Thursday, 6 March 2014

Welcome to Denver

Alexander Brandt

Vibe is a newly opened club, the reincarnated form of an independent cinema that lost its battle with the major chains. The main stage is where the screen used to be, surrounded by a wide dance floor. Wide tiers, where the seats used to be, give open areas for groups to socialise, flirt, and basically do what people do when there’s alcohol, loud music, and poor lighting. A single barman works the long bar, serving the relatively small crowd, here to try somewhere new. An unknown local band is on the stage, doing their best to keep the attention of the audience. At least nobody is throwing anything at them. Yet.

An upper balcony has an area with tables, out of direct line of the speakers so it’s a little quieter. A smaller bar saves the patrons having to head down to refill their drinks. It’s on the balcony that we find Alexander tonight, leaning on the railing.. A woman is just leaving his side, with a shrug – apparently heading off to find another fish in this very small sea. Alexander has a bottle of beer in his hand, which he takes an occasional drink from. Tonight he’s in black boots, black combats, with a leather jacket worn open over a red t-shirt.

Leonhard Frick

The music fails to impress at least one set of ears, though it comes as no surprise to anybody else. One look at the greying sneer that has taken the form of a man - and in an aggressively crisp suit no less - and nobody should expect him to enjoy much of anything. At least, since he looks to be in his sixties, not since Reagan was president. In fact, he looks like he might have voted for the man... but for the fact he also looks like he could also have been one to have put a bullet in him...Beside him, pinching his nose in restrained patience

Swiss accent. Ugly tone. "Fucking pitiful. This is why we come here?"

"No, Gustav," the younger man insists successfully, gesturing broadly towards a Staff Only sign behind which presumeably lies Only Staff. His is a less-discernible accent and the softer of the two voices. "That was why I came here. You just invited yourself, and not to much in the way of help in there."

"Oh, yes, you're moving into music management and you think you know how to deal wit--"

"I am not moving into management, you Swiss tit. I'm trying to.. oh, you know what? Just fuck off, will you?"

The elder, Swiss man glowers at the younger man, all denim and moleskin and... finally... the younger, softer man's are the winning set of eyes in the brief match of Wills. The elder man leaves without further comment but for a sucking of his teeth and the younger... sighing... takes to the railing of the balcony to watch him leave. There is some guy also at the railing, to whom he throws a wince of apology after his departing associate's presence.

Down he goes, the intimidating Gustav, through the people down below, and off he goes, out he goes... Thank Providence, he's left the building, and Leonhard considers getting a drink.

Leonhard Frick

[[Sorry. Should have had: Beside him, pinching his nose in restrained patience, Leonhard, glancing about the place as if seeing something less unpleasant might make the other man... somehow... vanish.]]

Alexander Brandt

The band? They’re already, he guesses. Nothing really to write home about, but probably about all they could get to fill the slot. Hopefully they’re just the warm-up act and not the main attraction. Alexander glances back at the argument – maybe to see if it’s someone he knows, maybe to see if it’s likely to turn violent. The answer to both apparently being “no”, he goes back to watching the half-filled dance floor.

He feels Leonhard park himself at the balcony next to him, tension radiating away into the warm air of the club. He looks up and catches the wince, then looks down again to watch the larger man stalk away below them.

“Sounded like that went well.”

Leonhard Frick

Caught by the comment, Leonhard pauses in his thoughts of a drink. Stalls, in fact, in that thought, though it is only a second before a smile arranges itself healthily upon his face. He looks to Alexander, his eyebrows bobbing briefly, "He's a very sweet man is Gustav. As you must have heard for yourself. Brings out the best in me, too. Sorry."

He glances to the band that the argument had done little to mar or improve. Unimpressed but... interested... he quips to Alexander. "Don't think he made you miss much, though. Give them six months they might get enough to confidence to ditch the drummer. Could only help, I think."

He may very well be right. The drummer. The drummer. The drummer is not only keeping time, but keeping time away from the bass player's regular frustrations. It's not so much a missed beat, because there is not one, but the Drummer's Sin - not loving the bass player enough.

Serafíne

(Perception and Awareness)

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )

Serafíne

That unknown local band gets a kick in the ovaries and that kick comes from the hallway leading down past the stage, toward the dimly lit restrooms, the antique payphone, the long-out-of-service cigarette vending machine salvaged from some former incarnation of Vibe, and to the back door leading into the alley that backs up against the building.

See? Laughter and a small and slightly raucous group and perhaps Leonhard can feel the rather distinctive way Sera bends the universe - liminal, enthralling, visceral - and there she is, at the center of a small knot of fellow hipsters as if she were at the center of some goddamned universe, and maybe she is. That's the way the group sliding in the back opens up. Like they're unfolding around her.

Sera is rather skinny and not particularly tall. Her actual body does not take up much space, but she makes up for that with everything else. Heavy black boots with platforms and heels sufficient to take her from 5'5" to 5'9", wrapped in buckles and straps and strops. Thigh-high fishnets, slightly rent, held up by lacy black garters visible beneath the rather short hemline of a rather sweet pink dress. The print: bumblebees.

Inside Sera is stripping off her leather jacket and pushing it a bit drunkenly into one of her companion's arms. That guy - whom Leonhard may recognized as Dan-he's-cool from the dinner party at the chantry - is a near about 6'2", tall and lanky, dressed in skinny jeans and a tucked-in-button-down flannel. His arms are covered in tattoos and he's wearing a bowtie at the neck that he actually tied himself and he is only half-heartedly trying to hold Sera back as she insists on climbing onstage and taking over from the slightly forgettable singer of the slightly forgettable local band on an otherwise slightly forgettable night at Vibe.

She mutters something in the bass player's ear while cajoling the guitar out've the hands of the guitarist, and within about thirty seconds they've launched into a rather chaotic version of the Violent Femmes' Kiss Off.

It's a simple song. Sera mostly remembers the chords and the first thirty seconds or so are just her voice and a handful of rough chords. Then the bass comes in.

Unlike that drummer, Sera loves the fucking bassist.

--

Just one song, then she's done. Oh and Leonhard, she can feel you there at the bar. For at least twenty-five percent of the song, she's looking right at you.

The song ends. The girl jumps down from the little stage like she's not wearing 4+" heels and circles to her consor to steal the drink he has already procured, then starts toward the bar.

So yeah. That happens.

Alexander Brandt

Alexander smiles wryly at the comment about Gustav’s personality. “I can see that in him. All sweet talk and charm by the sounds of things.” There’s another swig of the beer . “As you say, it’s not like I missed the highlight of their performance. Or maybe I did, it’s hard to tell.”

Leonhard passes comment on the drummer. Maybe it’s accurate, and a replacement will turn the act around. It’s not really his area of expertise, though, music management. “I’ll have to take your work for that. Maybe if this place is still running in six months we’ll see how they’re getting on.” Ever the optimist.

The accent of the other man catches his attention for a moment, just as Sera and her entourage arrive below. Alexander looks down and watches the unplanned act change, half a smile on his face as the displaced singer says something inaudible to the rest of the band before flouncing back the way the new arrivals had come from. “Which may not be that likely.”

But, then, the music gets going. And, this time, the people actually pay attention. The performance may not be flawless, but at least there’s some presence this time. Maybe it’s her way of enthralling people without them realising. It’s certainly worked on Alexander, although he does check a few times to see if it’s him or Leonhard that she’s watching.

When the song finishes, the atmosphere in the club is a lot livelier. As the woman miraculously avoids breaking her ankles getting off the stage, Alexander asks, “Someone you know?”

Leonhard Frick

"You're probably right, yes. If. Hope so, since they do at least have a fair turn of... oh. Oh?"

He mutters what might be a name under his very pleased breath as the commotion begins. Serafine. Come to carve a notch in the night, come to share it with the Common World. Perhaps the word 'bravery' is in his mind as he salutes her. Yes, salutes, pressing himself for a moment quite dangerously against gravity, his upper body out over those below. It is an overblown salute. One of grand gesture atop his smile of white teeth. And one repeated to Dan. (Now, that's a consor... even if perhaps not much of a grog. But he lets Gustav prowl out of his thoughts far more quickly than out of the club...)

"Oh, you're in for it now," he had said aloud. Quite aloud. Quite freely. For Alexander's ears but loud enough that it joined in and complimented the bustled reaction to the Ecstatic's invasion.

Perhaps he's in his thirties. No, he's clearly in his thirties. And he's clearly dress more for the louche and semi-suave of the art gallery, the theatre, even the book signing... but that smile's right at home, catching the moment with aplomb. In catching the moment, he realises something about Time. Time. Time at the bar, gentlemen, please...

"Not well enough, my friend. Not well enough. She's Sera." He could have said Serafine, he could have answered Alexander with that. But, no. Something about simply heralding her as Sera, as if she were every bit the open beacon in the wider world that the stage had just enjoyed for a moment... Something about it just demands: Simply Sera. You've seen her, what more can I say? (There is more respect than familiarity, however, in how he says his reply to Alexander's query.)

Bravery. And while it was Kiss Off and not the far more coaxing strains of, perhaps, some operetta or (looking at him) a folk-rock open-mic night... it is a moment that glimpses back at him and whispers: Pymander. (Well, at least a corner of that Ideal City, that Perfect State...) And if she is so brave as to do that, to share that, should he not follow suit, Pymander? Quite out of nowhere, he states to Alexander: "Owe you a refill, I think. Least I can do."Yes, time and timing. He's off to the bar to be there before Dan need order. Only fair. He has spied the bottle that Alexander had been drinking, and mentioned the name as he moves. If Alexander would prefer not to follow him - and who would blame him, Leonhard having become a little... familiar? No, relaxed - then it's clearly not Leonhard that would point any finger of blame as he moves to the bar before the gaggle of invaders can beat him (and perhaps the man in the combats and red) there.

Serafíne

Up. She was looking up at Leonhard. We forgot about the balcony and quite possibly Sera did too. Height is only a suggestion, after all. Space is an illusion. Time is not a river that flows both ways but a warm and swimming ocean. Everywhere is everything, or what the fuck ever. Sera is not so much into the philosophy of all this shit.

She just likes the palindromes.

And the rest of everything.

All of it. Every last piece.

Leonhard's at the bar with that overworked bartender before Dan makes it. The rest of that entourage - which includes her housemates, approximately one-eighth of her friend Dee's roller derby team, this guy named Frank Dan met at a gallery opening three weeks and two days ago, and so on - has sort of spread out into the space, creating knots of their own. They don't really belong to her, so much as they were briefly appended to her. Carried here from elsewhere.

"Hello," Sera is sidling up to Leonhard at the bar and almost-but-not-quite slipping her arm into his, this strange echo of a remarkably courtly gesture. She's all vivid and beaming at him, like she just decided to create him out of whole cloth right them minute and lo! here he is and she smells like cigarettes and spice and there's a bit of the skunky odor of marijuana in her hair and she's looking at Leonhard and then past him, see. "Liechtenstein!" Like that's his name, because most human beings, Sera just likes saying the word.

"Who's your friend. You gonna introduce me?

"Is he from Liechtenstein! too?"

Oh god she likes saying that word.

Or maybe she's just a bit stoned.

Alexander Brandt

Between the change in mood and the enthusiasm that has illuminated Leonhard, Alexander’s mood is lightening too. He’d only come out here because he’d seen the flyer for the place somewhere, and assumed it was an established club. Appearances can be deceiving, apparently. But with Sera off the stage, the band (sans singer) starts up again. Maybe the manager of the club has gone to try to stroke the man’s ego and get him back out on stage. Maybe it turns into an open-mike night, if he fails to return. The night is young, and full of possibilities.

Alexander has a name for the woman: Sera. With the size of the city, it’s not likely he’ll ever run into her again. Or the man-without-a-name, for that matter. But, as they say, the night is young. Had he remained alone, he may well have finished his drink and headed off elsewhere. Maybe for food. Maybe for home. Maybe for the pleasure of rising through the city at night. But the prospect of getting to know somebody local, to actually start building up a social life away from the people he works with, does actually appeal. You can only sit staring into your coffee, feeling lonely, for so long.

And so he follows Leonhard to the bar, and gratefully accepts the fresh bottle. The various odours emanating from Sera get a raise eyebrow, but Alexander isn’t squeaky new at what he does. Black and white have blended into various shades of gray. Plus, you know... night off. Remembering that they haven’t even exchanged names with each other, he offers his own introduction.

“Hi, I’m Seattle. Or Alexander, whichever you prefer.” He shrugs, half-smiling, then holds out a hand, to both if they want to take it. “So I know that you’re Sera now,” he says to her, “but I’m assuming you’re not actually called Lichtenstein..?” to Leonhard. “Sie kommen aus Lichtenstein?” The accent is more American than German, but the language flows smoothly.

Leonhard Frick

"That, that, that... Yeah, make it the bottles from the look of the round that's coming up. Those bottles, glasses, oh, hell, make it eight of..." He looks from the bartender to Alexander, and points to Alexander's beer. "Make it eight like those, only with much more liquid in them that his. (Leonhard, by the way.) Oh, and mine's a... you know what? I guess I'll just be helping myself."

"We can't allow patrons to pour their own drinks, dude."

"....oh-kay... What I just said, poured into glasses. That'll now be more glasses than you've probably got washed and dried and ready and thereby more work for you and nobody's going to call the police, are they? Really?" He turns to Alexander, quite jovially. "Oddly enough, I'm not ATF. You?"

"Beautiful," Leonhard enthuses without flirtation as Serafine sidles into his proximity, leaving the bartended to juggle his options and either juggle and wash a lot or pour a lot. An almost boyish thumbs-up greets Dan, but the bartender continues to seem to be juggling the merits of breaking the rules and saving himself a shit-load of trouble. A slice of a moment sees recognition also for Franklin Hyatt, though he probably prefers to be called Frank when away from that wife of his. No, can't see her, no, not complaining. Cultured but charmless that wife of yours, Frank. "Frank. Heard you sold a piece to Mears. Glad that worked out for you."But... frankly... screw Frank's dabbling in collecting... Serafine gets a notably slow nod of acknowledgement just as pronounced (among the throng now growing about the bar) as his earlier salute. Liechtenstein salutes you! (Never hurts to hear home's name...)"Oh, I... You know, I don't know your name, oh, Alexander?" He apologises to Alexander. The bustle had chimed about him as Mr Brandt had introduced himself, taking the Hermetic a moment to allow the name to sink in. (So long as nobody hits on calling me Lenny Liechtenstein, he could shudder.) "Sera. Dan. Frank. Other people. Other People! Tell this good man to save himself some work."Oh, that causes a rustle. The drinks begin to arrive. Vodka, bottle. Scotch, bottle. Rum, bottle. Glasses (mostly washed.) Eight beers like Alexander was enjoying. Card to the barman through the throng as German is heard... "Ja." Oh, such a smile. Such a time since he'd heard German. The wind of the Alps in his ears in German. "Und sie? Auf Deutschland? Austrich?" (It's been a while, the poor man - and the bar's throng hardly conducive to plucking at Alexander's accent - but at least he's smiling as he asks.)

Serafíne

For her part, Sera takes Alexander's hand, right to right. She's wearing a leather cuff bracelet bristling with spikes and a small ring, beaten gold, with a plaque etched by what seem like hieroglyphs. Has a tattoo, too - mostly script - framing the edge of her right palm, and another tattoo of a laughing skull with a full rack of bare ribs on her upper arm. The yoke of her dress is sliding down her left shoulder to reveal a black bra strap, and she reaches up to nudge it back into place with her left hand. Oh, the suggestion of another tattoo, this once scrawled over her index and middle fingers, left palm, and inner left wrist, but glimpsed so briefly that it is hard to take its measure.

Really she sort of ducks in and around Leonhard or something while Leonhard's giving that thumbs up to Dan or greeting Frank (without that wife of his) and all the rest, and she would be ordering her own drink(s) except Leonhard's buying and no one really knows it but she's loaded but she still does not turn down free drinks. So, she moves like a planet and has gravity like one of those damned gas giants and rings like one too, the party she brought with her, and she's telling Leonhard sort of mid-all-of-those-greetings that he needs to meet Dee but Dee seems to have disappeared. Dan slides briefly in behind Sera, hands on her shoulders, flashing Alexander a wry grin over Sera's head as he reaches out her for a glass of Scotch, which he lifts in tribute to Leonhard, then confirms that she was headed off, the derby girls wanted to hit Sweet Nothings, the ice cream store, before it closed.

Dan lets Sera go and backs away. Sera claims the bottle of rum. For herself.

She doesn't need a fucking glass.

"So you just met?" to Alex and Leonhard, somehow both. Turning the bottle 'round to read the brand on hte label, then lifting the whole fucking thing to her mouth for a swig. "And you both speak fucking German? That's so random. And cool.

"I know what Liechtenstein does. What about you, Seattle? What the fuck do you do?"

Alexander Brandt

[[Gah, sorry - Jove froze up]]

Alexander Brandt

[[taptaptap]]

Alexander Brandt

Alexander just can’t figure out where all the energy in Leonhard has come from. One moment he’s happily commiserating the quality of the night’s entertainment, the next he’s almost bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm. Either than man has taken a little something earlier in the evening which is just starting to kick in, or it’s all down to Sera.

The chaos with the drinks drowns out his protests of “not that many, I need to get home..”, and he resigns himself to either nursing one or two more and trying to dodge the attention, hoping someone else takes some, or getting a taxi home. At least the bike will be safe, still parked at the station nearby. “Nope, not ATF!” he replies, in the moments that Leonhard’s attention passes over him.

The names of the others are lost – too many in quick succession, too little to anchor them to in memory. The faces will look familiar though. Oh, yes – we met at that club! Sorry, can’t for the life of me remember your name... There’s various dodges as bottles and glasses get passed around the various people clustered around Sera and Leonhard – he’s assuming the drinks are all going to be people they’re supposed to.

Grabbing some of the beer bottles, as they move away from the bar, he replied to Leonhard’s question in German. [[”No, Seattle. My mother is German, though. She didn’t want to give up the language, so she taught me. I’ve never set foot outside the US.”]]

“Yeah, we met just before you made you ran that singer out of the place.” He smiles, a little, shrugs, a little. “It’s just a small world sometimes, I guess. Strange little coincidences cropping up all over the place.” Sera asks what he does. There’s a pause for a moment, before he answers. “I work around the city. In security.”

Alexander Brandt

[[Sorry, slight technical difficulties. We now return you to your regular programming]]

Leonhard Frick

[[Really, no apology needed my end. Glad Jove's stopped playing silly buggers with you!]]

Serafíne

(Agree, no apology needed here, though I actually have to crawl off to bed since I have to be up quite early for work. :) )

Serafíne

So Sera will be bowing out next post!

Leonhard Frick

[[Sorry! Having a touch of trouble with Jove myself. With a C&P. Going to double-post, I think. Won't be a tick, appreciate you need sleep!]]

Leonhard Frick

"Just got a new client up at mine, in for two weeks. Playwright from out of state. Makes for some nice pocket money." Idle if friendly, a smatter of chatter with Hyatt the Hoarder, and the word Security seems not to have wafted so far as Leonhard's ears. Security/combats/strong jaw, no none of that went in. Ex of uniform? Police, not ATF, perhaps. Seattle. Changed cities. Changes. Resurfaced only recently himself... but, noooo, he heard nothing....Certainly, talk of Mears' hunt for fresh pieces to invest in goes well... until... talk of the wife. The wife. She's recommended Pasaran. Oh, right. To some dentist or other. Oh, right. With a series of children's books to write. No publishing deal, you say? (No surprise there: you have the eye, Frank, not your wife. But this is unsaid.)That Dan. Not dull or dulled. Thankyou, Dan. Dan asks something of Frank. Frank's conversation is perked and lured away. (Gustav would handle that differently, letting the magus detach from Frank. Gustav whose eyes would let Frank know he could strangle The Wife and Him just for a moment's peace from artsy-fartsy shop-talk!)

Leonhard, saved, is not saved from the bill. He presses at buttons, eager to get himself a... oh, she's got the rum. Finishing pressing the buttons, taking the card back, ensuring Alexander has a beer in the easiest of reaching distance, he passes the bartender a note. One of those notes written in president's faces and numbers. Pay with card, tip with cash. Owner vs Worker, the great divide bridged off the books.A glass finds itself empty near the bottle of rum. A magus of the Order of Hermes, after a drink out of a bottle already drunk from?! Germs? Progenitor horse-doings more like. Well, that and it would seem to mirror how he'd already sipped from the Marcusio '76... "A large one if you please, milady." Faux-mannered, more amused by Sera's lack of glass than the initial emptiness of his own.

Leonhard Frick

"He just met Gustav, did Alexander," Leonhard says of who has and hasn't met whom, then for a moment effects a rather capable facial impersonation of the old Swiss bastard, continuing it, expanding on it, he even does the voice: "I guess you will, too, though fuck alone knows if you'll remember it with your party-girl hangover. And those shoes. Ridiculous."It might well actually BE Gustav for a moment, giving some presage of the inevitable appearance of the man himself in a most unwelcome inevitable orbit about Sera's life. But it's an impersonation as quickly dropped into the gutter of the conversation, quick fun and light jest as it was. Besides, Alexander's seen the man in action himself. Best avoided, would seem to be the point, Leonhard knowing that Ecstatics have that ...way... of senses despite whatever fog appears to the Unenlightened to hover about them.

The eight bottles of beer, and fewer homes to go to than initially expected. No doubt they'll find homes soon enough, even if they wind up with strangers. Well, complete strangers, to be more accurate of those outside the conversation/s around Alexander's presence.

Leonhard Frick

Pymander's little glimpse-and-glimpsed seems to have blinked and gone. Leonhard nooks his head to the side for a moment. His eyes, very much there, but elsewhere, too. It is not a chemical absence, no, nothing ine pupils to say so, nothing in the skin-tone. A wistfulness. A glimpse of a shadow-corner of a Perfection not yet revealed enough, German, a drink, a Cool consor, performance, easy company, all in a second or less reflected and reflected upon in those eyes. His head reverts. Ah, yes, still an energy, an enthusiasm.

Leonhard Frick

Even the stage seems to be filled, as if charged by its brief hosting of Sera's lightning. A new band steps up, Leonhard flitting an eye over them, then back to the others. Alexander. Sera. Himself. (And to think, there are those who would scoff at enjoying the Praxes of non-Hermetics, and those who would rather shear their own skin off than really find anything of merit in talking with a Commoner... And then there are the Jerbiton...)

Leonhard Frick

"[[Haven't set foot out of it myself for ten years, so thankyou. Your mother... Well, she did me a favour.]] Sorry, Sera. Just saying how good it is to hear German away from the VCR for a change. Quite the flash-set, Sera, by the way. You'll have to teach me some of your secrets, some of that magic of yours," he converses, warmly, hopefully

Leonhard Frick

[[YEESH! I apologise for the multi-post. Had some very odd trouble with Jove there.]]

Alexander Brandt

[[Not a problem! Just happy that Jove's not picking on me in particular]]

Serafíne

"That always happens," Sera says of the strange little coicindences, with this quiet, spreading smile that is close-mouthed and full-of-secrets. There's a tattoo scrawled down her flank and ribs, see, hidden beneath that rather sweet little pink dress. It says: Serendipity.

"Security, huh?" Sera says, and she doesn't suspect that he's hedging around there, she just looks vaguely interested the way one does talking to a stranger about his or her job. And no one asked her but Sera answers the follow-up question anyway, "I don't have a fucking job," with a grin and a rather prodigious swig from her bottle-of-rum. "my housemate works in a bakery though, in Cap Hill They make ninjabread, sometimes. Bet that would be a hit at your next - "

A grin; this goading little flash of a smile.

" - whatever the fuck you guys do together. Security guys."

Then she's lifting the bottle in a happy little toast and lifting hte bottle to fill Leonhard's glass and watching the liquid just gleam in the shifting lighting of the bar. It's not crowded but there's a warmth, a coronal glow, a liveliness all around which makes her feel so bright and warm.

They exchange a bit more in German; Sera knows the sound of the language, just not the language proper. She does not seem at all put off by the exchange, and waves away Leonhard's apology with a thoughtlessly drunken little waggle of her golden head.

Then he tells her that she'll have to teach him some of her magic; and see? She favors him with another glance, all sidelong and profile-view, and for all that she appears to have less shame than anyone else in the contiguous US there is still something almost charmingly abashed about the look she gives Leonhard.

The no longer abashed. Just warm. Without a second thought Sera lifts herself to her tiptoes, even in those shoes, and gives Leonhard a remarkably chaste kiss on the apex of his cheek.

"I'm happy to share," she tells him; but oh then: the tall guy with the tattooes is behind her, hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly and she's tipping her head back to him and they exchange a handful of words. Sera is full of apologies, but she has to go. They're celebrating Honey Bunches of Chokes' birthday and the entirety of Sera's housemate's rugby team has already moved on to whiskey brickle ice cream.

Sera peaces out with a quick flash of a peace sign with her left hand. the briefest impression of the odd tattoo on that palm, disappearing a moment later as Dan helps her on with her leather jacket. Sera hands the bottle of rum over to Leonhard to hold for her while she dresses, then just seems to forget it as she takes her leave, and wanders out the door - the front door this time - with th erest of her little tribe.

Serafíne

No problem at all. I wonder if there was a chrome update that you guys got that messed up Jove for you. anyway! that is my last post. III am heading to bed. nini! thank you for the scene!

Leonhard Frick

The kiss had been held still for, with a fond nod as Sera's head moved away. Fond for Dan, fond for the gesture, fond for the meanings in the moments around out. Even still fond of the departure. Dan is told, briskly but in friendly tones nonetheless, that it's only a matter of time... Leonhard playing a barre chord in the air and then... what must be air piano. A jam. And Sera is saluted again as she goes."You know," he says to Alexander, not looking but clearly to him, "You might one day run into her again, that unkempt liveliness and spirit. [[There in the grass goes the green, and there in the world goes one light upon the sun.]]" Realising it is an odd observation to make, he smiles to himself, and then to Alexander as he turns, finding Alexander's bottle with a chink of his rum. "Probably sound like I'm on whatever the roller derby team are probably scoring. Sorry. Leonhard Frick, and pleased to meet a man whose mother would broaden him for the world. That and bloody homesick, I suppose."But he's not some drunk, some barfly, bemoaning in the bemusement of a shabby lot in life. No. He's alert and he's... just... warm. There seems something of the shepherd in him, supportive, for a moment as he regards Alexander. This new-friend-in-passing. The Sleeper with no Praxis-sin to be seen in him. "And now I'll shut up, I think," and a long toke on the rum from behind a self-deprecating smile.

Alexander Brandt

The music is loud, as is the conversation, so Alexander only gets bits of the various conversations going on around him. A word here, a half-smile there... So Leonhard is some sort of agent, then? He certainly seems to have an interest in the arts, anyway. Apparently fairly successful, judging by the lack of bother when it comes to paying. Alexander makes a mental note to return the favour – although maybe with a smaller crowd – if they happen to cross each other’s paths again. But the man seems to have endless energy, or is feeding off Sera’s. For the most part, Alexander is content to stand (and dodge) and watch while the drinks get sorted.

The sound of his names catches attention again, and he picks up the flow of the conversation again. The surpringly realistic impression of Gustav gets another mostly-smile, as Alexander takes a swig from the bottle and watches the various groups of people parting and coalescing around them.

There’s a quick look of apology to Sera, until she shakes her head to let them know it really doesn’t bother her. Normally Alexander sticks to English if there are people around who don’t know the language. But, it’s rare that ever happens. “[[I’ll be sure to thank her next time I speak to her. So what brought you to Denver?]]” The throw-away comment about learning Sera’s magic? That goes right over his head.

“What on earth is ninjabread?” he tries to ask, but the oncoming band gets a cheer from the dance floor that had been slowly filling while they’ve been at the bar. Maybe it’s the late crowd coming out to join the night life, or the word of Sera’s performance getting out and her groupies (does she have them?) arriving in groups.

But then, as quickly as she arrives and turns the night upside down, she’s leaving. The sprays of followers swirling back in on themselves to carry her away into the night. Alexander looks away as the two kiss – it may be be a kiss full of passion, but he’ll still give them the little privacy. There’s a wave as she walks away.

And it’s back to the two of them, again. The chaos of the crowd moved on, he focuses on the man again and rejoins the conversation. “I don’t know, it’s a big city, “ he replies to probably-maybe meeting her again. “Although I get the impression she gets out a lot.” It’s not a criticism – Sera’s energy doesn’t seem like the kind to sit watching reruns on cable. “Where do you know her from? One of your clients?” The quote about the grass, should he recognise it..? It’s not at all familiar.

Leonhard Frick

Ninjabread. He, too, would have to look that up... but his talk of the green in the grass and a light on the sun... Should Alexander look it up, it will not be found. The Jerbiton had made that up in the moment. (Though some part of his mind has petted it away for his meditations... and perhaps finding a melody for it.)

"I'm getting the same impression myself. Bumped into her a couple of times now, but we really should have met before. We share a lot of acquaintances. Artists, musicians. Clients to me (sometimes) seem entourage to her (sometimes)." He could almost shrug at that, and something in his manner suggests it, but he doesn't. Sips again. Although Alexander had asked it earlier, he had not answered. Not out of impoliteness, but simply as a result of events. "Actually, I don't live in Denv.. oh, now that's better. This lot are much better, aren't they? (Better drummer definitely.) Oh, but I don't live in Denver. Up in the mountains... (Was that a Buddy Guy riff? Cheeky!) Boulder County. Denver just has the nightlife, I guess. Lures me down from the rocks and work. How about you? Seattle, was it? Been a couple of times. Not a bad place, guess you... Yes! Now that's vocal range, eh?"

Alexander Brandt

“The surname’s Brandt, by the way”, Alexander adds. Will the man remember, or lose track of it as that guy I met at that club..? Only time will really tell. But with people moving down to the dance floor, he starts to drift back towards the edge of the balcony.

Leonhard passes occasional judgement on the bad, which Alexander doesn’t really pay attention to. His musical ability is somewhat questionable, and half of what’s said doesn’t make a lot of sense. Buddy Guy riff..? Not a clue. “Boulder, huh? Isn’t that mostly a student town? Yeah, I’m from Seattle – born and bred. I love the place, but needed a change of scenery, and Denver kinda topped the list. I’m living out in Golden, now. Just move there last week. And I love the mountains! There’s an amazing view of them from my balcony. I pretty much signed for the place when I saw it.” There’s a bit of a sigh before he finishes, “I miss the water though.”

Leonhard Frick

Leonhard thinks of Brandt. Brandt. Leannius Brandt bani Criamon. Broken Brandt. Probably long dead now. Alexander Brandt. Security.

"Boulder gets that a lot. Pretty vibrant, perhaps as a result of it, but... Well, it's got a broader face to be found, let's put it that way. Bit like Golden, I guess. Yeah, I can imagine the view you've got. Mountains. Had to be the mountains for me. Seems you have the same bug. What is it with people and... YEAH!" A sharp whistle follows to note the end of a song but his attention remains with Alexander's talk of mountains. "Why do so many people prefer it to be flat? People don't sing flat and get away with it, why city planners? Not so different from the Alps, I fi... oh."

Not only was attention on Alexander but from the balcony, through the rising echo from the audience of the band's efforts to enliven them... Gustav. Hard to spot for most, hard to miss for those with the eyes for it. Easier from the balcony in any case. Gustav by the entrance. Gustav static as more arrive at Vibe. Gustav the greying murderer, disinclined to move far for 'punk kids' and caster of shadows upon the vigilance of bouncers. (What's the old guy want? Looks like trouble. You ask him. You ask him, I'm not asking him. Leave it be, probably not worth the trouble... looks like he wants that Kraut that was talking to the boss...)

Leonhard scowls, but there's something in the Liechtensteiner's manner that reads: probably important.

The rum bottle finds its way into the hands of a passing pair of young women, almost incidentally, and Leonhard claps a hand to the upper part of whichever arm doesn't conclude with a bottle of beer. "No rest for the wicked, Herr Brandt. Looks like I've got business with a most non-neutral Switzerland." He suggests a good slope for skiing, ("if you ski,") and through the thrum and buzz of Vibe's sound system, he notes, "[[You can't go wrong with a view of the mountain. I suspect even Mohammed knew so much, eh?]] Hope you settle in at work, my friend, but I'm betting you bump into Sera again. You watch."

Leonhard Frick

[[Sorry to be so slow again. Starting to go downhill, it being nearly 6am in WhitLand. Was wondering: you're in the UK, too, aren't you?]]

Alexander Brandt

[[Not a problem! And yep, UK too. But I finished nights recently, so this is kinda late afternoon for me. Want to call it a night?]]

Alexander Brandt

[[Although that does look like a hook for a wrap. Gimme a minute :)]]

Leonhard Frick

[[Going to have to, I think. Not immediately, so I'm not just going to have Leonhard go poof. Still, quite an interesting incident for a pre-Awakened Alexander, I hope. Oh, nights. I remember those. Did them for five years straight once. Self-employed now, so have a lot of wiggle room, but these site timezones can be a pain, can't they?]]

Leonhard Frick

[[Quite looking forward to running into Alexander again after his Epiphany. "Hang on, you're the fellow who's mother taught him German, right? You've Awakened? MAGNIFICENT!" :)]]

Alexander Brandt

Leonhard’s musing, even if they were known to Alexander, wouldn’t mean a thing. Maybe old family? Stranger things have happened. And Denver does seem to be the land of coincidence and happenstance.

“I’ve not made it up to Boulder, so I’ve only got its reputation to go on. But I’m with you on the flat. They have their uses, but I don’t think they were ever quite so prone to inspire artists. Not that I’m any kind of art fan, but I do remember seeing more paintings of hills and mountains that fields and deserts when I used to get dragged around art galleries.”

Is that homesickness in the other man? “Do you ever get back home? If you still think of Germany as home, that is. You know what I mean.” As he’s asking, he follows Leonhard’s gaze down towards the entrance. And Gustav. Who hopefully isn’t going to be any trouble... “Looks like your friend’s back.” There’s the mention of unfinished business, What, Alexander doesn’t ask – he assumes it’s some-act-or-other needing his attention. But the comment about the non-neutral Swiss gets a snort of amusement.

“I’ve found some good trails for hiking, if you’re that way inclined too. But, then, if we’re comparing places to go do stuff then we should probably arrange a trip some time. Got your phone handy?” Assuming Leonhard does, and it up for exchanging numbers, Alexander gives his details. Not really wanting the other man to leave, but understanding that there’s something that needs to be taken care of, Alexander offers him a chance to depart. “You should probably go and see what that shining example of the central-European sense of humour wants before he undoes all that work Sera did getting the atmosphere in this place going.”

He clinks his almost-empty bottle against the Leonhard holds. “Kommen Sie gut nach Hause” [[“Get home safely.”]] “Wherever that is for you.”

Alexander Brandt

[[Alex's German is much better than mine, but I do like that phrase.

His encounter with Sera may well include much shouting along the lines of "What did you do to me!?", but will see how it pans out. Hopefully tonight.

And yeah, timezones suck. It's been a bit of a rush to get the Awakening stuff sorted before I have to swing back to days. I think we'll manage though. :) ]]

Leonhard Frick

"Prone to inspire. I like that," he says, a sincerity in his voice and eyes as he commends it. Prone to inspire. The art gallery trudging must have worked some magic. Another glimpse at Pymander. Occurrence without Intention, though..? Must meditate on that.

"Home was... Well, I had to keep away. Just couldn't keep so far away as to avoid Nederland. It's not entirely unlike.... (You know, I'm going to keep the Swiss Army waiting...) Not unlike parts of Liechtenstein. Oh, I know what you mean. You and Seattle, perhaps, and me and Vaduz. Sure," he says. Producing a phone for the exchanging of numbers. It is an older model, perhaps six or even seven years old. Top-of-the-range for the day and still in obvious good working order, but... don't agents and managers use the latest whistles-and-bells cell phones? Twitter! Instagram! It looks as if a certain Nederlander-Liechtensteiner might have trouble with Google on that thing, but he takes Alexander's number, ringing it to check and settling it into his phone's memory as Herr Alexander Brandt with some pleasure in the typing before rather swiftly throwing back the last of his large rum into a friendly smile. "There. I've been telling people I'm going to get back into some sort of exercise for weeks. Hiking fits the bill. Maybe a Sunday? Let's see."

He pauses in his departure, turning, though not so long after starting to walk away with a nod that it displays any vanity of expecting that Alexander would watch him for at all long after turning to leave. "Danke, mein freund. Danke."

Yes, the art gallery, its mention had spurred something in the way he regarded Alexander. Perhaps some kernel of Pymander resides in him. Certainly enough to turn a phrase. Prone to inspire, Pymander. Ah, what the hell... He throws a similar salute as earlier to Alexander and then, with some rhythm, half-dances his way to the sour side of Gustav. The two exchange words. Leonhard raises his arms in exasperation. Gustav snorts. Leonhard points a finger up at him. There is a frozen pause between them. They leave, though not with any particular hurry in their stride.

Leonhard Frick

[[My own German pretty much ends with what I can scrape out of my memory from lessons at school, and that's terrible. But thanks a lot for the scene. Definitely went some good places, I think. Going to crash out. Hope to see you soon. Cheers.]]

Alexander Brandt

[[Glad you enjoyed! I certainly did. Sleep well :) ]]

Leonhard Frick

[[Night!]]

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