tampered | You Mean You Can't Take Less...

When; Oct 6^th, Mad Hatter Day Curse
Rating; G - PG-13
Characters; OPEN!
Summary; On a day that you can be sipping tea with friends one moment, passing sugar to an enemy the next, only only to find yourself eating cake with a deity, this is merely one of the tables the City's inhabitants may find themselves dining at.

Log; The City is the City is a city, and it is down in the streets, in canyons of steel, "it's making me feel I'm home." It's autumn in ~~New York~~ the City. It's good to live it again.

So Laszlo has set a table too, in sharp and stark and bright and direct and pointed and intentional contrast to the greenery and garden party out in Xanadu. Garden parties. Like picnicking in a cemetery--oh, but they did that, didn't they? The Sunday afternoon walks out to go and spit on ol' Laszlo Jamf's grave.

This would do better if it were indoors, in a penthouse, in some corner apartment--name your other city, he's been to them all. But, close enough, to set it in the street, under the windows and brick and steel. It will do.

A red table. Red and sharp. Dark wood, yes, but red cloth over it, neat and straight--no flow or foam or excess. Tailored--that's the word.

Formality and modernism, that is the center of this table. Black and white dishes, Art Deco, lines and angles and planes. It's an era with which he is familiar. But the effect is striking and cold.

He would have set it in white with stainless steel--medical, clean, efficient--but that idea had been nixed. Damn it.

So red and black and white. And a smattering of steel. He couldn't resist. And better still to sit at the head of the table and observe, the sweep and stretch of the table, the moods and ways of those who sit there--and, always, room for one more.

At least until the bell rang, the gun fired, the call came, and the rush began again.

The Unmoved Mover.

Note; See here! Mark your subject lines with "open" or "to ____" if you like. Prose OR comment log style is alright. Laszlo will speak with any marked "open" or "to Laszlo". Enjoy, and feel free to pop your character in and out as it pleases you and the curse description goes!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Luck glanced toward her at her remark, after a moment spent regarding the table in front of him. "I suppose it could be worse," he replied, answering her sarcasm with a somewhat dry tone. "We could be drowning in a sea of pastels and ruffles again. But I have to say I'm getting sick of tea and cake." For a split second he looked as though he were about to say more, only to check himself.

Instead he let out a quiet breath, and with an air of commiseration extended a hand. "Luck Gandor," he offered.

"Tch- last one I was at was at the damned beach. Who the 'ell takes their tea in the surf?" Indeed, the heels of her boots were sandy. Though when he offered a hand, introduced himself... she paused, looking at him funny for a moment.

Despite her open complaints, she wasn't exactly used to gentleman in suits doing such to her. Such was East End, she supposed.

"Call me Beast." Moved to shake his hand, a firm grip, calloused fingers in net gloves in gaudy crimson.

Luck's brows lifted a little at the name - but then again, he hardly had grounds to comment. He shook her hand politely, not seeming to even notice her circus attire, or else taking it as a matter of course. "A pleasure, Miss Beast." Yes, he said 'Miss.' A beat passed before he added, "Circumstances aside. I suppose this sort of thing is going to go on all day? Really, it's useless trying to plan more than a few hours ahead in this place."

Just as he automatically added "miss" to her name, she responded automatically in kind.

"You kin drop the miss." Her fingers tightened on her arms a bit in frustration, letting her gaze wander over the table before she replied, uncrossing and recrossing her legs irritably, accompanied by the slight creak of ceramic joints in her prosthetic.

"This place is a damned... I don' even know. S'ridiculous- Tryin' to watch after family with all this sort..."

Luck inclined his head briefly in acquiescence, but something changed subtly in his expression at the mention of the word 'family', some spark of interest that sharpened his attention a little and smoothed the trace of irritation away.

"You have family here?" he asked curiously.

Hers expression changed, too, a cant sadder before she hid it with a smile.

"Yeah- lil' sis. This place in't for 'er, though..." No, she'd never been good at hiding her emotions- the concern for that sibling, no blood sibling, but sibling nonetheless, showed through clear as day, despite her efforts.

"...I see." Smiling faintly himself, Luck turned his eyes downward to the table in front of him. He picked up a cup not to drink so much as to have something to do with his hands, and he turned it absently between them. "It must be difficult, trying to keep her protected in a place like this. I have to admit, though, that even with that I'm a little envious."

There was a long silence when she stared at the cup between her hands, then back to the one in front of her, untouched.

"... Ya think that." She shook her head, sending a small few bits of glitter from her hair, the bright ornament amidst curls, flinging about.

"... It's not worth it. If you have 'em 'ere, you spend every minute wantin' 'em home."

He sat quietly for some moments, mulling that over. "Yes," Luck acknowledged at last. "I expect that's so."

Presently, he put the cup down again, looking back toward Beast. "One of my brothers was here," he commented. "But he seems to have left. ...Well, Claire has always come and gone however he pleases." He shrugged. "The others are better off where they are, it's true."

It was stupid to be telling these things to people- she knew that. But... he'd be gone in a moment, wouldn't he? If not him, then she would.

"Doll's a good girl." Another stage name, said as easily as a true one. "She trusts too much fer this place."

"I can see why that would make you worry," Luck said thoughtfully. "The world is full of untrustworthy people."

Not just the world of the City. Probably, Luck thought, any world would be populated more by untrustworthy people than trustworthy ones. He ought to know. He was pretty untrustworthy himself, by an honest person's reckoning.

"At least she has you looking out for her," he said, "even if there's only so much that you can do to help."

You Mean You Can't Take Less...

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