Someone Good To Know
| Someone Good To Know | |
|---|---|
Your paranoia is getting on my nerves. | |
| Players |
In which a careful Winter advices a Summer on the virtue of suspicion, and whom is good to know. |
It's six o'clock sharp in the morning, and a moody bit of fog lingers in the air from the night time rains, whisps of white clouds drifting across the rising sun. It's cool and breezy outside, the air sweetly fresh. The morning traffic has not quite started yet, mainly things like garbage trucks and landscaping vans rumbling down the roads. Heloise is up early - or perhaps very late - standing outside her shop in the pale shifting sunlight. She is tending to the front of the shop, a bucket of hot water by her feet, an assortment of cleaning implements, and a rubber apron and rubber gloves protecting her clothes and skin. She is cleaning the windows, the finely carved wooden frames of those huge Beaux-Arts windows requiring detailed attention. A container of wood wax and some dry rags sit a bit further away, waiting for the wood to be clean and dry before application. Her supernatural perfume is also awake, sweet and fresh with things of home today, ripe apricots in the sun, warm buttery brioche and cinnamon rolls, bitter-tangy and sweet lemon tea. Arnaud appears out of the fog - not literally, he is walking over. No bloody shirt this time, and it seems he's even had a shower just recently, his own scent one of soap and shampoo, leather and faint traces of cigarette smoke. He squints at the domestic scene, made fairy-tale like from the way the fog curls and glitter in the rays of the rising sun, so he pauses to soak that all in. He rubs one eye, to make sure he's not just seeing things, before he approaches with enough noise to alert her. His shoulders drop, relaxation spreading through his body and mind, her scents reminding him of home and warmth and pleasant times. "Need a hand?" Hearing someone approaching, Heloise turns around to face them, and smiles pleasantly at seeing the dragon-man. Her Mantle is subtle as always with Winter, just a hint of an enhancement of sorts to her and the area immediately near her, as if the eye focuses better here, the most minute details standing out perfectly. The water on her gloves and apron have formed beads like pearls, scintillating and rainbow like the inside of a seashell. Her black gossamer hair is pulled back in an elegant chignon, the mystical waterdrops caught in the strands dark jewels. And her eyes glow with deepsea ghostly glory, the bioluminescence leaving trails behind them as she moves her head. "It is good to see you again. I appreciate the offer, but I am just about done, now it just needs to dry which will happen quickly on such a fine morning." She is still working away in the one corner of the window pane as she speaks, the wood glowing under her touch. "Once I have this cleaned up, would you like to come inside for some coffee?" Arnaud leans up against the wall with arms crossed and watches her finish up the work, waiting patiently. "Alright. But, don't be afraid putting me to work. I'm good with my hands, and it's relaxing. Makes you not think so damn much," he says earnestly, a sentiment she might understand all too well. Mind-numbing physical labour is great meditation. "Saving one life at a time, with coffee. So, yes please." He looks up and down the street, appreciating the calm and the beautiful neighborhood, a stark contrast to where he was just a few hours ago. "It is ill-mannered to put a guest to work," Heloise notes, wringing out the last sponge before picking up the bucket and all the accoutrements for cleaning going with it. "But I understand the sentiment, it is part of why I enjoy keeping a shop, and books and such." Then she opens the door, allowing him entry. There is a puff of warm air from inside, redolent with real hot coffee and toasted bread. +----------------------------+ Uppercase Books - Main Room +-----------------------------+ The dream of a modestly endowed bibliomaniac, this store is filled with rows of disparate shelves that both stand alone and line the exposed brick walls. Two heavy wooden Beaux-Arts windows - eight-foot-wide half moons - face the street so that glimpses of the outside world can filter through the gaps. The books are a blend of second hand, restored with professional skill or just tape and a prayer, carefully treated antiques and more valuable volumes kept locked away behind glass. A large Tiffany-style globe lamp hangs from the center pillar, providing a dim golden light. A few more spots of illumination can be found in the little reading nooks and crannies scattered throughout, mostly old-fashioned banker lamps, but a dusky twilight gloom prevails. The seating is worn and patched armchairs and sofas of the overstuffed, rolled-arm, tufted leather type. Most of them are placed on third-rate Persian carpets as if to protect the handmilled wood floor despite its rough appearance. Similarly a runner rug goes from the front door to the counter, this last circling around the center pillar, all dark wood and copper top with a vintage looking register. In the corner to the right of the entry, a tightly wound wrought-iron spiral staircase leads sinister up to the second story balcony and down into the dark. There is a scrollwork sign shaped like a downwards arrow there, stating 'Underground Coffee: 21+'.
She keeps moving further inside, passing by all the books, only stopping to discard the apron, gloves and other things by a small side door that says 'Back Room' on it. Then further onwards, to the spiral staircase. "Coffee in the basement? I believe I might be able to enhance that sense of deja vu, perhaps." It's spoken with a smile, and then she starts to descend. From somewhere below a radio is quietly playing jazz, and the scent of coffee and food grows stronger. +------------------------+ Uppercase Books - Underground Coffee +------------------------+ Stealthed away underneath the creaking wood floors of the bookstore above is one of Chicago's most secret coffee houses. The Underground has an exceptionally generous array of gadgets, ingredients and expert staff, the trifecta of which serves up a huge range of coffee and tea beverages. The floor is handmilled dark old wood planks, accenting the creamy white plaster and warm yellow of the exposed brickwork walls. The latter is most noticable in three separate fireplaces taking up much of the wall facing the street, providing cozy ambiance in cold weather. The back wall, meanwhile, showcases one of the perks of this daylight basement: access via french glass doors to a tiny pergola patio. Dark wood and russet velveteen banquettes and booths provide seating, the tables sturdy specimens with round copper tops.
"It's alright. Only the first half of that memory is a good one," Arnaud replies wryly, following her curiously down the staircase. Below, he stops to appreciate the place, surprise etched on his face. "This big place was below?" It's almost as if he's wondering if she did some magic and created it out of nowhere. The great pillar that was upstairs is supporting the middle of this space also, exposed rafters and beams like the branches of a tree. Around the trunk circles the main counter fo the coffee house, in a state of slight disarray with boxes of tea and coffee and other parapharnelia of the business all around. But the machines look ready, and there is a large toaster next to freshly baked loaves of bread. One of the latter is already partially sliced, revealing a swirled interior of dark rye and milky fluffy white. "This has always been here, it is how the shop was originally set up," Heloise explains as she leads the way, gesturing at the leather-topped barstools for Arnaud to take a seat if he wishes. "But the previous owners had decided to minimalize the operation, so it was limited to just the first floor for many years." She goes about making coffee, a nice dark roast, fragrant with a deep salted caramel and sweet smoky aroma, just a hint of chocolate. "Would you like something to eat as well? I was just going to make myself some letscho, it's a pepper, tomato and paprika stew, and have that with scrambled eggs and some of this bread." Arnaud's stomach grumbles in response to her offer of food as he takes the offered seat. He smiles wide and hungrily at her, and despite the sharp teeth that smile is less creepy and more genuinely appreciative this time. "Glad you're opening it up, I will be a regular. I'd love some letscho, but let me pay for the meal and coffee. Your first customer?" he says, lofting an eyebrow. He doesn't like to owe too many favors, like most Lost, and she already treated him to a meal for free once. "By the way... you know that girl Five, right? Do you know her well?" "I shall accept your money as payment for the meal and coffee, amur Arnaud," and there is just enough of a degree of formality to that statement that it's got a little bit of Glamorous echo to it. Deal made. Was it a trap, a test, before? Heloise's smile curls upwards further at the edges, her dimples starting to show, a pleased expression. "And no, you are not the first. I believe technically speaking my first customer was a dead man." She says it so casually, though granted between a creature of fungus and a dragon on two legs it might not seem a big deal. The coffee cup she offers him is quietly excuisite. Matte black, it has the velvety textured finish of fine, thin suede. On the inside of the handle and the inside of the cup's edge are faintly raised decorative patterns of rose vines. Just like before there is a multitude of sweeteners available: maple sugar, a creamed white honey and a dark liquid one, many types of sugar and old fashioned small sugar cubes. "Were you able to find a place to stay?" A slight pause follows, thoughtful. "I would not say I know her well. I would say she has caught the interest of many people, she is a very charming young woman." Arnaud snorts when feeling the echo, but he bows his head in respect of old traditions. Without fail, he produces some bills that would probably cover the fare, sliding them over. "The dead. They're everywhere, aren't they." He doesn't seem surprised, but maybe a little disappointed he wasn't the first, faintly petulant. He accepts the cup reverently and lifts it up to smell it, admiring both the brew and the cup. He puts nothing in his coffee, preferring it black - at least this cup. "For awhile. I'm staying with another Lost, his name is Ben. He and his boyfriend has a house that needs a lot of repairs and work done, so I'm staying for free while remodeling the place. Only temporary, I don't really make for a good room-mate for long. Least they aren't home much. His boyfriend isn't one of us either, so." He shrugs, not too concerned about it - for now he has a place to stay and it'll sort itself out eventually. "Right. She witnessed me doing something yesterday evening, and it made her run off. I think she's seen something similar though, and she said we should talk later. So for now, I'm letting her be. I just..." He frowns and bows his head in guilt. "I scared her, now I don't know how to handle it." "Is Fear not one of your preferred flavors?" Heloise sounds a little puzzled, halting the process of making her own coffee to glance over at Arnaud before she continues making her brew. Bit more cinnamon here, a sprinkle of allspice on top, and maple sugar and hot milk foam. Her white hands move with that old fashioned elegance, and her nails are short and neatly manicured, with an almost-sheer polish of pearlescent silver-white, like she dipped them in fresh snow. Thinking about it, she makes a soft 'mmm' noise. "If you are afraid you have disrupted your friendship with her, I do not believe that to be the case. I think she is one of those people who are much tougher than they seem. That is part of why she is attracting so much attention." She hides her mouth with her hand, white teeth gleaming between her fingers. "Though, it has probably made her all the more curious about you. I do not think she carries a silver coin, and I would not recommend being the one to introduce her to us." And just like that she's very somber, her shimmering eyes glowing the sickly green of cave lichen, the yellow-white of old bones. "Amur Arnaud, there may be reason to be especially cautious with her. Because she is so very, very charming and so very, very likeable. It really makes you want to lower your defenses around her. Does it not? Like being in the deep dark sea and seeing a beautiful light ahead, calling you in." "I love a good scare, but mostly when it's other people getting scared," Arnaud replies with a snicker of amusement. He sips the coffee and sighs at the taste, savoring it while he listens to her assessment of Five. The way she describes her has him waking up to a possible reality he had not considered once; that she too might be someone with a special ability. "Charming? Likeable?" he retorts, not wanting to believe it. "She's short and dirty, homeless and --" Apart from the short part, he fits into that description too, half the time. "I mean, she's nothing special." He frowns, because that is such a blatant lie, even to himself. Because if she wasn't peculiar, how come he paid even the slightest bit of notice? And all the others, too? "Maybe I should've let Faith handle her. But didn't seem right." It is the nature of any good bartender or barista to just let silence answer when a customer's question is entirely rethorical, whether they themselves know it or not. So Heloise merely raises her eyebrow in response to Arnaud, those dimples deepening again, and sips her coffee. Then she stands up, and proceeds to prepare the meal for the two of them. Sweet-spicy yellow hungarian peppers, medium-sized sugar sweet tomatoes still on the vine, and big sweet yellow onions. These are getting quickly cubed, and she's got bacon fat slowly melting away in a pan on the electric griddle, adding its savory salty aroma to things. Eggs get cracked into a bowl, whisked with fresh herbs. The radio is playing something low and sweet and soulful about Sunday mornings and wives not coming home. "Whatever." Arnaud waves a hand, irritated - at himself, and the world and for feelings and complications. "I'll tell her to shut up, or there will be bad things happening, and that we're no longer friends." He slurps coffee noisily and looks smug and content with himself, for solving the problem so easily. He watches Heloise cook quietly and his mind starts wandering again. "Putain de merde," he curses suddenly and stands up to start pacing about like a caged animal, coffee cup in hand and held so tightly he threatens to break the beautiful china. Smoked paprika, sweet and sharp and dark joins the vegetables, all of which goes into the pan with a loud hiss as their juices immediately start to caramelize in the hot bacon fat. Heloise stirs it around, humming quietly to herself in tune with the radio's song, before the dragon man gets upset. She glances over, eyes full of that cool-hued light, poison red lips spreading with another slow smile. "Amur Arnaud. These things happen to the best of us. If she is some kind of bait or trap, it is very well done, do you not agree? Better to not act strangely about it. Being aggressive and telling her you can not be friends might trigger an alarm. Just avoid her, let time go." The mixture is done, put on a plate, then the whisked up eggs go in the still greasy pan, more hissing. The eggs are being scrambled french style, cream and butter slowly added, her stirring slow and gentle now. "You are not a subtle creature but I did not think you would be at risk of being overt like this. Remember the danger we all are in." Her voice is low, soft, but the supernatural echoing is there, tolling like bells at some great subterranean depth. "Bait, trap - if she is, she's pretty dumb about it," Arnaud suggests, retaking his seat as the food is nearing ready. He almost drools, rubbing his hungry belly in anticipation. He makes no more comments on that particular problem, just grimacing at himself for making the mistake in the first place. Least he's eager to solve it, so there is responsibility for his own actions. "We fought something. It wasn't human but looked like it was - something had taken on the skin of a human, but inside, it was all a writhing mass of insects. I'm not sure what it was, but it didn't feel Fae." "An apparent lack of intelligence or clever caution would make someone even more appealing to many." Heloise responds, though her tone is gentle rather than reproachful. The pepper and tomato stew goes on the plate, then the buttery scrambled eggs on top, and on the side are the thick cut slices of bread, tangy and fragrant. Presenting this to him, she also replenishes his coffee, adding a single cube of old fashioned dark brown sugar on the dish beneath in case he changes his mind. Or perhaps it's like giving candy to an angry child. Plating up her own meal, she sits down on the inside of the counter, leaning slightly against the sturdy form of the nearby espresso machine, its brass and candy apple red lacquer a nice contrast to the mulberry of her rouched velvet top and white skin. "Insects. Mm. Have you been acquainted with amur Solomon?" She pronounces the ohs in that name like ahs, turning it into a very eastern European Sa-la-man. "Your paranoia is getting on my nerves," Arnaud tells her with dark humor. "You sure you want a scared dragon rampaging around?" he adds, mock-warningly, eyebrows waggling at her, his long ears moving with that motion. The food is accepted with another half-bow and he begins eating, tidily and with good appetite. The sugar cube is glanced at and then added to the coffee; sugar really does help. "I was recommended to seek him out, but I paid someone to make it all go away, someone who is an expert. Cost me a coin, but worth it. The only variable is Five, but I'm not sending that woman to handle her. What if she really is innocent? Anyway. I might go see Solomon myself, heard he works at the university or something?" "If my warnings are enough to make you rampage in fear, then perhaps I am in the wrong court," smiles she, idly stroking a fingertip across the surface of her coffee. Steam rises, the faintest trace of ice left behind her movements there but then gone as the residual heat melts it. The pattern she makes seems meaningless, but there's something vaguely labyrinthian to it. Spirals and curls and circles, here then gone. Heloise nods at the question regarding universities, though for a moment a more complex emotion shows in her eyes, the tilt of her brows, the way she flutters her lashes a bit. "Indeed, I believe he is a professor. I would strongly recommend acting with the best of etiquette towards him. He has a strong character, a bit of a temper, and very well versed in the autumnal arts. Not to say you should swallow your pride and act meek, but." She hides her teeth again, grinning. "At least with this you will not be able to say I did not warn you about this as well." "Some Autumn people would be outright jealous," Arnaud says, pointing the fork at her. "Your words make my skin crawl and see conspiracies everywhere. I'm pretty insane, who knows what I'll do?" He grins ferally and amusedly, and then eats some more, watching her fingertips tracing that pattern - it's hypnotic and he is quiet again while enjoying the food. "Thanks for the warning. Last I want is to rile up a powerful Autumn," he says and shudders, as if he has very personal experience of doing just that in the past. Heloise's table manners have a genteel elegance to them, fingers beautifully placed just so on the cutlery, the food moved in small neat bites to the red lips waiting to devour. She does not speak while eating, waiting to dab at her mouth with her napkin before finally speaking up again. "I am glad you are heeding me in this. I do not think we have a lot of powerful people on our side at the moment, but amur Salaman is likely up there. And he also has powerful connections to bring to bear, perhaps more than he himself knows." She abandons her fork and knife to tear a piece of bread to pieces with her bare fingers, using the remains to soak up the buttery bacony juices left of the main meal. Nibbling. Arnaud finishes his own meal, and copies her with the bread when seeing it - though he doesn't nibble, he still eats meticulously and cleanly, even using his own napkin to clean his mouth and fingers afterwards. "Someone good to know, who can get you in on things," he muses thoughtfully, thinking of Solomon in another light. Maybe Arnaud has his own ambitions in the city. "What about you? I know your name, that's about it. I don't even know why I'm talking to you this much, except that you smell good." "I do indeed smell good." The bit of teeth she shows with her smile here is his only warning, the supernatural perfume swiftly enfolding them as if she had suddenly pulled him into an invisible mantle, something she carries with her beneath the Winter magic. This is all Heloise Glamour. Burning applewood and cedar sap, campfire smoke and incense, dark and loamy bitter chocolate, cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, dark anise and hot espresso, heated copper, creamy vanilla seeds, cream and marshmallow and burnt sugar and the heady mingling of cognac and fresh-ground cocoa beans. It is the scent of a woman's clean hair, just where the nape of joins the skull's tender hollow, heated by a distant sun and recent lovemaking. It's dusty back rooms filled with bittersweet chocolate and old love letters, the bottom drawers of antique desks and the last leaves of autumn, black sugar cubes and toasted chestnuts, a longing caress of opium smoke. Layer upon layer, complex and heady and narcotic. And simmering below it all, like the oiled and burnished gauntlet hidden beneath sumptous velvet, the bright green of the trees giving way to the dark and complicated dirt beneath, the ocean holding the scent of death under all that life. Dark and beckoning. Then it drifts away, turns ghostly barely there, and gone, just the normal scents of coffee and food. Her smile holds, voice so gentle. "I am not one to reveal my cards to just anyone. But I will tell you more if you can make some accurate guesses after thinking about what I just showed you." Arnaud's reaction is as can be expected, perhaps - he leans closer, the scents pulling him in and making him careless in his eagerness to bask in them. Scents also bring memories, some of them good, some of them bad. His claws threaten to leave marks on the counter as he stands up to lean on it, nostrils flaring. He understands the magical part of this very well but doesn't try to resist it - except towards the end, when he shakes his head and gives her a hard squint. He sits down abruptly and, as is his habit, slaps his own cheek quite hard to wake himself up. "All those scents - you can draw someone in if you know what they like most, can't you. Like when insects are drawn to a flower. Except, you're more like those that eat the insects." He isn't much for flowery speach; he lifts his cup with both hands and hides behind it a little, eyeing her with wariness and mixed emotions. | |