OPEN;

[wandbreaker]

When; Saturday, January 28th, nighttime
Characters; All are welcome! Open log, just specify if it's an open thread or not or if there are 4th wall rules for your character in the comment or subject line! (4th wallers also welcome~)
Summary; The Blue Light's one chilling hangout; good music, good food, and a spectacularly crabby owner who is even letting in under-18s for the 4th Wall weekend.
Log;

Edmund is actually at work tonight - he hopes a member of his family might show up, but he's also wondering who else might show up. He's made sure that he's well staffed for the extra crowds and well stocked, no less.

He just hopes nothing gets out of control.

And of course, that a member of his family shows up, looking for him.

Comments

Open!

[and_identity]

[There's a lady here--young, pretty, but dressed a bit unusually for the weather in a filmy green shirt and beige-white skirt that reaches almost to the floor. Her hair is blonde with not a lock out of her place, and her eyes are very, very green.

She doesn't go to the bar, but instead claims a booth off to one side as a vantage point, where she can sit and enjoy her drink and watch the people as they come and go and dance.

She's very fond of watching. But she looks receptive to bothering, too.]

[inventedcakepie]

[He sits next to her on accident - he gets slightly pushed off and right into the booth, tripping with his mechanical leg]

Sorry-

[and_identity]

[She smiles pleasantly, like she knows him. All things considered, she probably does.]

Don't apologize. It's awfully crowded in here, isn't it?

[inventedcakepie]

[He nods, huffing slightly]

I thought I could find - well, Katniss would never come here. Do you mind if I sit for a minute?

[and_identity]

Please do. I'm waiting around for a friend of mine, too, but I don't mind having a little company while I do.

Are you enjoying your visit back?

[inventedcakepie]

It's not bad. I got to see some old friends.

How about you?

[and_identity]

It's reassuring to hear you call them old friends. Considering your circumstances.

I like it here. I know you're not particularly familiar with the concept of vacations, but it's a nice change of pace to come visit and get away from things for a little while.

[lafemmefatale]

[With grace and confidence, she leans up against the booth, looking at the blonde like a tiger watching its prey. She's been keeping an eye on this one and figured it was the time to make an introduction.]

You look like someone.

[and_identity]

I am someone. But congratulations on the observation, nonetheless.

[She sips her drink, undaunted. She likes tigers.]

[lafemmefatale]

[Definitely not Em. Not with that comeback. Em was never that together.]

Thanks. Keeping the seat for someone important?

[and_identity]

He'll be late. Which is funny, coming from a guy so good with time.

[She motions to the empty seat, offering a slight smile.]

Have a seat, if you want. Drinks on me.

[lafemmefatale]

Men can be like that, easily distracted.

[She slides into the booth, glad for the offer, but wary. Always wary.]

That's a nice offer, have a name to go with it?

[and_identity]

'Easily distracted' is a nice way of putting it.

I'm Elle.

[practicingforhell]

[After a few beers--"a few" being some nebulous number between three and six--Henry works up the nerve to approach the pretty blonde. He's never approached a girl in a bar before, but it suddenly seems like a really good idea.]

You cold?

[Not the best opener, but fuck, she should be cold, dressed like that.]

[and_identity]

Not generally.

[Cold knows better than to try to inflict itself on her. She always wins in the end.]

But it's nice of you to be concerned about me.

[practicingforhell]

Oh.

[Well, that's all he had. No, wait...]

Can I buy you something?

[and_identity]

I won't stop you.

[She smiles warmly.]

Sit down. I'd like the company.

[practicingforhell]

[He pulls a bottle of beer out of a coat pocket and slides it her way before sitting.]

Yeah? Well, fair warning... I'm not the best company.

[and_identity]

You underestimate yourself too much. Especially with me.

[She takes it and opens it expertly, still smiling.]

Right, Henry?

[lone_must_stand]

Though Aeriel walks with her head held high-- she is, she reminds herself, a free woman-- she does her best to stay aloof, avoiding eye contact with the strangers she passes on her way to a dark table in the corner. She's unafraid, but slightly nervous-- unfamiliar with this place, these people, what customs they might keep.

Which is to say, when she catches Life's glance-- and subsequently stops mid-step-- it is by accident. It's the eyes, of course; green, greener even than her own. It's a rare color; a sorcerous color, some say, though that is the fault of a hundred little misunderstandings, as far as she knows.

Nevertheless it's strange enough that she stands there far too long, fingers caught on the edge of her pale sari, before she remembers herself. Aeriel looks to the floor, debating whether it would be ruder to speak or to go on without a word.

[and_identity]

Life has had a long time to mingle among humanity. It's one of those little indulgences that she and Death have always been fond of, the chance to take on a form and style it as they will and walk amongst the mortals as though they were ones themselves. She's been doing it for eons now, at different times and in different places, watching her humans and evolving herself with their times. It's part of the reason why she likes it here now--taking the opportunity to sit and muse and watch the passing crowds as though they were fish in a bowl.

But even in a crowd as thick as this, there are some fish whose scales stand out like neon signs, and Aeriel happens to be one of them.

"You can sit with me, if you want," she offers calmly, paying no heed to the staring. She gets that a lot. And if she wanted to be invisible, well, she could do that too. The fact that she hasn't is as much an invitation as anything else. "This isn't your kind of place, right?"

[lone_must_stand]

It's not so much that she wants to sit; she has the sense that she must. Whether it's her own curiosity or the command of the Ancient's shattered pearl is anyone's guess. Either way she nods, looking back up and slipping into the other side of the booth with palpable relief. Even if this is merely the illusion of belonging here, it is better than being entirely lost.

"I have been in taverns, before," she adds, "but never one such as this." It's too big, too new; the people unfamiliar, the trappings all wrong. The air here is too rich; it leaves her lightheaded. Sitting in the booth she folds her hands in her lap, sparing a quick glance at the crowded room.

"I should not have stared-- but, tell me, please; are you from Pirs?"

[and_identity]

"You don't need to worry," she answers with calm authority, not a single ounce of hesitation in her voice. The powers she commands are admittedly dampened in this City between the worlds, and are every time she comes here, but one doesn't fill the role of the personification of Life itself without retaining a few perks, and the ability to make and enforce that promise is one of them.

People tend to invoke implications of death in veiled threats. Few recall that there are plenty of fates worse than death, and every one of them falls within Life's province.

"And the easy answer is no," she adds, because sometimes playing technicalities leads to the most efficient solutions. "But I know who you are. You've got a big job ahead of you, don't you?"

[lone_must_stand]

More than anything, Aeriel would like to say no to that. And the truth is she has not yet been charged with her task; but the warm ebb of the pearlstuff within her makes her nod. For tonight, though, she is only Aeriel (which is not much of an only, really.) But she is not accustomed to questioning tasks, or prophecies; and so she does not argue, though (selfishly) she thinks she will go to Irrylath, and stay with him. That if there is more to be done, they will go forth together.

"Is that why I've been brought here?" she asks, though the thought unsettles her. There is no helpful whisper from the Ancient's memory within her; though there is something-- maybe the stillness of the air here-- that makes her think of the duarough and his caves and rivers. Here, daughter, there is life. It's a calming thought, even if she doesn't quite understand it.

[and_identity]

"Not exactly," she answers in that same knowing way, because she does know things even if this place isn't technically her domain, like plucking a thread from a grand weaving and examining it to see its colors. "Consider this a respite from everything you've done, and all that still lies ahead for you to do. Sometimes it's worth it to stop and smell the roses."

She traces her fingers across the tabletop, the index finger of her left hand making a slow, deliberate circle, and gradually a thin green stem begins to sprout and unfold, reaching taller and beginning to list to one side from its own weight as it grows, gangly and fresh and young, until at last it spins a miniature rose into bloom.