Post by JR on Dec 7, 2015 2:06:02 GMT -8
Characters: Aurie Grey ( wrecked ships ) and Micah Doe ( a holy somethingoranother )
Summary: Pulled by the aura of her charges to Joes, Aurie is just hangin' out, waiting for something she's not so sure of, when Micah shows up and asks the deep questions.
TW: None.
wrecked ships: For a December night, things weren't as blustery as Aurie Grey might have liked. She preferred it when the snow was cascading down, blanketing the earth in it's white fluff and a chill so deep you could feel it in your bones. She rather liked that chill. Liked seeing her breath puff out against the air. Liked to catch snowflakes on her tongue, and pelt the shit out of people with snowballs and then toss out a glamour to make her disappear so it looked as if they got hit by no one, out of nowhere. But there was no fucking snow, was there? Lame. London was lame. But it was also home, and had been for far too long to skip off to somewhere Arctic now. Slipping into Joes, where she wasn't a frequent visitor, or did she particularly like the taste of coffee or even the smell of it, but tonight as she passed by, it just seemed rather fitting to go in. Drawn to the place, perhaps, and she wasn't the type to ignore those feelings. Currently, she was seated at one of the booths near the door; her hands wrapped about the warmth of a mug of Earl Grey, and bright blue eyes fixated on the door of the place. She had a feeling what the byrne in her belly might be, but she might also just have to pee real bad. It's happened before. Pale hair, more white than actually blonde, was gathered up into a messy top knot, shorter strands framing her angular features -- she was all wide big eyes and a funny downturned mouth, neither of which looked as if they should fit together but somehow she made it work by usually over accentuating the eyes and leaving the mouth naked as can be. A black and red checked flannel shirt was paired with a pair of black skinnies and biker boots left half undone, though the petite thing had her legs pulled up onto the booth's seat and crossed Indian style for comfort. Checks came in black and white too, a smaller match to the shirt she wore, in the form of a trendy scarf looped at her slender neck. While she watched, for whatever it was pushing her to eye the door, she took a tentative sip of the tea; nose wrinkling a little. Nobody made it as good as she did, that was a fact. -d-
a holy haruspex: What were you anticipating, little faerie? It was likely not the man who walked through the door, the opening of it catching words that he was saying to another nearby. "Be well, and be warm. A pleasant holiday to you, miss." In through the door, which he quickly shut behind him so he could wrap arms around himself and attempt to stave off the cold. The black peacoat and the gray knit cap were probably pretty good at keeping him warm, but London had a bite to it that he hadn't previously encountered in his travels, even if it wasn't cold enough by the standards of some. He remembered this place from last night, and Micah stopped to see if there were any familiar faces here. It had been almost painful to watch Derrick strike out with Molly, honestly. Thankfully, he saw neither, and he once again ordered his straight, boring coffee from Andy and once again stuffed more money than necessary into the tip jar. When he had his order and his gloved hands were cupped around the chipped green mug he'd been given last night, he retreated towards a seat. Not far from the woman, but not upsettingly close, either. Just near enough to be within conversational distance. Once settled, he began the process of stripping off outerwear. Knit cap--dark gold curls practically exploded out of them. The coat was stuffed behind his back. Gloves were dropped into the hat for safekeeping, and he began to sip, curiously glancing at the woman out of the corner of his eye.
wrecked ships: Maybe it was the residues of the strike out that Aurielle felt; a close connection to a man who'd never even seen her with his real eyes. Maybe that's why she'd been drawn in. She could feel them, those she'd been charged with watching for all eternity. They'd all been here. The place was practically buzzing with the many auras of witch and Fae and other such creatures, but she could feel particular ones stronger than the others. The door opened. Had she glanced away? Vision flew to it, but she didn't recognize the face that came through. The tiny thing watched him make his trek from the door to the counter, but that's where her attention stopped -- pulling back to the windows to peruse the out of doors through the one at the end of her booth. But it was hard to not feel the glances that came her way, and after a few of them, she twisted enough to turn her face to the guy with his mop top curls no longer hidden beneath his cap. "Oi, you want a picture, do ya?" The ``it last longer`` was heavily implied within the tone of a voice that had long ago taken on something that was more Dubliner than Londoner, but listen to her speak for any long period of time, and that might just change without any warning. -d-
a holy haruspex: It wasn't as though Micah fell off the turnip truck yesterday. Actually, for all anyone knew, maybe he did fall off a turnip truck, but it was somewhere around twenty-three years ago, nearing twenty-four. The woman's tone was met with a slight downturn of his mouth, while dark eyes moved from observing her in his peripherals to actually looking at her head-on. There was something peculiar about those eyes, other than the fact that they seemed too dark in color for such a fair complexion. There was a calm in them, but it wasn't the sort of calm that accepted things at face value. It was calm that was half a step short of turning into sheer jubilation, and that just might do so at a moment's notice. "I didn't mean to offend," he said, in a voice that clearly knew nothing of London or Dublin or anything on this side of the pond. America was written into every word. No New York drawl, no southern twang, nothing like that, but he was definitely not a local. There was something strange about the woman, he felt. That she held a spark within her that was at once like his and not at all like his. Strange, but he supposed it didn't warrant further investigation, unless it became some sort of an issue. Which he trusted it wouldn't. "I like this seat. I sat here yesterday." Which was true, he had.
wrecked ships: Are you sure he didn't just fall off the truck? Aurie's brow, darker than the pale of her hair in a way that implied it wasn't natural, though not in nine hundred years had she so much as touched the silky strands with any chemicals, rose up with his quick clarification. "Alright, then." She shifted a little, rose up straighter to peer at the situation the guy had going on for himself over at his table, making it all too obvious the way she moved to accommodate being able to see him from toes to shoulders, and then back to the dark of his eyes, and she gave a little nod to herself, before once again both of her brows lifted up with his statement. "Should we carve y'name in the ass of it? Make it officially yours?" Too abrasive, honey pot -- and not usually her demeanor. In fact, her own words brought a frown to her upside down mouth, and she slumped a little against the booth's comfort. "I'm quite proficient with a penknife," she declared, oozing some charm into her tone, though it might have sounded a little unnatural. That shit about it not being her demeanor? Total bullcrap. She could be a bag full of brat, but most days it was all good natured. Hard to tell, but good natured. Today was one of them. Sorry, curly-q. -d-
a holy haruspex: Oddly, despite the fact that Aurie seemed to be a little curt today, Micah's expression reflected nothing but peace. Maybe it was because the coffee at Joe's was just that good? He let her look her over, let her see whatever it was that she wished to see. Micah was tall, probably somewhere in the six foot range, so there was a good deal of him to take in. His clothing was nondescript, a pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt, the boots on his feet worn but serviceable. He had carried in a backpack, which was now sitting tucked underneath his chair. "I don't think Molly would appreciate that," he said, referencing the angry little blonde woman's predicted response to seeing his name carved into the chair in her place of employment. When his mouth curled into a smile, it was a small one, but there was nothing false about it. It hit his eyes anyway, even though it hardly disturbed his mouth. "Besides, you don't know my name yet. But now you do. It's Micah." This one was a strange one. He could feel it in her. He could see her reaching for something you could not touch, like she was chasing the wind. So very strange. London was full of strange people, though. He had felt it last night too.
wrecked ships: Wrongfully assuming Molly was this man's gf, or maybe his dog, she just nodded along. She hadn't a clue who owned the place -- though she'd be thrilled when she found out who it was. What that who was. Over the moon thrilled, even. "Right, right. Wouldn't want to upset Molly." Because you know, she might have actually tried carving the guys name in his own ass instead of the seat if she got half the chance, just for the giggles. "I didn't know that?" That had her frowning more obviously, and she uncurled her legs beneath the seat and slid free of the booth; abandoning both her tea and the coat she'd peeled off before sitting down. Making her way carefully over to where he sat, until she could lay her hands against the scarred wood of the table and lean over it to get a much better look at his eyes, and she shook her head some. "No, it's not. But, you're comfortable enough with it, so I'll use it. Micah, the pleasure is mine. Aurielle." Straightening, she thrust a hand at him; her sleeve was half rolled up her arm, revealing five thin silver bracelets wrapped around her wrist, and each one had a semi-precious stone caught within the chain, but not dangling. There were three peridots, a diamond, and an aquamarine. -d-
a holy haruspex: Molly, for all Micah knew, was just one of the waitresses, and one who apparently did not willingly suffer fools. He hadn't expected for Aurie to come over to his table, either, though it seemed that very little bothered him. Let her look in his eyes to her little heart's desire, really--it only made his smile grow a little wider. What would you see there, lurking in the darkness? Light. Somehow, there was light there, a sparkle of gold in the depths of the pupils. "Aurielle. It's a lovely name." A hand came out, and of course he took it in his own grip. Nothing particularly interesting in the hand, no. A firm shake, the standard expected human levels of warmth. A little bit of dry paint still clinging to a fingertip, blue. Although Micah did hold her gaze for a moment, he eventually drifted it downwards to look her over as well. It was hard to say what, exactly, he was looking for, but the last thing his expression suggested was a threat. He looked at her eyes, her hair, her expression, her clothes, her shoes, and finally the bracelets on her wrist. "August August August April March," he said, meeting her eyes again with that still-growing smile. "Birthstones. Why? Or are they just the ones you like?"
wrecked ships: The hand he took was far too warm to have just been warmed by the tea cup she'd held, but soft as can be in it's texture, and firm in it's grip when she shook his. "Thank you," she cooed a little, and without invitation, she dragged her butt into the seat opposite of him. She wasn't surprised when he named off the months that were joined to the green, clear, and blue stones in her bracelets. Many people knew that. Some had to Google it, like .. JR. She adjusted the things, twisted them so the stones all lay close together, and laughed softly. "Maybe I've got five wee ones at home, y'know? Triplets, or I just like to get banged in the month of November." Or Alistair Byrne did, to have three kids all born in the month of August. Randy bastard. "Or I've three birthdays all of my own. A tri-cusp!," she decided, pointing a left-handed finger gun at him with eyes going wide in her excitement of coming up with something that in no way shape or form would work. Tri-cusp? You can't cusp on three things! Especially not the zodiac. -d-
a holy haruspex: Well, he wouldn't oppose having some company, no. Micah smiled patiently at the pretty thing across from him, then raised his butt right out of his chair so he could reach out to tap the bangle with the aquamarine on it. "This one's mine," he said, though he followed it with, "I believe." So he knew what month each stone represented, but wasn't sure if the aquamarine was his birthstone? "Perhaps it's this one." He tapped the April one. "You don't have five children," he added on, with a knowing smile. "If you do, you have some remarkable luck bouncing back from pregnancy." Because she didn't look like she'd been pregnant five times. Or even three times, once with triplets. Especially not with triplets. And while that could have been construed as a lascivious comment, coming out of Micah's mouth, it seemed anything but. "I have two birthdays," he said, adding on to her comments about her having three. "There was the day I was born, and the day that I was found. At the home, we celebrated it on March first, with all the other March birthdays. I enjoyed that. There was cake. So who am I to say that you don't have three?" Micah sipped his coffee. Eyed her. Tilted his head. "You chase the wind. Why?" Important info you have learned tonight about Micah Doe: he likes cake.
wrecked ships: "I've got excellent metabolism," Aurie declared, as if that were all one needed to stay so tiny and fit after popping out five squalling brats. She had, at one time, done so twice. But those children were long gone. None of the sadness that should have come with that was there in the gaze that fixated on his -- it was a natural progression, when something was part human, it died. He would find curiosity, that he'd added onto the idea of having more than one natal day, and she laughed softly. "Pick one, then it's yours, and you no longer have to guess. Personally, I think you should go with the diamonds. They'll last longer than the aqua any day, and bring more money if you've ever got to hock the things, too." So wise, our Aurie Grey. "What sort of cake?" Not at all surprising to Aurie, to find the focus on all he said on cake. She liked cake too. But his question? That had her giving pause. Pursing her mouth a little to chew on the inside of her cheek. "Business." True enough. Deals had been made, after all. -d-
Summary: Pulled by the aura of her charges to Joes, Aurie is just hangin' out, waiting for something she's not so sure of, when Micah shows up and asks the deep questions.
TW: None.
wrecked ships: For a December night, things weren't as blustery as Aurie Grey might have liked. She preferred it when the snow was cascading down, blanketing the earth in it's white fluff and a chill so deep you could feel it in your bones. She rather liked that chill. Liked seeing her breath puff out against the air. Liked to catch snowflakes on her tongue, and pelt the shit out of people with snowballs and then toss out a glamour to make her disappear so it looked as if they got hit by no one, out of nowhere. But there was no fucking snow, was there? Lame. London was lame. But it was also home, and had been for far too long to skip off to somewhere Arctic now. Slipping into Joes, where she wasn't a frequent visitor, or did she particularly like the taste of coffee or even the smell of it, but tonight as she passed by, it just seemed rather fitting to go in. Drawn to the place, perhaps, and she wasn't the type to ignore those feelings. Currently, she was seated at one of the booths near the door; her hands wrapped about the warmth of a mug of Earl Grey, and bright blue eyes fixated on the door of the place. She had a feeling what the byrne in her belly might be, but she might also just have to pee real bad. It's happened before. Pale hair, more white than actually blonde, was gathered up into a messy top knot, shorter strands framing her angular features -- she was all wide big eyes and a funny downturned mouth, neither of which looked as if they should fit together but somehow she made it work by usually over accentuating the eyes and leaving the mouth naked as can be. A black and red checked flannel shirt was paired with a pair of black skinnies and biker boots left half undone, though the petite thing had her legs pulled up onto the booth's seat and crossed Indian style for comfort. Checks came in black and white too, a smaller match to the shirt she wore, in the form of a trendy scarf looped at her slender neck. While she watched, for whatever it was pushing her to eye the door, she took a tentative sip of the tea; nose wrinkling a little. Nobody made it as good as she did, that was a fact. -d-
a holy haruspex: What were you anticipating, little faerie? It was likely not the man who walked through the door, the opening of it catching words that he was saying to another nearby. "Be well, and be warm. A pleasant holiday to you, miss." In through the door, which he quickly shut behind him so he could wrap arms around himself and attempt to stave off the cold. The black peacoat and the gray knit cap were probably pretty good at keeping him warm, but London had a bite to it that he hadn't previously encountered in his travels, even if it wasn't cold enough by the standards of some. He remembered this place from last night, and Micah stopped to see if there were any familiar faces here. It had been almost painful to watch Derrick strike out with Molly, honestly. Thankfully, he saw neither, and he once again ordered his straight, boring coffee from Andy and once again stuffed more money than necessary into the tip jar. When he had his order and his gloved hands were cupped around the chipped green mug he'd been given last night, he retreated towards a seat. Not far from the woman, but not upsettingly close, either. Just near enough to be within conversational distance. Once settled, he began the process of stripping off outerwear. Knit cap--dark gold curls practically exploded out of them. The coat was stuffed behind his back. Gloves were dropped into the hat for safekeeping, and he began to sip, curiously glancing at the woman out of the corner of his eye.
wrecked ships: Maybe it was the residues of the strike out that Aurielle felt; a close connection to a man who'd never even seen her with his real eyes. Maybe that's why she'd been drawn in. She could feel them, those she'd been charged with watching for all eternity. They'd all been here. The place was practically buzzing with the many auras of witch and Fae and other such creatures, but she could feel particular ones stronger than the others. The door opened. Had she glanced away? Vision flew to it, but she didn't recognize the face that came through. The tiny thing watched him make his trek from the door to the counter, but that's where her attention stopped -- pulling back to the windows to peruse the out of doors through the one at the end of her booth. But it was hard to not feel the glances that came her way, and after a few of them, she twisted enough to turn her face to the guy with his mop top curls no longer hidden beneath his cap. "Oi, you want a picture, do ya?" The ``it last longer`` was heavily implied within the tone of a voice that had long ago taken on something that was more Dubliner than Londoner, but listen to her speak for any long period of time, and that might just change without any warning. -d-
a holy haruspex: It wasn't as though Micah fell off the turnip truck yesterday. Actually, for all anyone knew, maybe he did fall off a turnip truck, but it was somewhere around twenty-three years ago, nearing twenty-four. The woman's tone was met with a slight downturn of his mouth, while dark eyes moved from observing her in his peripherals to actually looking at her head-on. There was something peculiar about those eyes, other than the fact that they seemed too dark in color for such a fair complexion. There was a calm in them, but it wasn't the sort of calm that accepted things at face value. It was calm that was half a step short of turning into sheer jubilation, and that just might do so at a moment's notice. "I didn't mean to offend," he said, in a voice that clearly knew nothing of London or Dublin or anything on this side of the pond. America was written into every word. No New York drawl, no southern twang, nothing like that, but he was definitely not a local. There was something strange about the woman, he felt. That she held a spark within her that was at once like his and not at all like his. Strange, but he supposed it didn't warrant further investigation, unless it became some sort of an issue. Which he trusted it wouldn't. "I like this seat. I sat here yesterday." Which was true, he had.
wrecked ships: Are you sure he didn't just fall off the truck? Aurie's brow, darker than the pale of her hair in a way that implied it wasn't natural, though not in nine hundred years had she so much as touched the silky strands with any chemicals, rose up with his quick clarification. "Alright, then." She shifted a little, rose up straighter to peer at the situation the guy had going on for himself over at his table, making it all too obvious the way she moved to accommodate being able to see him from toes to shoulders, and then back to the dark of his eyes, and she gave a little nod to herself, before once again both of her brows lifted up with his statement. "Should we carve y'name in the ass of it? Make it officially yours?" Too abrasive, honey pot -- and not usually her demeanor. In fact, her own words brought a frown to her upside down mouth, and she slumped a little against the booth's comfort. "I'm quite proficient with a penknife," she declared, oozing some charm into her tone, though it might have sounded a little unnatural. That shit about it not being her demeanor? Total bullcrap. She could be a bag full of brat, but most days it was all good natured. Hard to tell, but good natured. Today was one of them. Sorry, curly-q. -d-
a holy haruspex: Oddly, despite the fact that Aurie seemed to be a little curt today, Micah's expression reflected nothing but peace. Maybe it was because the coffee at Joe's was just that good? He let her look her over, let her see whatever it was that she wished to see. Micah was tall, probably somewhere in the six foot range, so there was a good deal of him to take in. His clothing was nondescript, a pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt, the boots on his feet worn but serviceable. He had carried in a backpack, which was now sitting tucked underneath his chair. "I don't think Molly would appreciate that," he said, referencing the angry little blonde woman's predicted response to seeing his name carved into the chair in her place of employment. When his mouth curled into a smile, it was a small one, but there was nothing false about it. It hit his eyes anyway, even though it hardly disturbed his mouth. "Besides, you don't know my name yet. But now you do. It's Micah." This one was a strange one. He could feel it in her. He could see her reaching for something you could not touch, like she was chasing the wind. So very strange. London was full of strange people, though. He had felt it last night too.
wrecked ships: Wrongfully assuming Molly was this man's gf, or maybe his dog, she just nodded along. She hadn't a clue who owned the place -- though she'd be thrilled when she found out who it was. What that who was. Over the moon thrilled, even. "Right, right. Wouldn't want to upset Molly." Because you know, she might have actually tried carving the guys name in his own ass instead of the seat if she got half the chance, just for the giggles. "I didn't know that?" That had her frowning more obviously, and she uncurled her legs beneath the seat and slid free of the booth; abandoning both her tea and the coat she'd peeled off before sitting down. Making her way carefully over to where he sat, until she could lay her hands against the scarred wood of the table and lean over it to get a much better look at his eyes, and she shook her head some. "No, it's not. But, you're comfortable enough with it, so I'll use it. Micah, the pleasure is mine. Aurielle." Straightening, she thrust a hand at him; her sleeve was half rolled up her arm, revealing five thin silver bracelets wrapped around her wrist, and each one had a semi-precious stone caught within the chain, but not dangling. There were three peridots, a diamond, and an aquamarine. -d-
a holy haruspex: Molly, for all Micah knew, was just one of the waitresses, and one who apparently did not willingly suffer fools. He hadn't expected for Aurie to come over to his table, either, though it seemed that very little bothered him. Let her look in his eyes to her little heart's desire, really--it only made his smile grow a little wider. What would you see there, lurking in the darkness? Light. Somehow, there was light there, a sparkle of gold in the depths of the pupils. "Aurielle. It's a lovely name." A hand came out, and of course he took it in his own grip. Nothing particularly interesting in the hand, no. A firm shake, the standard expected human levels of warmth. A little bit of dry paint still clinging to a fingertip, blue. Although Micah did hold her gaze for a moment, he eventually drifted it downwards to look her over as well. It was hard to say what, exactly, he was looking for, but the last thing his expression suggested was a threat. He looked at her eyes, her hair, her expression, her clothes, her shoes, and finally the bracelets on her wrist. "August August August April March," he said, meeting her eyes again with that still-growing smile. "Birthstones. Why? Or are they just the ones you like?"
wrecked ships: The hand he took was far too warm to have just been warmed by the tea cup she'd held, but soft as can be in it's texture, and firm in it's grip when she shook his. "Thank you," she cooed a little, and without invitation, she dragged her butt into the seat opposite of him. She wasn't surprised when he named off the months that were joined to the green, clear, and blue stones in her bracelets. Many people knew that. Some had to Google it, like .. JR. She adjusted the things, twisted them so the stones all lay close together, and laughed softly. "Maybe I've got five wee ones at home, y'know? Triplets, or I just like to get banged in the month of November." Or Alistair Byrne did, to have three kids all born in the month of August. Randy bastard. "Or I've three birthdays all of my own. A tri-cusp!," she decided, pointing a left-handed finger gun at him with eyes going wide in her excitement of coming up with something that in no way shape or form would work. Tri-cusp? You can't cusp on three things! Especially not the zodiac. -d-
a holy haruspex: Well, he wouldn't oppose having some company, no. Micah smiled patiently at the pretty thing across from him, then raised his butt right out of his chair so he could reach out to tap the bangle with the aquamarine on it. "This one's mine," he said, though he followed it with, "I believe." So he knew what month each stone represented, but wasn't sure if the aquamarine was his birthstone? "Perhaps it's this one." He tapped the April one. "You don't have five children," he added on, with a knowing smile. "If you do, you have some remarkable luck bouncing back from pregnancy." Because she didn't look like she'd been pregnant five times. Or even three times, once with triplets. Especially not with triplets. And while that could have been construed as a lascivious comment, coming out of Micah's mouth, it seemed anything but. "I have two birthdays," he said, adding on to her comments about her having three. "There was the day I was born, and the day that I was found. At the home, we celebrated it on March first, with all the other March birthdays. I enjoyed that. There was cake. So who am I to say that you don't have three?" Micah sipped his coffee. Eyed her. Tilted his head. "You chase the wind. Why?" Important info you have learned tonight about Micah Doe: he likes cake.
wrecked ships: "I've got excellent metabolism," Aurie declared, as if that were all one needed to stay so tiny and fit after popping out five squalling brats. She had, at one time, done so twice. But those children were long gone. None of the sadness that should have come with that was there in the gaze that fixated on his -- it was a natural progression, when something was part human, it died. He would find curiosity, that he'd added onto the idea of having more than one natal day, and she laughed softly. "Pick one, then it's yours, and you no longer have to guess. Personally, I think you should go with the diamonds. They'll last longer than the aqua any day, and bring more money if you've ever got to hock the things, too." So wise, our Aurie Grey. "What sort of cake?" Not at all surprising to Aurie, to find the focus on all he said on cake. She liked cake too. But his question? That had her giving pause. Pursing her mouth a little to chew on the inside of her cheek. "Business." True enough. Deals had been made, after all. -d-