An odd scene for me, considering where it starts. We learn interesting things such as spaceships coming from beyond to eat all beings that get too close to it. The spirits are screaming in pain whenever we care to listen. Consider me near over-dosed for the rest of the weekend.

You walk west along Dundas to Jarvis.
Downtown - Jarvis and Dundas(#131RJ)

Empty lots and undeveloped plots of useless land fill this intersection. Old, largely-abandoned factories are set up along the streetside. Development here ceased long ago, apparently. Two major homeless shelters operate in this area, given its rather cheap real-estate value. The area is mostly populated by homeless people, junkies and whores, though the occasional employee of the few operating companies in this area might be seen driving through... generally rapidly.

Contents:
Billboard In Front of the Vacant Lot [LOOK BOARD]
Obvious exits:
Upstairs Apartment [UA] Factory Residence [FR] 12 Dundas [12] Mecca
Pharmaceuticals [MP] Vacant Lot [VL] Homeless Shelter [HS] Global
Communiciations [GC] East [E] West [W] South [S] North [N]

Vacant Lot - Jarvis and Dundas

It's a large vacant lot, approximately one-fourth the size of a city block. Overgrown with weeds, and dotted here and there with rubble from the detritus of years of neglect, and from what appears to be the remnants of a former building, there is almost a sad, forlorn feel to the place.
The entire lot apparently was once a fairly large building--perhaps a warehouse--because beneath the accumulating litter that the city never quite manages to entirely pick up, and the weeds springing up from every crevice, is cracked and weathered cement. Broken bits of glass glitter in the dim light. An occasional syringe can be found, discarded by a careless junkie, and the nonsense scrawlings of graffiti artists--as well as the evidence of true artistic gift--is visible on every broken slab of concrete.

[[ OOC: This is a patrolled area. Security will find you. ]]

Obvious exits:
Building Ruins [BR] Street: Jarvis and Dundas [O]

+umscan
The Weaver is firmly in control here. Even that feeble plant-life that can survive the choke-hold of steel-reinforced cement slabbing is dying fast. Dark, nebulous mist creeps across the ground, seeming almost alive as it drifts across the vacant lot. Glowing eyes peer out of crevices, poisonous colors that speak of potential Wyrm-taint.

The air is dry and dusty, rasping at the throat, the wind whispering only of death and decay and the unmaking.

You head into the ruins of the building at the back of the lot.
Building Ruins - Vacant Lot - Jarvis and Dundas

There's a roof here only by virtue of the fact that the floor for the
second storey is still mostly intact. Any interior finishing is long gone--the
concrete walls and floor are pitted and cratered, in fact, revealing the
remnants of wiring and the steel skeleton reinforcing the building shell.
Graffiti covers the walls, and the stale smell of urine is strong. Rats
occasionally can be heard rustling and squeaking among the litter and rubble
in the shadows. It's a grim, dreary place, this wreckage of a building, always
dim and lit only seldom by the occasional campfire.
Any interior walls that once existed are now long gone, and despite the
rubble and litter strewn about, it's still a spacious room. When the weather
is inclement, the wind whistles through narrow crannies and nooks in the walls
and ceiling, giving almost the impression that the building is alive and has a
presence of its own.

Obvious exits:
Rickety Staircase [Up] Vacant Lot [O]

+umscan
The lack of light here is both spiritual and physical, a heavy black sticky miasma that clings to any living thing that visits. Only the occasional dim light of a fire-spirit, dancing weakly and oh-so-futilely ever cuts through the gloom and reveals the litter-strewn expanse of a place forgotten by humanity and controlled by the Weaver.

Building Ruins - Second Story

Fractured walls painted flat black stand around you on all sides, all that is left of this level in a building almost completely destroyed by time and decay. The roof overhead is no more, only twisted-metal girders and the occasional patch of what was once the floor above block out the sky overhead. Barred windows let through the occasional burst of air, wafting up the tattered black curtains like Halloween ghosts on the wind -- no glass in their frames to stop the weather outside from pouring in. There is a sense of darkness here no matter what the time of day is, shadows cast in all corners but given no form by the black paint which surrounds on all sides.
Someone has made a 'den' of this place, bringing in all sorts of elements to help bring comfort to those that visit. Black, wooden crates are set about for chairs and stools; old cushions which still hold their form and haven't begun to fall apart give a place to rest that is not cold concrete; two large barrels burn refuse to flame and warm the area from the weather outside; and incense of sandalwood and clove burn from all corners of the room to create a soft cloud of gentle smell.
On one wall, where light never touchs, a crescent moon is painted in white. Below it on the floor burn candles of black and white color in jars.

Obvious exits:
Rickety Staircase [O]

+umscan
The lack of light here is both spiritual and physical, a heavy black sticky miasma that clings to any living thing that visits. Only the occasional dim light of a fire-spirit, dancing weakly and oh-so-futilely ever cuts through the gloom and reveals the litter-strewn expanse of a place forgotten by humanity and controlled by the Weaver.

Once in a great while, the black presence thins enough to view stars high above, reminding the soul that there is always some light to be had.


You head down the rickety stairs, stepping wide to avoid the missing steps, and arrive at street-level.

You head out of the ruined building, to the vacant lot.
Vacant Lot - Jarvis and Dundas

You thread your way in and among and around piles of rubble and leave the
vacant lot for the street.
Downtown - Jarvis and Dundas(#131RJ)
You walk north along Spadina to King.

Downtown - Spadina and King W(#257RJ)

This is the central bar area of Toronto. There is a bar on every corner,
and from Thursday to Saturday it is next to impossible to find parking. The
line-ups get huge and the hot dog venders get wealthy. On the northwest corner
stands the neon monument called Whiskey Saigon, and near by are other bars
such as Dirk Gently's and Power Bar. The Coloured Stone is located
kitty-corner to Whiskey, a trendy bar and pool hall. Restaurants are also
common in this area, everything from a bar and grill, to the finer dining
experiences. Things are relatively more quiet other nights, but there is
always traffic. The sidewalks are a clean white colour and the streets have
been repaved, to the delight of motorists driving through the city. Even the
planters with the flowers and the trees make this section a brighter place.

Obvious exits:
Open Mic Nightclub [OMN] Holiday Inn [HI] CityBeat 24 Centre [CB24] Eye
Magazine [EM] Whiskey Saigon [WS] East [E] North [N] South [S]

Announcement: Escalus shouts, "Anyone /in/ /the/ /city/ who might possibly be
dimensionally aware, please contact me."

Announcement: Escalus shouts, "To define--anyone who has a reason to be
sensing the Low, Middle, or High Umbras."
Long distance to Escalus: Penny goes ping.

Escalus pages: At first it sounds like a small buzzing, a rumbling through the
ether. It is faint, but it is constant. If you can only see and are inside,
then ignore this message.

Long distance to Escalus: Penny can do a smidge more than see.

Escalus pages: If anyone wants to investigate more closely, page me.
You paged Escalus with 'I'm in.'.
Escalus pages: What do you want to do?
You paged Escalus with 'Send a smoke signal into the ether.'.
Escalus pages: Define?

Escalus pages: The humming noise increases in intensity, though it is not
enough to bother you. However, the sound seems to doppler shift. Whatever is
creating it is getting closer. Those of you who are outside and can see into
one of the three umbras, you see the star of light growing bigger and bigger
as it nears the city. It is not falling, however, more like approaching.

You paged Escalus with 'Spirit 2 /Mind 2 rote: use a cigarette and exhale the
enochian phrase 'Over here.' Penny can then read and hear the spirits that
respond.'.

Escalus pages: Roll me diff. 5.

//.etro: Penny rolls "3" privately to Escalus at diff 5.
For a total of 0 success(es).
Escalus pages: Sucks.
Long distance to Escalus: Penny makes noises. Dangit.
You paged Escalus with 'Lemme know if/when I can try again.'.
Escalus pages: You can try it again.
Long distance to Escalus: Penny dances.
//.etro: Penny rolls "3" privately to Escalus at diff 5.
For a total of 1 success(es).

Escalus pages: The humming noise has stopped growing louder as the doppler
shift directs the sound upward rather than towards the city. Those of you who
can see outside can now see it for what it is. It is a space ship, as large as
a football field, bristling with antenna and resonating with power. The name
of the ship is written in billboard size letters across the side; ACTIUM.

Escalus pages: The ship has now reached the tallest skyscrapers of the city
and disappears among them. It is definitely headed toward downtown. The buzz
is beginning to be more muted, but still persistent.

Escalus pages: The humming noise has subsided so it can no longer be heard
unless you are near to the site where it landed.

Downtown - Jarvis and Dundas(#131RJ)

Empty lots and undeveloped plots of useless land fill this intersection.
Old, largely-abandoned factories are set up along the streetside. Development
here ceased long ago, apparently. Two major homeless shelters operate in this
area, given its rather cheap real-estate value. The area is mostly populated
by homeless people, junkies and whores, though the occasional employee of the
few operating companies in this area might be seen driving through...
generally rapidly.

Contents:
Catherine
Mary
Escalus
Billboard In Front of the Vacant Lot [LOOK BOARD]
Obvious exits:
Upstairs Apartment [UA] Factory Residence [FR] 12 Dundas [12] Mecca
Pharmaceuticals [MP] Vacant Lot [VL] Homeless Shelter [HS] Global
Communiciations [GC] East [E] West [W] South [S] North [N]

Catherine looks up and around then smiles a soft smile more to herself.

For those people whose senses are grounded in the real world, there is nothing going on here, but a few people and a group of people inside the fenced-in area of the vacant lot.

[OOC] Someone says "We dead people are so desensitized. :p"

Mary shudders for one thing, and reaches out to put her hand against the
fence, as if she was pondering climbing it, too get a closer look at.. er..
whatever she's looking at, up there in the sky.

[OOC] Fey says "After everything that has happened here, we are a jaded bunch."

Catherine moves close towards the Vacant lot, listening closely. Again, she
smiles looking towards that familiar sound.

Finger in her ear, Penny jabs at something. Tiny wires in her ears. Earbuds. Wires join somewhere near her chest to a singular point then into a pocket. She moves not so quickly and carries on, business as usual past some homeless kids and toward another nexus of people.

Tom appears from the north.
Tom has arrived.

Catherine remains quiet and somewhat in the background but she slowly goes closer towards the Vacant lot, touching the fence. Listening intensly, a soft smile on her lip..and then a giggle.

Mary's hand curls around the bit of the fence she's put her hand against. She
pauses a momeent, gathering herself, then starts trying to scramble upwards.
It's sort of funny to watch... because she ain't going anywhere. Not the best
climber, apparently.

Slunk low in his overcoat, Tom, it would seem, is out for a long, nonchalant
walk under the very nearly full moon. Shoes clap wetly along the moist
sidewalk. The mist hangs low and ponderous, very still, and it doesn't seem to
part at all for the likes of Tom. Just the remarkable humidity has already
moistened his hair. A nonchalant stroll, along the sidewalk, to think things
through - and that bit of thinking has led him here, how peculiar.

Shahai arrives from the west.
Shahai has arrived.

Shahai drives up in a black Lexus, the windows tinted and the highbeams on.

Oh, and she's smoking. Or she was up until it went out just then. Penny pats
herself down, pocket to pocket and jacket to jeans. No dice, the fates must be
against her. She looks back over her shoulder at the homeless kids, weighing
the quick steps back for a light, wiping slick damp from the curve past her
ears. Another glance toward the people and the fence, sticking to her side of
the street.

Catherine walks along the fence to see if there is any opening or gate on it
from this way. She's not gonna climb it..though she probably would get over.
Or maybe she -does- know how to climb. For Mary pauses again, regathering
herself, and jumps first this time, grabbing hold of the fence at the apex of
her leap, and scrambling upwards. It's ever so much more affective than it was
the first time around. She shimmies up, and drops over the edge.

Tom seems largely to be talking to himself, looking a little puzzled. Listening, perhaps, as well. All types out, tonight. Then, the characteristic sound of a fence shaking, metal on metal. With his brow furrowed, Tom glances up from the sidewalk... gaze wandering, drifting. Speaks to himself, sotto voce. Stops walking. Stands stock still on the damp sidewalk, eyes focusing on Mary as she scrabbles.

Mary You step off the street and into the vacant lot.
Mary has left.
[HOODOO] Penny (Monday) gods. Forget protecting Mary now.

Shahai pulls up to the front gate of the place and gets out. It looks like
someone has the key.

Long distance to Escalus: Penny heys. Do I get a result on that +roll?
From afar, Escalus is confused.
Escalus pages: Remind me, which roll?
You paged Escalus with 'Spirit2/Mind2 - get spirits to talk to Penny.'.
Escalus pages: I missed your seocnd roll. What did you get?
You paged Escalus with '1 success.'.

Escalus pages: What you hear is /screaming/.

Shahai gets in and drive the car throught he open gate.
Shahai You step off the street and into the vacant lot.
Shahai has left.

Catherine does move closer to the gates. Maybe this is her chance to get in.

You paged Escalus with 'That's not good.'.

Catherine You step off the street and into the vacant lot.
Catherine has left.

Escalus pages: The spirits are screaming in pain.

Tom steps off of the moist sidewalk and into the street. Only looking left
then right once he's standing on the pavement, Tom walks patiently across the
street, through the onrushing cars, up onto the sidewalk, over the fence,
which he peers through. Subvocalizes, rubbing his throat.

Tom paces to the fence. Looks through the metal twisted in rings over the
fence posts. Cranes his neck a little, to see what's going on. Then, he draws
away, stops his rubbernecking, and migrates off down the sidewalk, up the
street, arm up, arm out. The other hand fetches something, a PDF or something,
out of his coat. He occasionally taps things on the PDF, then, as punctuation,
waves his arm out again for a taxi.

A flex and release; that's the motion in her shoulders, throat and jaw.
Nicfit, Penny's habit must be worse than she let's on. She starts patting
herself down again, bordering on frantic, starts asking randomly passing
strangers "Light? Got a light?" resembling the unsettling homeless kids.

You paged Escalus with 'Three times a charm? I'd like to try one more time,
ask for the source.'.

From afar, Escalus nods. To me.

//.etro: Penny rolls "3" privately to Escalus at diff 5.
For a total of 2 success(es).
[OOC] Someone says "Sorry. ].[ I'd meant to save that... pose order and all...
Hit enter too soon."

Catherine has come inside the thing, only to have a black-suited man with
sunglasses draw a gun on here.

Escalus pages: Did I answer you?

Penny gets relit by the nicest person in Canada. She just offers a Bic and a
sympathetic smile. Doesn't comment on Penny's outburst or her shaking hands
except for "Cold night, eh?" and lets Penny nod by way of conversation and moves on. Bright orange reappears at the end of her cigarette and she exhales
a great cloud of smoke and breath. Ashes roll down the front of her jacket as she repositions herself closer to the curb.

You paged Escalus with 'Nope.'.

[OOC] Penny realizes her wraithdesc might be wrong. Huh.
[OOC] Penny fixes, sorries.

Escalus pages: Did I answer you?
Announcement: Pericles shouts, "Anyone interested the broken commands at the
carnival have been fixed so you can pester me about them if you want to check
them out."

Escalus pages: The spirits are fleeing the area. It is like the big machine is
eating them.
You paged Escalus with 'Can I take the second success away with me and get
some conversation time later on?'.

Escalus pages: Sure you can.
You paged Escalus with 'Excellent. When you're not swamped, buzz me?'.

Catherine has arrived.
Gwennyth has arrived.
Mary has arrived.

Catherine does look back behind her and then towards Gwennyth as she's escorted out. She signs, then just lets her hands drop, shrugging.

Mary stumbles as she emerges from the lot, something having thrown her off balance on the way out. She looks somewhat shaken.. but mostly wonder-struck, for some reason.

Gwennyth follows Catherine and Mary out, watching them both intently. She has a backpack in her hand and says carefully, facing Catherine, "Please stay here."

Catherine says something in a language you don't understand.

For his part, Tom stands around in the mist, head down, face lit from below by the phosphorescent blue of his PDF. He watches something - possibly a video or some television - with a rapt expression. Gaze distant and unfocused, as though he was looking deep through the image... or perhaps deep into it.

Gwennyth watches Catherine a moment, but doesn't respond. Maybe she doesn't know what the woman's saying. She motions for Mary to stand close to
Catherine so that she can easily watch both of them. HEr hands are clasped behind her back, holding the backpack.

Escalus says "Okay, guys. Rather than RP this out, I can have a normal
cop car come and pick you two up."

Mary steps over close to Catherine, and turns and looks up again, at the sky once more.. she ccan still see it out here, at least, though perhaps not as well. Of course, what 'it' is may be hard to determine.

Mary's fine with however is easiest for you to handle.
Escalus is severely running out of steam. They will take you to the station, give you tickets, and get your names and address and hten let you go.
Catherine says "Okay..."
Gwennyth says "Works good for me."
Escalus says "Okay, Mary and Catherine, the police will take you away.
Skedaddle."
Mary says "We clear to go home, or do we need to go hang at the cop
shop?"
Escalus says "Oh, no, jsut go home."
Mary says "Gotcha. Thank you, Esc. You rock."
Mary hails a cab and departs.
Mary has left.
Escalus pages: Okay, I think I have time. What did you want to ask?
Catherine says "Thanx...bye."
You paged Escalus with 'What the hell just happened and can it be repaired?'.

Once Mary and her backpack, and Catherine are safely in police custody, Gwennyth turns and heads back into the lot.

Long distance to Escalus: Penny doesn't mince words even with the ephemeral.

Catherine goes home.
Catherine has left.

Escalus pages: This machine eats spirits. Anyone that gets too close. It is big and strong. You can repair it by destroying it.

Talking to herself, Penny crosses the street just ahead of the cops' arrival somewhere in Tom's vicinity. Smoke wreaths her wake in the thinnest parts of the air, fog roiling underfoot. She looks this way and that way, settling on the cab that Tom hailed "You taking that one?"

You paged Escalus with 'Who operates the machine?'.
Escalus pages: I do not know. I cannot get close to it.
You paged Escalus with 'Okie doke. Won't keep you. Thanks - this is great.'.

Crazy Eight's - The Stoop(#6864RXnJ)

The stoop is a glass-fronted atrium with a wide view of the street and
sidewalk outside. There is a cigarette machine, a working pay phone and a
couple metal racks that hold the local free periodicals. They are the rags or
sheets that one can while away the time without the added cost of purchasing a
newspaper. White and black tile covers the floor in Roman meander line. Set
within the center of this design is an eight ball.

--> NIGHTZONE <--

Contents:
Alexander
Obvious exits:
Pool Hall [PH] Front Door [O]
One look at the dark-haired, dark-eyed man, he can be as young as twenty, or
as old as thirty, one look and his seriousness becomes obvious. He has one of
those ageless faces that makes his age so hard to determine with just a look.
Most of the hair is shaved from his head, leaving only a couple of weeks
growth. He could be of Southern European birth, the tone of his skin being
slightly darker then that of most born Canadians. When he moves, it is with a
subtle feminine grace.

Today he is wearing loose-fitting black pants with a plain black, leather tie
belt with a silver buckle around his waist. A beige long sleeved jersey looks
both comfortable and warm. A lightweigh, size bigger traditional, leather
jacket is worn ontop of it.

A chunky watch is carried around his left wrist. The only jewelry visible are
a pair of small silver rings decorating his left ear and right eyebrow. The
top most part of a black tattoo is visible just above his color. The rest of
the pattern vanishes hidden under his collar.

People, persons. Not many, just a few and none of them particularly pleasant.
There's a guy over there shooting glances at Penny, grumbling to his friends.
Something about money. And Penny? She's just hangin'out, havin'a beer.

Alexander let's his gaze sweep past you. Only to return to you along with the
other guy's attention. Lowering the pool cue, he rubs it against the back of
your head. "For luck." he explains, blinking at you. "Going inside, doll?"

//.etro: Penny rolls "6" at diff 7
For a total of 3 success(es) including 1 ten(s).

Alexander walks in off the street.
Alexander has arrived.
Alexander wraps the plastic off of a cigarette package with one hand as he makes his way into the area. His other hand is busy, shouldering a pool cue as if it was a rifle. Stopping just short of the door leading into the bar, he turns his head to look around the people present.
Alexander read your description.

Penny looks sideways at you, ducking fast out of the cue's way so that it lands somewhere between her neck and shoulder. "Don't," twirling the bottleneck, she inclines her head forward "ever," sliding her free hand down the cue "do that again" and pushes it back toward your chest with just enough force. Just enough to underline the insult to her person.

The guys grumbling in the corner have quieted a little and one coughs nervously under his breath. "Man, leave the lady alone."

Alexander swirs the cue and places its end against the floor, leaning just slightly against it, "I can't promise that. I'll make it up to you with a beer though. If you let me." A glance is shot the guys in the corner, and he smiles, "It seems chivalry isn't dead. Just hiding in a dirty bar."

You say, "No I don't think so" emphasis on the don't. Penny wobbles her beer at you, see? it's still mostly full, and steps back toward her perch between cigarette machine and public phone. Reaching into her pocket for a loose cig, she tucks it behind her ear for later "I'm sure you and your little stick can keep eachother company."

Alexander remains leaning against it for a moment, then straightens up and proceeds with walking with you, "Actually, it belongs to the bar. I borrowed it yesterday, and came to return it." He lays his arm over the phone, the one of the two machines most likely to be used less, facing you, "I'm Alec."

"And I'm not interested." Looking around for help from those guys isn't an option, so she smiles flat and tight, brows raised to further her point. Adjusting the grip on her beer bottle, Penny's fist a white-knuckled range around the brown glass.

//.etro: Penny rolls "willpower" privately to Penny at diff 7.
For a total of 1 success(es).

Alexander glances at your hand, nodding at it, "Come on, you don't need to do that. I'm too much of a coward to fight a girl anyway." He picks the reciever of the phone up and brings it to his ear, "Police, help. I'm being picked on by this white chick. Send backup." Smiling slightly, he puts the phone back in place, "I'm Alec.", lifting his brows as he tries again.

Penny stonewalls with a big pull on her beer. Shifting back on a rickety barstool for an absent bouncer, Penny sits unimpressed. Must get this alot. Posture changing second to second, it's obvious she carries no such prejudice. She nods back to the phone "Pick it up, dial 0. Then tell my boyfriend you're Alec."

Alexander shakes his head slowly, "I didn't ask to sleep with you, doll. Just to buy you a beer. And, possibly get your name. People come to bars to meet people, not to be left alone. Unless they want to be percieved as loners. Or enjoy torturing themselves. I've tasted the liqour here." He smiles at you, and wanders past you, "Okay. Can't blaim a guy for trying." The cue lowers once his back is turnt to you, and he is about to pat your behind with it once, "Enjoy your evening now."

..except for the simple fact that Penny's sitting on a stool. There will be no ass-patting. She drinks. That's all she does. No farewell last-jab or anything as childish. It's not that kind of bar and it's definitely not that kind of night.

+recc for Alexander sent.

Alexander returns after about a minute from inside the pool hall. This time without the cue. Lifting his chin, he grins at you, "Take care, doll." Pulling the hood of his jacket up, he narrows his eyes slightly as he looks up at the street lights. And then he is gone, wandering up the sidewalk.

Alexander walks into the streets.
Alexander has left.

You have just received a +recc from Alexander.

//.etro: It is 06:18 am, early morning, on Monday the 20. day of October, 2008.
The rich aroma from Starbucks draws you in.
Starbucks(#547RIJM)

Contents:
Mary
Jacob
Obvious exits:
Out

A small table by the window (#1) has 3 empty places.
A larger table by the front door (#2) has 2 empty places.
A quiet booth in the back (#3) has 6 empty places.
A table near the serving counter (#4) has 1 empty place.
Present: Mary - Jacob
A cozy table for two (#5) has 3 empty places.
A seat at the counter (#6) has 4 empty places.
A comfortable sofa (#7) has 3 empty places.
A table at the back (#8) has 3 empty places.
Jacob sits at a table talking with Mary.

Mary shakes her head a bit, at Jacob. "I know a lot of people use the line..and it probably seems like a cop out, or an exagerration, but in my case it really -is- complicated, and there isn't really anyone I can tell about it, without putting them in danger."

Jacob watches her for a moment longer then shrugs his shoulder, "I can't make you say anything, but the offer stands if you change your mind. The relief might be worth it to you."

Nobody should be here so early; not the barrista, the guy with the newspapers and least of all Penny. She ambles in, keeping her head down lest the mermaid on the wall start yelling at her; she walks in a way that paranoids consider normal, one eye over her shoulder.

Mary read your description.

Mary looks around for a moment, noting the entry of Penny. At this hour, the place isn't exactly bustling. She looks back towards Jacob, and summons up a wan smile for him. "This is corny, but the offer alone helps. Even if I can't accept it. Not right now, anyway. I think for now my only smart course of action is to keep things to msyself."

Mary Roberts is what could be termed 'a little slip of a thing'. She's
not absurdly short, but she's definately several inches below that of most
women her age, reaching only 5'3" in height. Her build is slender and reedy,
the sort that a mere breeze could well blow over, and though she doesn't seem
unhealthy, it does seem as if she could do with a little more food in her on a
regular basis. Her hair is long, reaching to about mid-back, its hue a rich
mahogany, likely her best feature, what with the highlights of red sparkling
in its tresses. Her eyes are cerulean blue, quite pretty save that there's
sometimes circles beneath them, as if she didn't get quite enough sleep.
Framed by sooty lashes, the eyes are set in a heart-shaped face, with slightly
too-pale skin.. along with lack of food and sleep, it seems perhaps she
doesn't get enough sun, though there's enough pink in her cheeks that she
doesn't look unhealthy.
Mary is dressed somewhat casually, though not to the point of
bluejeans and teeshirts. Her pants are black courderoy, comfortable looking,
though they don't seem terribly worn. They fit her well enough that it's not
out of the realm of possibility that they were tailor-made for her. She wears
a cashmere sweater in an off-white shade overtop it, the neckline slightly
scooped, though not enough to really reveal much of anything. A pair of
leather boots are worn on her feet and, when outside, a long black trenchcoat
is worn over the entire ensemble. All in all, the mode of dress is rather
conservative, with nothing revealing or suggestive about it.

Jacob nods his head a touch, "All right." moving on, "So what sort of book are the sketches for?" glancing over at the notepad in front of Mary. Mary's lips twitch again. "Horror," she says, then shakes her head. "I guess art does imitate life, doesn't it?

Mary tacks a " onto that.

Jacob quirks a bit of a smile, "So it seems. Though if it were talking rabbits and flying horses I would hate to find the parallels there."

Penny talks in whispers to the girl behind the counter. The girl, of course, can't hear or understand a word Penny says and repeats "What?" and "Huh?" and "Is that english? Parlez-vous francais?" No it isn't english, no, no and no. Penny finally grabs a 'venti' cup, points at it and mimes 'please to be filling it now.' And hardly traumatized, the half-sleeping server gets Penny her coffee.

Mary's lips twitc. "I don't think talking and rabbits and flying horses are really part of the horror genre. Unless it's a carniverous bunny, or a fanged flying horse, and even then. No... it's dark stuff. Kinda like my... uh. Like Toby Roberts' books, if you've read 'em." Which is kind of like saying the same thing about Stephen King. Only with darker themes. Jacob chuckles, "So horror is all you do then? No fields of daisies and butterfiles?" he glances over at the counter for a moment, looking at the cups that change hands before fishing in his pocket to pull out a bit of cash.

"Bunnicula," Penny butts in, adapting her tongue to english in slow syllables "bunnies with fangs." Horror, yes. Satisfied she got it right, Penny pulls her coffee off the serving counter looking for where they hid the stirry things and sugar. From that hidden area she adds "Loved your brother's work. He's no Clive Bark..er..was..um."

Silence.

Jacob glances between Penny and Mary, quirking an eyebrow as he pauses in pulling out a few dollars.

Mary looks up at Penny. "The celery stalks at midnight," she states. Then blinks at the woman, at what she adds, and forces a bit of a smile. "Still is.. if you count the post mortum publications." She then looks back at Jacob, shaking her head. "If you count what I do for myself, no. Though I'm not really the fields of daisies sort of girl."

Penny reappears from that region beyond the moon and stars, more importantly out of sight of the mermaid on the wall, brushing loose sugar-substitute from the front of her jacket. Noisey nylon swipe-swiping. "Hasat workout, post mortem" hovering over Mary's shoulder, unaware that intruding is socially unacceptable "you channel'im or somin?"

Jacob decides to aquire himself another drink, getting up from his seat and heading over to the counter for a moment, quietly asking for what he wants.

Mary goes tense just for the -briefest- of moments, though it's probably just due to the invasion of personal space. After a moment, though, she takes a breath, and forces herself to smile. "Of course not. He wrote a lot before he died.. it's pretty rough and unedited, but.. the editors want it. so I clean it up for them.. did it with a lot of his other books anyway... he hated editting."

//.etro: Penny rolls "4" privately to Mary at diff 7.
For a botch!
Mary pages: Doh? :)
Long distance to Mary: Penny hahs. Penny thinks you're lying when you say 'of course not' ...now a botch on that idea? I might be a little overbearing for a few minutes ;)

From afar, Mary grins. Go for it, it's all good. :)

Jacob pays for his coffee and collects it with a to-go lid. He moves back over towards Mary and offers a smile, "Its time for me to get on my way, it was a pleasure seeing you again. Take care."

"So what you're really sayin'is yeah, yeah?" She takes a seat at Mary's table, turns it around with her palm and straddles it, leans in "Does he have a lot to say? I heard when that John Edwards guy got fired from SciFi he started teaching classes on how to do it on account'a he couldn't pay his rent." She sips big from her cup, milky coffee mustache lingering "So didja like take one'a his classes after yer brother kicked it to the other side?" Starstruck, maybe. Penny rambles at an incredible speed.

Jacob stands and leaves a table near the serving counter.
Jacob has departed.
Jacob read your description.

Mary's looking rather uncomfortable, shooting Jacob an almost pleading look, though she doesn't ask him to stay aloud. "Uh... it was nice to talk to you," she manages. "And.. thanks. For the offer and all." She then turns back to eye Penny. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says, edgily. Clearly very much uncomfortable.

Jacob looks to Penny and frowns faintly, then moves to put his cup on the table between the two as he turns to Mary and says, "You've been here for some time, surely you're tired? I can walk you home on my way out if you'd like."

At your table Penny does pause. She looks out the window and then back to the tabletop "I do know," emphasis on the know part "Didn't mean to startle you or nothin' it's just it's my turn to be the mu-uh-manager of our kitchen this week." She knows what she's talking about - you might not, but she isn't overly concerned about making sense. Outwardly. "So."

Mary pauses a moment, looking at Penny searchingly, then up to Jacob. She looks a little uncertain, possibly even freaked, but she shakes her head anyway, smiling a little, even. Which is saying something, from Mary. "I'll be okay. But thanks."

Jacob pauses still, his hand resting on his cup as he offers once more, "Are you sure?" his tone implying she should be totaly before he will budge any.

At your table Mary seems to be opting not to comment on all that, at least until Jacob's left.

At your table It was a business-like "so" delivering a 'let's talk' look just
on it's heels. She looks past you for a moment at Jacob, an eyebrow arching.

Mary nods, sowly, reaching out to touch Jacob's arm, though she doesn't smile
this time. "I'm sure," she says. "Really, I am. I'll be fine.. and home, for
now, is just accross the street."

Penny looks past Mary to Jacob. It seems impossible that her eyebrow could
arch any further but it does. She smiles, too, miming Mary's gesture. Penny
even twiddles her fingers.

At your table Mary seems to have gotten that.. she's just waiting. All things
in their proper time, and all times in their proper things, or something like
that.

Jacob hmms and nods his head, moving to collect his cup and look to Penny,
commenting simply, "Play nice." before moving for the door.

Penny snorts into her coffee upon handling it again. Funny guy.

Jacob walks out into the busy world leaving the rich aroma of Starbucks behind.
Jacob has left.
You have just received a +recc from Jacob.

At your table Mary watches Jacob leave, shaking her head a little bit. "I wonder what he meant by that," she murmurs to herself, then turns her head slowly back, until she's peering somewhat steadily at Penny. Not to say that she isn't still unsure of all this, but at least she's able to make eye contact directly. "So," she repeats.

At your table Penny says "It's what little boys say to little girls when they've been kicked out of the club-house. Come on, Mary" Penny levels pretty quickly "A parrot you are not." She rests her chin on folded forearms across the back of the chair. Head tilted just-so.

At your table It should be pretty clear at this point that Penny's probably one of the good guys. She gives off that vibe. Or something.

At your table "Are you sure?" Mary murmurs, softly. "I could be, you know. A parrot in the shape of a girl. Stranger things have happened, you know." She's watching you closely, with the wariness of someone that's simply not used to talking about certain things to anyone. The look of someone that only has themselves to trust. Okay, so it sucks to have that luck, but hey, what can
you do? "What do you know?" she asks, suddenly. Bluntly.

John Smith comes in off the street following the rich aroma of coffee.
John Smith has arrived.
John Smith wanders in, rubbing his hands together to fight off the effects of the cold morning air.
John Smith makes his way to the front counter and looks up at the menu, then back to the cashier, "Uh.. nope.. still just the regular."

At your table Penny acquires that look. The lucid moment. Her eyes drift toward the mural on the wall "It's listening," gestures with her chin. She sips again and offers instead "We have a lot of mutual acquaintances, you and me, a lot of people that want some very exclusive" implying something more than singular "relationships to evolve." She tilts her coffee sideways "Some for better," tilts it the other way "some for worse." These things she says are said with such calmness at their center it's impossible for them to be taken as threatening.

John Smith searchs the room hopfully while he waits.
John Smith read your description.

At a table, Penny straddles a chair looking sideways every now and then. She's having some kind of very serious conversation with Mary. Some might argue that it's too early for serious conversations but there's a look on Penny's face, a posture that is impossible to mistake.

At your table Mary goes still for a moment, gaze rather intent upon Penny. -Very- intent, in point of fact. "maybe if you could give me a name, I might feel a little more... confident about furthering this. See, here's the thing. I'd really like to talk to you about this, but I don't really want to do it here. But there's some people after me, apparently. Someone willing to shell out a lot of money for folks to mess with me. So, y'know, I'm kinda wary.. can you give a name? So I know that you're on the up and up. I'm sorry if that's rude, but I'm a little freaked right now, over.... over a lot of things."

Penny goes "OH JESUS" fairly suddenly and really loud.

Mary's also looking serious, wariness and curiosity flaring through her expression as she talks to Penny, leaning forward a little, hands resting on an open sketchpad. The page has only a few lines drawn on it, nothing concrete, and the pencil has been dropped, to lay forgotten next to the pad.

John Smith starts slightly at the larger woman's exclaimation. He seems much more awake now.

John Smith glances over to see what the cause of the outburst is.

At your table "I'm such an asshole. It's this fucking dr.. " cutting herself off pretty quickly "drip. it's keeping me up nights and augh,. Shitshit. SHIT I'm so sorry." She puts her coffee down and gets up a little to turn the chair around and scoot in to the table. She grabs your hand, too. It's a shake "I'm Penny, PEN-ny. Oh I'm so sorry I thought I'd said."

Mary jumps, noticably, leaning back against her seat at the sudden exlamation from Penny, blinking at her companion, though she relaxes again as her hand is suddenly grabbed, and softer words exchanged

Penny turns her chair toward Mary, right hands clasped in some kind of handshake, speaking lower and more intently than before.

At your table "Um. I'm Mary.. I guess you already new that. Only, that's... not what I meant." She grins, and though it's brief, the expression brightens her face enough to prove that she's a little amused. "It's good to know your name, though, but what I was asking is about who the mutual uh.. acquaintances are. And you're not rude, really."

John Smith looks from one woman to the other for a moment before deciding that an intense conversation between two lesbians this early in the morning is entirely none of his business. He glances desperately at the cashier to see if his order is ready, which, in fact, it is. He pushes the change needed to pay for his coffee across the counter with his right hand while his left seeks out
a couple of napkins which he retrieves and uses to wrap around the very hot container of freshly brewed coffee.

John Smith mutters, "Not gonna do THAT twice..."

At your table Penny lets go of your hand and oh-oh-ohs, nodding "Mister B." Really that's all she'll say about that. Best to keep as much under-wraps as possible is basically always Penny's policy.

Mary would probably be absolutely mortified if she knew that such an assumption had been made about that, especially over a mere handshake and intense conversation. She's oblivious, though, and is thus saved a lot of blushing and suchwise embarrassment.

At your table Mary ohhhs, softly, and nods. "Him," she murmurs. "I'm not always sure I trust him.. but he's done an awful lot for me. Including paying the guys I just mentionned double what they'd been promised, if they'd leave me alone. So.. yeah. I guess he's a good guy. I'm just nervous of about everyone. Chalk it up to my recent career as a recluse. Um. Yeah, so I guess.. I duno. We should talk, but not here.. I don't know where, though."

John Smith plops himself down on one of the chairs near the window and opens peels open the lip of the container lid and takes a cautious sip of the steaming liquid within.

Totally understandable where J. Smith might come up with that idea. If this were San Fancisco that might be true. But it's Canada and there are stranger things here than shaved women. Penny continues to speak to Mary, mindful of her ears.

Satisfied the contents won't sear off his lips, John takes a bolder drink from the cup.

At your table Penny says "I've got a hotel room. It's pretty secure if a bit messy," she starts to get up "unless," nodding out the window "you don't think home is safe enough?" Gliding from one subject to the next without much hedging "Wouldn't trust him far as I could throw'im, good on you, 'cause it's not the people he's paying you've got to fear from."

John Smith stares out the window, watching people living out their lives, or at least struggling to get to work on time.

John Smith yawns, and stretches his arms out, revealing to no one in particular, "man... no more fuckin' nights out..."

At your table Mary's brow furrows a little bit, at that, and she starts to rise a moment later. "I've not been staying at home. I've been staying with friends, and.. well. They don't need to be dragged into this. It's bad enough I'm with them, but there was near mutiny when I threatened to leave. I have a home, but I've been away so long that I can't guarantee how safe it is, so.. let's stick with the hotel room. K?"

Mary starts to get up, about a moment after Penny does, apparently leaving with her. This surely can't be doing wonders for the false assumption about what's going on between them.

John Smith slumps forwards after his stretch, as though the act has drained him of all his energy He yawns again, trying to remove the sleep from his body with a quick shake of his head, "buhwuhuh..."

John Smith shivers to complete the action.

You stand and leave a table near the serving counter.

John Smith glances up... yep... just as he suspected.

Mary stands and leaves a table near the serving counter.

John Smith read your description.

"M'beat, let's just cab it over to my place okay?" World-weary and without any pre-empting, Penny gets the door out for Mary, leaving her cup behind for the staff to clean-up after. So efficient here, they even swipe down the mess of sugar and stirry things. Holding the door open with her booted foot, Penny zips up her jacket and amscrays. See, that's the nice thing about assumptions; generally they're never wrong.

John Smith gets that distant day-dreaming look in his eyes as he discretely (or so he thinks) watches the women leave... together.

Mary walks out of Starbucks followed by the rich aroma of fresh coffee.
Mary has arrived.

"Place is a dump," nodding up across the street towards the bar "they let in anybody." She steps out toward the street and looks for that elusive early-morning cab. Everyone else is taking the subway; she looks that way, too, dismissing it with "Eva has the map."

You have just received a +recc from John Smith.

Mary follows you out to the street, still oblivious to what's been assumed. Ah, well.. ignorance is bliss, sometimes. "A cab's fine," she murmurs. "I'm a little tried, too. Not been sleeping so well, and... well. Dumps happen. It's in the eye of the beholder. Who/s Eva?"

Penny explains in the cab-ride over "Oh she's usually tour-guide but she hasn't shown her face in a while. Least not since the move here."

Mary follows inside,looking rather blank, though she seems to have decided not to ask too much more. Not just yet. Not until the safety of a room has been reached, at any rate.

Penny picks up a few things from the lobby; namely food from the breakfast buffet, some local-color pamphlets and extra coffee-packet filter things for the cheap coffee-maker in the bathroom. She stops again in front of Room 174, knocking quietly as she unlocks the door "Be decent, ladies present.." though who she's talking to is a mystery. Could be no one.

Mary enters the apartment.

Mary looks a little uncertain as Penny calls out, brow furrowing a little as she follows the other woman into the apparently empty hotel room, which she scans quickly, as if checking for such a thing. She looks back to Penny, blinking. "Checking for Eva?" she asks.

Penny laughs under her breath, something like 'eva couldn't get in here if she tried'(suggesting Eva is uncomfortably large), kicking something in a box into the closet. Hard. There's a large burn-hole in the carpet between the beds and the detrius of months of living in one room; a pile of take-out boxes in the corner, three laptops set on the desk all rigged together and a robe in dry-cleaning plastic hanging over the bathroom door. Presumable Penny's.

"Don't mind the mess."

Mary gives the linked up computers a curious look, as she makes her way over to perch herself on the edge of one of the beds. "It's not that bad," she says, trying to be kind, perhaps. "I've seen worse, anyway." She sets her bag down - having stuffed her sketchbook back into it while exiting - and looks back to you. "So... can I start by asking what Mr. Browne told you, exactly?"

Penny unwinds herself from the satchel at her side, tossing it into the headboard. She kicks off her boots on the way into the bathroom. Half-closing the door behind her, the conversation carries on slightly echoed "Like you? I trust about only half'a what he says. What I /do/ think is true" implying this is what he said "is that you have some wealthy bad-asses after you." The sound of water running is low; the sink-tap running "And they have nothing better to do with their time and money than to make you uncomfortable and unhappy because they know where you are." She comes from the bathroom minus the jacket and two-of-the-three-shirts, toweling off her face. "So tell me about him." Singular.

Mary sighs, and flops back against the bed, legs dangling over the edge. "Specify. Which 'him'? If it's Mr. Browne, I can only tell you so much, because I don't know myself. If it's who's after me... my only assumption can be that it's the person I saw murder the man I love. With a chainsaw. Or someone close to him. If it's someone else, well. I don't know. Who're we talking about.. and what did Mr. Browne tell you that you don't believe?"

"That pee eye Gabe? was your boyfriend?" the towel hanging in her hand "dang girl. Well him, that's the one." She sits on the other bed with a sudden solemnity "Nice guy," opening up the floor.

Mary sighs, softly. "I don't think he was my boyfriend. I never told him I loved him... never had the chance, though. He told me, though. It was the last thing he said to me. he was a very good man." She's staring at the ceiling, still, and adds, more quietly, "In spite of what was done to him. But.. this would be easier if I knew what you already knew. There's... things. Things I'm not supposed to talk about, though I think people who know are exempt. Only I don't know how to tell who knows. Gabe was the one that made it all make sense."

"Aw hon, he messed you up, din'ee" dropping into a drawl that seems more natural for her, for the hour. "He trusted you with his secrets - of course he was your boyfriend." Sympathetic, she nods a little "It'll make sense without him, too. You want some coffee, hon?" She gets up, needs to do something with her hands. Poking around the coffee packets, the pastries "I know all about that guy with the" she mimes the way to hold a chainsaw with her fists. "It's kin'a intense, innit.."

Mary shakes her head. "That's the thing, Penny. He didn't mess me up.. not at all. It was him dying, and the way he died.. I can't even count the number of times he saved me. And there are.. things. Things he could have done to me. to ensure his own safety. Things he should've done, but he wouldn't. Because he didn't want to mess me up." She sits up again. "Coffee would be good," she adds.

Penny looks over her shoulder, something reproachful lingering, as she heads back to the bathroom. Kicking open the door, she reveals another kind of mess. Just past her on the floor is a plastic bag, lots of hair overflowing from it. "Any man that doesn't tell me where *I* stand until the minute he dies? is in the messed-up column'a my book" Going through the motions of rinse-fill-slide-presto, coffee Penny also adds "So had you met Earl before?"

Mary smiles a little bit, just for a moment. "He was getting there," she says. "It was building. He may not have known til then.. he did say it, though." But then, the question registers, and she flinches. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I... had. Which makes it a bit worse, when you get right down to it. I knew who he was, and vice versa. He knows where I live. Part of why I don't trust the safety of my house."

The pop and hiss of ready-made two-cup coffee sizzles out "Prolly more than that, hon" emerging from the bathroom with some Holiday Inn-stamped mugs "guy that can come and go out of thin-air has a lot more going for him than charisma and a little black book." She hands you a coffee and takes the edge of the bed again, folding up her left leg beneath her "No such thing as too paranoid."

Mary curls her fingers around the cup, holding it in her hands. "He can do more than that. I think he can mess with people's minds.. hell, I think he messed with mine. But I know what he is. Same thing Gabe was, only... Gabe fought it with everything he had. Earl, I think, reveled in it." She takes a sip, and relaxes a bit as blessed caffeine eases down her throat. She looks over at you, and considers you. "I'm guessing you know, too. I don't think Mr. Browne would've told you about what happened, if you didn't, but I'm wondering why he told you. Hell,I'm wondering why he's helping me. He doesn't seem like the altruistic sort."

snorts into her mug the same way she did back at Starbucks. "I haven't known him that long either and I can say with complete certainty he's got his own pimped-out, gangst'agenda." Sipping just a little "Listen, you don't wanna know a guy like that too long. Won't help your reputation or your career. Got any plans? Know what you'll do next?"

Mary shrugs her shoulders. "I'll keep going. Not much else I can do, really. When you don't know where to turn, moving ahead is generally the best course of action. Beats standing still or moving backwards. I've got the comission to work on. The novel I'm working on has been put on hold, so I've got a bit of a break. Other than that? No idea. Wish I had more of a long term goal, but I guess you have to work with what you have."

Penny's disappointed. Genuinely and truly. "You're not gonna fight back?" She leans forward, sets her mug on the edges of the burned carpet. "I don't understand..." For the first time all morning, Penny looks confused. There's something else she isn't saying, some criticism keeping her lips pursed as she looks at you.

"How can I?" Mary says. "What can I do against them, besides tell people that -might- be able to do what I can't? That's why I told Gideon Browne. I don't trust the man, but he seems to access to firepower that I don't. I told him everything I knew about them, more than I'd told anyone else. I told the cops the parts they'd believe." She looks over at you, and sighs. "If I were stronger.. if I had some advantage I thought would help me, I'd do something. But I don't. The only answer I can make to what's been done is to keep goin, to not let it kill me. What would you have me do? I may not be entirely ordinary, but I have nothing to use against them. Not yet."

Penny says "Gideon Browne's firepower" mulling that one over. "He thinks he's gunning down the invisible man" incredulous to the point of disbelief ".. and that's supposed to work how? And you think so, too? Where'd you meet this g.." rubbing her temples. Taking a breath, Penny starts over "He did forget to mention how you hooked up with him."

"Chance," she replies. "He overheard me say something about being an eye witness. Unfortunately, so did a reporter, who started harrassig me and.. well.. pretty much chasing me with a camera. He offered to get me out, and I accepted. We talked.. he freaked me out pretty badly, but.. I dunno. I don't trust him, but I think he's got resources. I /know/ he's got money, given what he paid whoever was after me to leave me alone. You don't shell out two grand on a stranger if you don't have an excess of cash. I dunno. My instincts tell me he might be able to pull it off, and if he can't... well. He got himself into it. I didn't want to tell him anything, at first, but he kept insisting, and he flat out told me he knew the killer was a vampire - how, I don't know - so.. I told him what I knew." She looks over, clutching at her cup. "If you've any better suggestions, feel free to offer them. I'm doing what I can, Penny, but it's -hard-. I don't know for sure who to trust, and I don't know for sure how can help. What you do, if you were me?"

"When you run a strip joint, two grand's a flash in the pan." Maybe Mary's a smidge too innocent for the likes of Penny. "If I were you? or if I were in your situation?" There is some vast difference between the two, the distinction coming clear "If I were you, I would've asked G for a contingency plan in case his ship doesn't come in." Whatever that means. "If I were you, I would start packing. I would go underground and tell my publisher to fuck off and go to Fiji if I were you. Vampires are *crazy*."

"But I'm not you. And while I'm not in the position to throw a little static in their direction, I wouldn't run. Me? I'd make life difficult for Earl. And bone-up on my Dracula." It's a kind of smirk, but it's as true a statement as anything she's said so far.

Mary shakes her head. "I won't run. I'm a little harder to find right now than usual, and I'm not doing butkiss for the publishers. I'm doing the comission work for Mr. Ivanov, but that's it... and I met him in the daytime. I don't think he's related." She closes her eyes for a moment, and then shakes her head. "No. I won't run. I'll just be careful, and keep following my instincts. As for Mr. Browne, he's offered me more direct protection, but I haven't taken it. Instinct again. I think there might be a hidden pricetag in it." She rubs
at the back of her neck, and gulps down her coffee. "I gotta go soon, but I have a question for you, and I've been pretty candid so I think it's a fair one. Why all this? Why're you asking me this stuff, and why'd you bring me here? Why the interest?" She pauses, then adds, "Okay, so it's more than one question, but it's all related."

"It's as safe as any place and I've got a vested interest," gesturing in a circle with her fingers at the space between the beds. "Don't like running blind, I had to ask." Interrupted by a sound coming from the closet, a thump-thump "Just the pipes. Hot water pipe's in the closet." She readjusts, both feet on the floor "Look it's just my nature - have to know the full score from the horse's mouth," a pause trying not to insult "so to speak."

Mary drifts to her feet, nodding a bit. "Well.. now you do. Now you know. Don't tell anyone you don't trust completely, okay? I'm not dumb enough to ask that you don't tell anyone at all." She sets the mug down, and turns, heading for the door. "Time for me to scurry back to my hidey hole now, I think, before they send out search party on bikes or something. I think they actually might." A wan smile is tossed over her shoulder. "Thanks for the coffee."
Then, she's gone.

Docks(#1156RJ)

The Docks are several long man made quays which protect the ships as they
rest in harbour. The size of these ships range from the smallest commercial
lake ships to the largest ocean going vessels that can make their way down the
St Lawrence Seaway. There are always ships from the USA and a couple from
other countries around the world to keep the docks busy. Like any commercial
docks this one is just as dirty and cluttered, but there isn't the overall
feeling of danger that some large dock areas exude. Toronto is spared the
problems of the docks simply because the docks are on a special made man
peninsula built to house the docks and keep it separate from the city proper.
All told this isn't a picturesque place to visit and there aren't many
legitimate reasons to be here at night. To the north and west is the heart of
the city.

Contents:
Obvious exits:
Off

Tom arrives from Parliment and Queens Quay.
Tom has arrived.

"There's only one instant, and it's right now. And it's eternity."
- Waking Life (2001)

What is the measure of a man? Well, if it happens to be this man, the
measure is just under two meters with a slight paunch to his stocky frame. He
is rather unspeakably average-looking - not dashing, not debonaire, not
handsome. A plain, forgettable face half-covered by a full beard kept in an
admirable state of trim. Decent cheekbones, straightand thin nose, reasonably
good teeth, skin evenly tanned by accidental but prolonged exposure to the sun
in some climate more suitable than this one. Not a bad haircut - but not
exactly glamourous, either; black hair close cropped to the skull, buzzed down
almost to the scalp. Serene hazel eyes gaze out from behind thin glasses,
somewhat discreet oval frames in a low-key matte black.
The clothing is simple, utilitarian. A well-fitted black polo-shirt
with three buttons at the throat. A pair of pressed khakis with a pleat down
the front of either leg, sinched at the waist with a brown leather belt. A
pair of brown leather docksiders. When outside, he wears a large black wool
coat with flat black buttons.

Not the average pedestrian - first impression:
Tall & strong, great teeth, killer body.
The refined sythesis of hard living and regular controlled substance
abuse is as much a draw as it is obvious. It's there in her eyes - give it a
name, call it calculating. With just one look it can be assumed she has
friends in low places.
How does one express truth and beauty simeltaneously? One shaves one's
head. The clean look of her pale scalp, compared to the tan ridges at her
forehead and neck, tells it was done only recently. Not even the fuzz at the
roots remains. It is a perfectly normal skull-shape and bears no mark; cut,
nick or otherwise. She has an incredibly pretty face. An eternity of cheek
bones. Sun poisoning there in tiny bright pink spots; a long neck and a
quantity of cheap-looking gold chains; lips dry and threaded with a
pomegranate stain; applied shadows of gold and brown around green eyes. A
natural angle-shaped eyebrows, sun-scorched blonde and obvious on the skin; a
tan suffered in the desert, a tan that is beginning to peel away. Dead white
slough. Her skin, taut and leathery, wants a pound of prevention, wants to
lose the deeply exposed color it holds. The backs of her hands are scabbed
over, red around the knuckles and nailbeds, yet her fingernails are manicured
..well painted at least, a titian-red.
She dresses in layers. Loose jeans, jack boots, a fitted t-shirt
(white) under a button-down (suede), under a denim jacket. It's this article
of clothing around which all others revolve. It's fitted, but big enough to
keep her assets in check. Not so much decorated as amplified with patches,
they keep the jacket in one piece, its original seams and thread long gone.
Between the blue-white-red bullseye patch and a black&white John Lennon
likeness is a flat-head thumbtack, white. Across the back panel a fabric
replica of an album cover is safety-pinned (Santana's ABRAXAS) a-typical of
jackets like this.

It's the evening, and a warm front is butting upwards, from the south. The heat slips and slides below the cold front, and a slow fog rolls in. The thrumming groan of fog horns ripples over the water, vibrating through the fog as though it were radio waves through the aetheric medium. Tom is slunk low into his wool coat, the collar turned up around his neck. The faint clip-clop of shoes, dampened by the moisture within the water logged boards on the dock itself. He whistles into the night, whistles as he walks, a neat little tune to take a late evening's walk by.

Noises on the dock, noises beyond traffic and bar trouble; seagulls sleeping and the lapping water beaneath heavy-booted footsteps. Mysterious noises of moored and anchored boats shuttling back and forth, the combined smells of salt and gasoline, the wind spooking the fish. And among these, Penny. Figure out there in the mist, her jean jacket no protection against the weather, a flask and an unlit cigarette her defense. A sailboat's rigging comes loose and knocks violently into a metal post. Bang bangbang, gunshots rippling, forever echoing out to sea.

"Hey, got a light?"

Lost in his own thoughts, in the general swirl of atmosphere, like the end of Casablanca if Raymond Chandler'd wrote it. Deals are done out in the shadows, an Iranian and an extraterrestrial grasping hands in an ancient Masonic greeting back behind some cargo containers. The wind whips up along an alleyway, giving his overcoat an appropriately dramatic flutter. At the stimuli, Tom's attention is called up and away. Eyes float lazily towards Penny... he palms a silver zippo - brings it up in his cupped palm, fingers open. "Yeah." Still a little absent, the words floating up out of him like
exhaust.

She leans in and cups cold hands over his, breathes out past your face and not down. The damp sag in the air makes ash of the end almost immediately. She drags hard again and leans back. "Thanks," cheap wine and stale cologne; things not her own wreathe and claim her posture, slack and sour. The distant remains of laughter makes its way quietly through the atmosphere from the west, a party at the yacht club. Music, too, on the wind in time. A bellow of song and a foghorn in alternate bursts. Penny seems not to notice, her focus somewhere between your burns and her own.

"Welcome, absolutely welcome," comes the distract answer, somewhat unfocused eyes wandering off towards the distant sounds of laughter. A squint through the fog, as though by looking hard enough he could see the source of it. A thoughtful nod as Tom retracts his warm hands - flipping the zippo closed, sliding it away into a pocket on the coat. "Nice night for a party." He withdraws slightly, to a distance permitting dignified conversation. Voice soft, low, "Is that what brings you on a wander out here?"

The fog rolls up and back, harbor lights twinkling in the wake. It must be strange business, whatever the reason, a girl alone on the docks. She nods by way of an answer at first, cigarette pressed to her lips, then offers "Stood up, blind date. Place was beat anyway." Sheltered somewhat from the brunt of the arctic winds, the whistling in the eaves is enough to distract conversation for minutes at a time "You?"

A quick glance over a shoulder to where shadowy men in shadowy robes speak occulted words with their fellows, a storage facility housing much in the way of darkness and forgotten lores. Then, back off into the distance, where the music still wafts through the fog from. "I'm a bit late for it, I think. It'd be more trouble than it was worth to explain it - better, I guess, not even to show up." He drags his palm along the close-cropped hair, looks down at his shoes. "Better not to bother. I only just arrived - I'm allowed."

Men in the distance tend to stay that way; Penny isn't concerned. Theory and practice tell us they'll be disappearing into the ether as silently as they arrived. "You were supposed to be there, huh. Wouldn't worry - they're a little stuffy." She pulls a face, "Yacht clubs," wrinkles her nose at it "not
worth the effort. Tight-laced and buttoned up." Eleven o'clock bells toll from some far-off cathedral and reminded suddenly to some unwritten law, Penny offers quickly "D'you smoke?" fingering another cigarette out of her top-most pocket.

"Well, long story," Tom replies, reaching up to rub his forehead lightly with his fingertips. The eyes wander away from the girl, away from the gatherings, away from the yacht, out into the place where the ocean falls off of the world. Squints some, as though he could see out into that oblivion with only
the help of a bit more clarity. "I guess it's similar to my attitude towards yacht clubs. I go. But I try not to make a habit of it."

Well take it." she won't hear an excuse as a no, extending it toward you "Should smoke like you drink, always in good company," implying that yacht clubs aren't, that she is. The authority in her slightly drawled words is a fabrication, alcoholic in origin and deliverance. She slouches further out of the wind, making a buffer of her shoulder.

"I don't usually smoke cigarettes, but I'll make an exception for political gain." Tom grabs it with a smooth gesture of thumb and forefinger, flipping it and letting the butt rest between slightly parted lips. Palms the zippo, flips it open again. A quick gesture of his thumb across the flint-wheel. Flame
lurches up and kisses the tip of his cigarette, which ignites with a slow hiss of combustion. "The bird fights its way out of the egg," Tom quotes, as from memory, as a fundamentalist might quote scripture - distracted, meandering, "the egg is the world. Who would be born must destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God is Abraxas." He's winding his way closer, once more, all comfortable, affable, sociable grin. "Then, here's to good company, Miss...?"

Words murmured as she shrugs her jacket closer together "the highest good and the worst evil" underscoring the quote she follows it to the conclusion, a natural progression in her own smoke and haze. Fancy that. She doesn't stare quite at you but there's a certain concentration lent to that look, a measuring - just how much weight should she give it. "Delightful, Penny" she smiles a little "all the guys call me that on account of I'm not bitter at all," Awl, twice. The tool that makes the tiny holes. "Mister.."

"Blaine. Thomas, or Tom, but rarely Tommy." Steady hands stroke back over the close-cropped hair. "Nice to meet you." The arm offered out, off to the side, in Penny's direction, his body on an axis along the diagonal. Better feng shui, they say. "They call me that because it's what my parents named me, I guess. But I chose Tom. Or it chose me." There's a strange sliding quality to him, perhaps indicative of some excesses taken with his body chemistry, some tinkering with this pill or that drink. The strange extroversion common to the twisted.

Penny can sense it almost immediately; it's the kind of thing that might put out a vibe to the right kind of people. Physical peculiarities that become familiar like the right note in a scale, the third strike, the exact moment when the feedback stops "Pleasure Tom, " and she continues to smoke with her other hand, proximity threatening to burn with her lazy swag.

With a grin, Tom risks it, all for the sake of social interaction. A good firm grip, a light squeeze. The tamest tremor in his hand, rippling up his forearm, an autonomous grip of muscle groups. "Pleasure, Ms. Dreadful." The knowing smile of the clever and the wicked splits his mouth. "I'm thinking we ought to get coffee or something similarly trite. I know a fellow who'll sell a filled thermos of coffee, mostly to the dockworkers, just a few hundred feet or so from here."

Nothing risked, nothing gained, eh? Brighter and more alert, breaking out of miasma. A good firm grip. The genuine article, her responding smile just as conspicuous and conspirtatorial. "Yes, coffee is the best cliche back home" because the accent wasn't enough, she'll walk on if you start on the right foot. "too strong, too hot and you always get what you pay for, yes. Coffee. The guys don't get it," insinuating they're lacking though really it's anyone's guess "never will. S'okay, they're good people."