera is a celebrant, she is still celebrating, she is dressed up in a black bustier beneath her black leather jacket, wearing these boots that look like hooves and an antlered crown, and she feels them and she is unwinding herself from girl beside her considering following the pull of resonance both strange and known, but the girl does not wish to be unwound-from and someone buys her another shot of what was that? and it is golden sliding amber, warming her all the way down, and she wants another.

So. So - ships, passing. Another shot. This heady laughter tattooed against her skin as the golden moment splits itself into fractal edges, each with its own shade of flame. Strangers come and new-friends go and her phone keeps buzzing with texts and soon enough that pulse, that beat, that awareness-of-others has settled into the background hum of her Sunday.

They'll leave that hole in the wall soon.

They'll turn: left, rather than right.

Serafíne

[heh. quite literally a drive-by from me since it is my bedtime. later, y'all!]