This room should be known as Owl Night Coffee, not Night Owl Coffee. That is all.
AlexanderThe coffee joint tries to live up to the pun in its name: to supply the local coffee addicts, insomniacs, clubbers, shift workers and down-and-outs with hot and cold running caffeine. It’s an independent store, with a choice of beans, roasts, milks, and syrups. So it’s the perfect place to pick up that quad-shot sugar-free caramel mocha latter at 3am.
The walls are clean and painted dark, the furniture is good, heavy, solid wood. A row of couches lines one wall, short coffee tables breaking the seating up into distinct groups. Higher tables and stools like the opposite wall, making the most of the large windows that look out into the pedestrianised street outside. Two women are working behind the counter, one at the register and the other putting together the ordered drinks.
It’s not currently 3am, although the sky outside it dark right now. No, it’s early evening – maybe a little shy of 8pm. There’s a fair bit of foot traffic outside the windows, with people making their way to a cinema or a restaurant or to whatever else they’re finding to do with their free time before crashing out and doing it all again tomorrow. A figure at one of the high tables by the windows is currently staring out of it, paying more attention to the passing people than to the open book sat in front of him. There’s a notepad with some notes scribbled and crossed out, lines running between bits of writing.
Alexander[Awareness?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )
DenverHow cold is January, how worn it is. How crystalline the air, how callous in its sharpness come evening when the shadows are luxurious luxuriate in being darkness in a city by mountains that block out the stars. How cold is January, and how hot the chocolate sold at Owl Night Coffee with its wooden sign outside depicting an owl sitting at a table with a medieval air just like a fortune teller's house in Prague.
Tonight isn't a night for being caught off guard. Not if your name is Alexander. If your name is Alexander and you are staring at people passing outside rather than at your notes your senses are keen and sharp and you feel the resonance of a Mage before you see her. This particular deeper-than-marrow signature sizzle is ardent and daring and resplendent. Which is to say, shining from shook foil ah! kingfisher glory, ah! an intrepid radiance, passionate, see, first kiss last kiss, enthusiasm, a plucky sort of passion. But no: daring has an edge, resplendent is bright, and ardent is ardent.
If your name is not Alexander, you might be called Pen. Pen Mercury. Here is Pen Mercury now. Pen Mercury in a midnight blue brocade coat long and sweeping with a faux(?) fur scarf, shock of white. The midnight blue brocade coat has such cuffs: braid-work on the cuffs, and its brass buttons military set. Her gloves are leather, neat dove gray, and she is crossing the pedestrian-only street to reach Owl Night Coffees door. She has a certain look. Pre-Raphaelite painting, pulled itself out've oils and went wandering.
She has a certain look, hollowness around the eyes and she is feeling the need for a pick-me-up and a change of venue, which is why she is here at a new coffee shop instead of the last one she tried. And she's here now at a new coffee shop, because while we were meeting P. Mercury, she was opening the door, eyeing the chalked in specials especially Owl Stool surprise (which makes her Heh in surprise).
AlexanderWinter has the city firmly in its grasp, and will do for some time yet. The cold air, the cold wind, the cold snow and ice and sleet. It all battles with the energy and movement and life of the city. Stasis against dynamism. Nature against humanity.
The cold, though, is something that helps Alexander blend in a little more. Oh, a casual gaze can sometimes skip over him. But that sensation that surrounds him, that resonance that announces him? That is just a touch harder to make out than it is during the hotter months. The sensation that nothing is moving, nothing is changing. Even if it’s just for a moment – a glance or a touch lasting a split second longer, although not in quite the same way that time is bent and distorted through the lens of perspective: hours lasting seconds, seconds lasting eternity. This feels more like a moment of stillness, watching the moment caught in an icy mountain lake. Quiet. Peaceful.
His gaze wanders through the crowd, not really settling on any one person for long. Not, at least, until a certain woman with a whole lot more to her than meets the sleeping eye passes nearby. The woman is striking, but unfamiliar. Another stranger. It isn’t really a surprise any more when another stranger appears. This is a city, after all. A place where people pass through, and a place where they settle. For a while, at least, before the tides of time and chance pull them elsewhere. But there is always the same question: are you friend or foe? Assuming that such a simple question will result in an equally simple answer.
Pen enters, Alexander continues to watch. She doesn’t appear to have noticed him – not yet, anyway. He doesn’t make any attempt to get her attention or move towards her. For right now, he’s happy to watch and wait and see.
P. Mercury[Oo, resonance? -1 die for ze arcane.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
P. Mercury[Damn, that is good coffee. Just smelling it gives you a kick.]
P. MercuryHow the January cold clings. How it does more than cling, how it stabilizes: shores up, a frozen heart. Pen who has moved onward from the chalkboard with the specials to the counter can visualise the frozen heart of ice. That white-shock star, cut deep in the green. The scrim on the edge of a lake or a river: but frozen begins at the edges and works its way downward and inward. Frozen begins insidious, at the edges: it finds a place and then it spreads -- white. Pen leaves her gloves on longer than she might otherwise.
Frozen Alexander creeps in just like that. At the counter, Pen orders a Mexican hot chocolate, gives a name (Élaine), and then she moves on and puts her back to the counter and the baristas and looks over the other patrons of Owl Night Coffee until she finds Alexander.
Bingo. January find. A January wizard.
P. Mercury considers Alexander while her drink is being made. Her bangs are thick, swished to the side at a rakish angle; her hair is Medea-red and braided in a coronet, and inside Owl Night Coffee catches the shadow-gleam of the cozy lighting. Lighting to earn the name owl-light. Witch-light.
Some people have certain airs. Pen has a certain air when she is watchful, see. It isn't a waiting sort of watchfulness, but rather a clear sort of watchfulness -- an immediate, interested, present sort of look. Clean -- one necessary musical movement which will beget another musical movement. It's how she people watches even under less extraordinary circumstances, and how she finds herself often engaging strangers.
AlexanderIt seems there are certain formalities when two of their kind encounter each other. The acknowledgment of each other’s existence, and of each other’s difference. The immediate assessment of do I stay or do I go? Oh, there are differences. What one Awakened feels comfortable with is enough to cause another to vanish. Where one keeps their distance and mind their own business, another will attack.
In Alexander’s case, he’s wary. Ishan’s attempts at contacting him had shown just how vulnerable he is, even if it had turned out that it had been a massive miscommunication that caused him to cut himself off from his Awakened life for over a month. Or, more specifically, a lack of communication. But the knowledge that the Union was becoming more active in the city, that they targeted the weak and inexperienced, was enough to keep him on edge.
So he sits and he continues to watch for a few moments more. He picks up his own mug, taking a long sip from it without looking down. And then? And then his attention drops back to the book on the table. His attention isn’t, quite, on the text in front of him. He’s still watching her, in his peripheral vision, to see where she moves to.
P. Mercury.He doesn't strike Pen as hostile. He might become hostile if poked. The wizards of the world do enjoy their clever mysteries, their battlefields, their home ground; the wizards of the world, even when they work together, are a touchy lot.
Elaine, one of the baristas says. Pen picks up her drink, and the warmth doesn't quite seep through the leather of her glove. The glove could be a gauntlet. The gauntlet could belong to a knight.
Pen is true to her nature.
Which is to say, after making certain the lid is not-quite-on (for better sipping, after, or perhaps tossing in the face of suddenly-hostile Magi, anything can be an edge and the sharpest edge is the wind's edge and Mercury is the wind and it dares go first) but the hot chocolate inside isn't slopping, Pen approaches Alexander. Directly, but see how she gives him a shot at the door.
The shot at the door narrows, and if he doesn't take it he's in dark danger of dealing with:
Pen at his counter, leaning on her elbow. Casual aplomb, an air of grace that has little to do with actual physical grace; it's being poised, like so: "Hello. I was just looking at you and thinking how fitting it is to run into someone with such an air of January about his shoulders. It's graceful! Can I buy you a pastry?"
Her voice is friendly, but it is also a water witch voice; a complicated alto.
AlexanderThey were in a public place: such places were recommended for first encounters on dating apps, and for first encounters with new Awakened. Given reality’s propensity to bitch-slap those who tried to do anything particularly vulgar, it somewhat reduced the risk of disappearing in a pillar of fire. Or being manhandled into the back of a black towncar, never to be seen again. So he doesn’t break for the exit when he notices the newcomer heading towards his table. The page of the book hasn’t been turned in some time, so it’s likely obvious that he hasn’t actually been spending any of the intervening time actually studying it. The pen lies capped along the spine of the open notebook, also untouched.
Alexander looks up as she approaches, studying her face as she speaks. She makes a comment about January settling on his shoulders, and for a second he glances at them. He’s dressed all in black, today – thick sweater and combats, boots out of view somewhere under the table. For that moment he wonders if she’s talking about an unnoticed dandruff problem, until he realises quite what she meant. He looks back at her, cocking his head to the side. “I think that’s the first time it’s been put like that. Thank you. And no thank you, December involved way too many pastries.”
“Welcome to Denver?” It’s posed as a question, because it’s never entirely clear whether people are newly arrived or whether their knack for attracting like to like has just pulled two locals into each other’s orbit for the moment.
P. Mercury"Would that I could pull the future backward, and have everything unpacked now instead of waiting until then," Pen says, and some people smile all the time. Not Penelope. She is far from grim, but gallantry comes out in little things. A thoughtful kind of attention; attention that is thoughtful to be kind. She doesn't stare, she doesn't grin, but the muscles around her mouth relax. "Denver isn't quite what I expected. Have you lived here long?"
Alexander“Isn’t that what the moving company gets paid large amount of money to do? Well, do all the moving and unpacking for you. I think the only miracles they’re able to perform is sending your belongings to the wrong state.” His cup gets set back on the table. An elbow rests on the table, the back of the hand propping up his chin.
“You didn’t believe what you read in the marketing material, did you? More days of sunshine, yaddah yaddah? They forget to mention all the other weather you get on the same days.” A smile pulls at the edge of his mouth, but it’s not something malicious. Friendly, if still wary.
P. MercuryThe (Pre-Raphaelite painting [La Belle Dame Sans Merci? Joan of Arc?]) doesn't quite mirror him. But her elbow is on the counter, and now she lofts her chin to rest it on the flat of her thumb. Alexander may have January about the shoulders, and we're not talking dandruff, but steam is still rising at too steadily a rate from Pen's cup to warrant the risk of a sip. There's daring, and then there's foolishness--willful ignorance.
"Would you respect me if I confessed unto you that I did believe the marketing material? And now here I am, presented with temperamental weather." The muscles around her mouth ease further; that is a smile. The glint of it. Her water-witch voice is warm. "At least I like it, even if it doesn't like me. The elevation knocked me right out the first night. I don't often hear my heart so clamorous for my attention after a strenuous climb up one flight of stairs."
Alexander“Well, technically, they weren’t lying.” He smiles again. “And the weather isn’t so bad, once you get used to it. And hey, you might find you actually like winter sports if you’ve never given them a go before.
”At least you seem prepared for the cold.” He nods at her clothing: the scarf, the coat. “A lot of people don’t quite know what they’re letting themselves in for. You’d be surprised how freaked out a Floridian can get when they see the white stuff for the first time.”
Alex lifts his head away from his hand, sitting back in the chair, to pick up his coffee cup and take a drink from it. He keeps the position, keeps hold of the cup. The book and his notes sit forgotten, for the moment, on the table. “It gets easier. Drink plenty and try not to overdo it and you’ll be… well, doing whatever you normally do in no time.”
P. Mercury"Where I come from there are winter storms. We learn to carry weather in our bones, though I haven't internalized it to the degree you have, January. I've always wanted to try my hand at skiing." Her smile dredges lines around her mouth, around her eyes; it seems sincere, because Pen is transparent and expressive and it is sincere. She seems to be considering skiing, exhilaration wicking its way through her consideration. "Or feet, as it were," and the smile becomes a grin. "It might be like flying."
"Have you lived here long?"
Alexander[So where are you from, Missy? Per+Academics (Spec: Modern Languages), because that's probably the best match I can come up with.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (4, 9) ( success x 1 )
Alexander[And again with the right number of dice]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )
AlexanderWhere I come from…
The weather and the accent is a puzzle, one that grabs his attention while she carries on talking. Winter storms, the cold, and something in the accent… “Not much skiing in… Connecticut, is it?” Alex cocks his head to the side as he asks, curious if he’s gotten her accent tied down to anywhere close to its origin.
“Although if you’ve never been skiing before, the experience for the first few days is more like being a very small avalanche. With the added extra of learning some new and interesting places that can ache. I imagine once you stop needing to snow plough that it can be a little more like flying.”
Have you lived here long?
Alexander thinks for a moment, working it out, and then looks a little surprised. “Wow. Almost two years. Doesn’t time fly when you’re not paying attention?”
P. Mercury!!! This splash of sword-bright surprise sluices through Pen; she blinks her dark lashes. There is languor in the line of her spine which dissipates entirely. He guessed correctly. He knows he did even before she says -- he's working out how long he's lived in Denver and quiet with it -- a note of admiration for his not-a-guess and something also wry at being caught out:
"You a linguistics major? Connecticut doesn't have these glorious mountains which look as though there are giants and kings sleeping beneath them, and slopes to launch one into the man in the moon's parlor. Two years can seem like a forever. Is Denver the kind of city with a lot going on to distract your attention?"
Musing, that.
AlexanderAlexander smiles again, shaking his head gently as he takes another drink. “No, just a lucky guess. The last time I studied language was in high school.” He seems genuinely amused at the idea that something thinks he’s academic in any way. It couldn’t be much further from the truth. “You, however, I’m going to guess… English major, somewhere. A writer, perhaps? Or a performer? The way you talk, it’s almost too… poetic for much else.”
Is Denver the kind of city…
The smile, the amusement in trying to puzzle together this woman, fall away slowly. “Let’s just say it has the potential to be an interesting place. Not the best of places to come to if you’re looking for a quiet retirement, anyway. A little too much… night life.”
P. MercuryPen's eyebrows cant upward, one after the other, at his next guess. Which is also correct, although her surprise isn't quite as intense, and seems to be accompanied by amusement.
Bye, bye amusement. Her attention sharpens. "The kind of night life with bite?"
AlexanderAlexander snorts. “Yeah, something like that. You seem like the kind of woman who can take care of herself, but the city still has places that are best avoided.
“Do you have any friends in town? They might be able to fill you in a little more.”
P. Mercury"And you seem very," Pen's brow furrows, her strong jaw (Lady of the Lake) a clean and open line when she cants her head. "Very on your own two feet, and yet you feel like you haven't been January for long. How long have you been so clear sighted?" By clear sighted, she means awake; it is there in the nuance, and the fact that Alexander did peg her right: language is something she is good at, she studied. Poetic fucking eloquence over here.
Beat. A grin: "We could pretend you broke bread with me and be friends? I could use more, though I know one guy who's supposed to be in the city, we haven't actually had a chance to share grain-juice yet."
P. Mercuryooc: er, "who's supposed to have been in the city"
Alexander“Well,” a little smile of amusement appears again, “be careful what you read into the marketing. But mother always warned me about talking to strange women, and she was quite clear about not taking them home until I know what kind of parties they like going to.” The near-finished cup is returned to the table, and once again the smile fades. If anything, Alexander looks more cautious.
“And given some recent events, I’m not sure she’d be happy with me being out too long with any strange women. So I think, for the moment, I’m going to have to call it a night.” Alex starts to pack away his books. “Nothing personal, you know? There are just… reasons. I wouldn’t be surprised if we bump into each other again, if we like the same kinds of parties, though.”
P. Mercury"You have been around," Pen says aloud, with a lopsided smile. Contained, still; reserved, see. Her dress if flamboyant; her arcane signature is a swashbuckler's. When Pen stands straight, it's with easy swagger. "But it's nice to meet a man who still listens to his mother - " - the lopsided smile hooks further up.
More seriously, more gravely: "I do know," and whatever cool warmth (ardent, see, and audacious) was in the smile creeps back, "though if you know where the night life bites and don't warn me against that place by name, I'll think you mean - " - as in stingy - " - as well as a good guesser. Can't find a party if you get clubbed to death by a troll for crossing the wrong bridge, sans billy goats."
AlexanderYou have been around.
Again, there’s a snort but this one lack amusement. Alexander pauses near the end of his packing and looks back at Pen, considering his words. “Let’s just say the coffee I’ve been drinking has been strong and bitter enough to clear my vision.” He nods at the counter. “Speaking of which, you should try their espresso some time.”
The packing resumes, but is completed more slowly as Pen speaks again. Alexander is quiet as he shrugs into his coat and slings his bag over a shoulder, but he doesn’t leave immediately. Again, there seems to be consideration over what to say. There are things going on in the city, things that he only really knows the general details of, which could be affected if the wrong people were to go to the wrong club and stir things up. Given this woman’s resonance, he wouldn’t be overly surprised if she turned up there in shining armour with a flaming sword. But it would also be decidedly dangerous to let her walk into it without warning. He sighs.
“Mother also says don’t go out alone at night. It’s not bad advice right now. More than that, just ask around when you start getting invited to parties. I’d say take care of yourself, but I get the feeling that won’t be a problem.”
P. Mercury"Let's hope!" Fervency, she glances up at the ceiling like she can chase the fervency that-a-way. Drops her gaze again, back to Alex. She is closer to the door, but she adjusts her back so it is against the tall counter, and he is unimpeded in his leave-taking.
"Mother sounds a little bit like Big Brother," Pen says, with a wrinkle of her nose. "Some dictates are harder than others to follow. I'm glad I ran into you, January; maybe we'll meet some other Owl Night. I'll try to the espresso then."
At Owl Night Coffee, she means. Pen doesn't seem like she is going to try and pin Alexander in place, or even ask for a name. "I mean ... I love parties, especially if they involve anything liquid that burns your throat, but I like ...quietude too. The small meet-and-greet."
Alexander“Well, that all depends on whether you take the word of Mother as a rule or a guideline. We all have to make our own mistakes sometimes. All we can do is hope that they don’t turn out to be too painful.” There’s a shrug. It’s not uncaring, exactly. Simply more… Simply more an attitude that the world doesn’t really care if people get hurt or not.
“Either way, I hope the city treats you kindly and you find your friend. Until the next party…” Alexander picks up his empty cup and leaves it at the counter on the way out.
P. Mercury"It will be you, next time!" Pen says, with a smile - one shouldn't trust beguiling smiles. They lead one under Fairy Hills, and eventually one is left alone and palely loitering. But they wouldn't be beguiling if there wasn't a certain something. There's something very calm about the impulsive (and it is impulsive) farewell. "Be safe and careful, though I probably needn't tell you."
Bright-eyes, and then the current New Mage on the Block turns to face the counter and look out the window, just as Alexander was doing earlier. If she knew anything about Time, she'd look back a moment and read his notes.
He's safe from that kind of prying, and she is wistful.
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