Coffee is boring, drink gin.

Serafíne

I stumble into every open scene, but once again only for a flyby and I'm'a let someone else start. :)

Serafíne

or I might not pop in. because maybe sera's presence would be really distracting.

Grace

[Awareness!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Ian

Bardo Coffee was one of the better coffee shops in the Denver area - or so the reviews claimed. The shop was on Broadway, a bit South of downtown proper and not terribly far from Washington Park. The coffee there was excellent, and the pastries weren't bad either. Both of these things were lost on Ian, who did not drink coffee or eat pastries. But he was there anyway, seated at a table by the wall beneath a large abstract painting. A Windows tablet was propped up on the table in front of him, and he sat back with one heel resting casually on the edge of his seat, his attention focused on the screen and on whatever audio was currently being fed through his bluetooth earbuds.

A cup of black tea sat curled in one hand, warming the skin of his palm. All in all, a very mundane pose to find him in.

Grace

There's better coffee at the office, because Kalen always manages to find the best of everything. But Grace was in the area, and the office is all the way across town. Besides, this way, someone else gets to make it for her.

She's wearing her coat today, and has yet to take it off as she strolls up to the register to order a large caramel frap thing, all ice and sweet, more of a desert than a drink.

Really, she wouldn't have to be open to the bend of magic in the air to notice Ian in the room. It's like a vision out of a menswear catalog wherever he shows up, like you could just cut a square out of the world with just him in it, and it wouldn't seem out of place. She stares. If he looks up, she'll give a little wave while waiting for her drink.

When it does, she strolls over to his table, wincing a bit at the Windows tablet. What is it with Clippy's minions infesting her life lately?

"Hey. What's up?"

Serafíne

Dan isn't especially, noticeable to mages. Blends in with the hipsters, just a tall, lanky guy with a nice, full, blond, hipster bear. Hard to tell the difference between hipster beards and Duck Dynasty beards but in Denver the nuances are obviously: he's in black skinny jeans and a red-blue-pink plaid button down with the sleeves rolled up, buttoned over a band t-shirt (someone you've never heard of, naturally. his tastes is probably better than yours) with tattoos visible on his arms, colorful, one blending into the other.

He's not getting a table and there's a line just then, staggered because it is just one of those things. People are not ants, marching neatly without stumbling into each other all over the forest floor.

And sometimes Dan sparks on awareness but tonight either that sense is turned off for him or he's just suppressing it.

See, that pile-up happens just after Grace retrieves her frap. There's something malfunctioning behind the counter, or too many special orders at once. Maybe he catches Grace's eye as she slips past him and gives her a quiet wave. You know: acquaintances passing each other in line, that kinda thing. He's intent on coffee and its ordering, is Dan.

For the nonce.

Ian

[Awareness]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

Lena Reilly

[[Pre-emptive Magedar! Spec: Uncanny Instincts]]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

Ian

Grace's impression of Ian wasn't an inaccurate one. Today Ian's outfit consisted of skinny black deisel jeans, boots and a thin grey sweater that hugged his upper body and zipped up in an asymetrical L-shape. The high collar was left partly open, so that the edges of it fell away from his neck and collar bones.

As it happened, he was watching a movie. Depending on the angle at which Grace approached him, she might notice the lush colors and cinematography that were notable hallmarks of a Wong Kar Wai film. Either way, Ian paused it when she approached, glancing up from the screen as he pulled off his earbuds.

"Hey." He glanced over Grace's shoulder at the milling line, spotting Dan's familiar beard. If Dan happened to catch Ian's eyes, Ian would nod in his direction. A casual acknowledgment. Maybe he even glanced around a bit to see if Sera was in tow, but she wasn't, so a moment later his attention refocused on Grace.

"How are things over in Graceland?"

(Ha ha.)

Grace

As she headed back to Ian's table, her eye was caught by Dan and his waving. He got a smile, a little wave. She said hi. But then, she had a place to be.

She raises her eye at Ian, and his 'Graceland' comment, as though she hadn't heard that a million times in school. "I'm not a reincarnated Elvis. I think I'd know if I were."

She slides into a chair at the table, plopping her frappuwhatever down. "Graceland's good though. I met someone new recently. Jo. Kinda just ran into her at the DMV. New enough not to believe in fairy tales," she says, smirks.

Lena Reilly

It's not "cool" to like Taylor Swift these days. Hell, it hasn't ever really been cool to like her. But since when has Lena Reilly given a rat's ass about being cool? That's the best part of freeing yourself from the bounds of societal conventions and pushing your boundaries; you very quickly learn that what other people consider to be acceptable just doesn't matter. Be yourself, they say, and Lena's all about trying to do that. She doesn't always succeed, but she tries.

And that's why she's bopping her way down the street in a grey jacket that rests over a grey T-Shirt with an vaguely anime-like drawing of Rogue surrounded by glowing playing cards with a banner that reads "Can't Touch This." Her jeans are black, with her usual sandals dancing their way along the sidewalk. Her hair is falling free and waving around as she half-sings along with that most famous of current pop stars that echoes through her headphones.

"I've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made, people like you always want back the love they pushed aside. But people like me are gone forever, when you say goodbye!"

Yep, that's what not being cool looks like. But she earns points for enthusiasm.

As she dances along toward the coffee, that feeling tickles its way down her brain and she smiles a little. With a little side shuffle she hip-checks the door open, slipping inside as she pulls the earbuds out. She gives a quick look around and gives a little smile and wave to Dan on her way toward Ian and Grace.

Serafíne

Ian catches Dan's eye okay and so does Grace. So: he is noticed. He is noticeable enough and the guy gives Ian the edge of a smile. One corner of his bearded mouth. There's some acoustic version of one of the new tracks from the new Decemberists' album and something about rhythm makes some part of Dan move unconsciously to it. Just a staccato tap of his forefinger against the meat of his thumb as he waits.

Sera isn't in tow: not then, not now, not yet, but that line is one of those things and she must be around, maybe they can feel her outside or coming closer, if they are Feeling Things. Her patience is far from legendary, particularly when she's still kinda coming down from whatever she was doing the night before, and she hasn't slept and she wants a drunk. Last night Sera was wearing a cocktail dress seamed with rhinestones, crystals, diamonds maybe. Tonight she's back to battered denim cutoffs, fishnets, combat boots. An olive green military-style jacket, ragged so it feels all authentic, swings open over a slice of her torso, the suggestion of her own tattoos just visible beneath a lacy black and lime green bra.

Sera carries a brushed nickel travel mug with her into the coffee shop. Gives Dan a Look because You Are Taking So Long, Dan and wanders over to Ian's table to wait. Kisses Grace on the crown of her head. Pulls up a chair without asking permission, gives Ian a look that is wry and hung over and still kinda rolling. Leans over to inhale his tea, because she likes tea, Sera.

Offers both Grace and Ian the chance to sip whatever is in her coffee mug, and if either one accepts, I'll tell you what heavenly concoction they find therein.

Serafíne

(The curse of posting at the same time: edit.)

Dan's turning around to glance at the door as Lena comes in and she gives him a smile and a little wave and he lifts his chin in acknowledgment, blue eyes tracking her progress through the coffee shop as she dances through it. Longer than he'd meant to. Sera slips in after Lena, still finds her way to the table and everything else. Offers everyone (Ian, Grace, Lena) a sip of her Drink, whatever it may be, but is also: still, pretty quiet.

Ian

"Mm, fresh meat," Ian teased lightly. "Don't send her my way."

(As if anyone in their right mind would actually think of him as a responsible mentor.)

There was a swirl of activity at the counter. The drinks were taking too long, and soon enough Sera appeared to check on the progress. But she wasn't the only familiar face to wander in through the front door, and when Ian caught sight (and sense) of Lena, his eyebrows went up.

"Hey you." This was offered to Lena with a broad, toothy smile. Ian had teeth that were too white and somehow a little too sharp and even when he was relaxed - even when he was smiling - the effect was subtly reminiscent of primal things. Sera offered everyone a sip of her drink, but Ian shook his head. He did, however, raise his own cup to his lips.

As the table began to feel crowded, he popped the stand on his tablet and put it away, sliding it neatly into the small messenger bag on the floor beside his chair. The headphones he left hanging around his neck, for now.

"Don't I feel popular." He winked at Grace. Half a flirtation.

Grace

She declines Sera's offer, even as she accepts her kiss. It probably doesn't have much coffee in it. Probably maybe it's straight whiskey or something. "Sera. Hey," she says, soft and quiet to match her friend. As Sera leans down, she'll likely feel that winged-ness that is new to Grace. Wings that are there thought they cannot be seen sprout from her back, passing straight through the real.

"She doesn't seem your type," Grace says, sighs. "I think I'm going to have to grab on to her and hold on tight before the Techs do."

Lena walks in, and that's a beat Grace hasn't felt in a while. Her head turns, and her eyes widen -- so many Mages in this place right now, even the sleepers must be feeling it -- this curiously thrumming cat with wings notion in the air. She waves at Lena, after a moment's concern.

And that concern? Why does this always happen? Mage convergences are weird like that.

"Lena! Hey!"

Lena Reilly

Serafine also gets a smile and a wave as she comes over to the table. She turns her attention to the whole of the table once they're all converged. "Hey, you guys. Been a while. How are things?"

She doesn't move to take a seat until Ian frees a seat, which is essentially a silent invitation. She politely waves off the offer of whatever Sera's drinking and settles in. "How have things been?"

Lena Reilly

[[Ack! Delete that first "How are things?" Lena isn't a broken record.]]

Serafíne

"A-Okay," Sera returns, when Lena asks how things have been. There's a drawl to her voice, like somehow the speed on the record player has been shifting lower, lengthening like there's a needle skipping the groove, but maybe that has something to do with Last Night or Tonight or whatever is in that coffee mug. Look closer.

Languid. That's the word for it. The demeanor of woman who has not slept in more than twenty-four hours and is returning, moment by moment, sensation by sensation, to the confines of her body.

She sips her coffee mug. Sips it with pleasure, sips it thoughtfully.

"I dunno," Sera interrupts, then, as Grace tells Ian that her new friend is Not His Type. "Maybe some folks need to be with someone who isn't their type. What the fuck's gonna happen to us if we don't challenge ourselves and everyone fucking else? Just sit around sliding into complacency.

"Sides. I bet Ian's great with lost little lambs. If you'd only give him half-a-chance."

Ian

Ian put a finger to his lips in a silent hushing gesture at Grace's mention of the Technocracy. (Speak of the devil, after all.) An echo of his smile remained when he pulled his hand away.

"And what is my type, exactly?"

The Decemberists were playing over the speakers, which was perhaps to be expected in a Denver coffee shop. Before Grace could answer his question, Sera interjected, and you could actually see the muscle in Ian's cheek twitch with the effort it took him to hold back his laughter.

"On second thought..." There was a sharp gleam in his eyes. Deliberately predatory. But he dropped the act a moment later. "To be fair, I don't really have a fucking type."

(Oh but see, that was actually not true. It just depended on what variety of the word type one meant to imply.)

He made a gesture toward Lena, as though to include her in the statement. (Not like that, mind. They'd never slept together, or been in a cabal together. But she knew his habits about as much as anyone else at the table did. Probably a bit more. Or at least, she had known them.) "Life gets boring without variety."

A moment later: "By the way, Justin says hi."

(How the fuck did Ian know Justin?)

Grace

"Things are," Grace says in response to Lena. "How they got there is a great mystery." This is obviously Grace being silly, but hey...

"That's true. I mean, I'd probably still be scoffing at fairy tales or thinking I was batshit if it weren't for you guys having been there. Jo, she's got boxes around her thinking habits. I keep thinking of how to break them. Thought to show her the parallel worlds if only I knew how."

Oh yeah, coffee. She has some. It'll all melt soon if she doesn't get at it. So she slurps up some caramel.

"Things have been amazing, though, Lena. I met someone else recently too."

Lena Reilly

She grins a little at Ian's response to the idea that he might have a type. She did rather anticipate a response like that.

"Having types makes for a dull way to go through life. My type was always 'has a pulse.' Everything else is negotiable, for the most part." Which isn't to say she was ever particularly promiscuous (except for that little bit of time, but we don't talk about it). But she never was one to think inside boxes, even before she Awakened.

"And I'm not gonna lie, Sera...I'd pay good money to see Ian mentor someone." It's said with the tone of a good-natured tease, a sidelong glance given to him.

She nods her head a little in time with the folk rock...not normally her jam, but again. She doesn't have a type and that goes to music, as well. She looks over at Grace when she says she met someone else, brows raising in interest.

"Oh really? Who?"

Jo Hamilton

[Do I know what yooou know...is there magic in the room?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )

Serafíne

Dan's line Started to Move and he moved with it. His order did not take long and as Ian is telling someone (Sera? Lena? both?) that Justin Says Hi Sera is giving him a briefly sharper look, the arc of her gaze defining a motion like a scythe, for all that not very much about her seems bladed.

But then Dan's behind her and he has a tray in hand and he's murmuring something about the match and she tips her head back and submits to being cosseted and cozened and cajoled out of her sprawl. She's walking slowly, s if the world were at once infinitely new and infinitely and there is that strange steadiness about her as she informs Ian, "I'd like to know how he's doing, sometime."

Low-voiced. Her gaze briefly caught on her reflection in the window, some strange echo, contained in her body. Some passing time.

Then she's up. Dan's slung an arm around her shoulders, rests his chin on the crown of her head, and off they go.

Serafíne

(Thanks guys. Bedtime for me!)