Logs:Aid
| Aid | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2020-11-28 "We'll certainly do our best to help you and your friends get to where you belong." (set just after ny away team goes sentinel-fishing.) |
| Location
<NYC> Across the Rift - Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village | |
Outside it's still a bright and busy afternoon, but in here things are more somber. Gaétan has curled his hands very, very tight around the mug he's been given; the food in front of him is barely touched but the tea at least is near gone. "I know this all sounds -- completely crazy, but it's..." He shakes his head slowly. Through the course of the conversation he's ricocheted wildly from being almost unable to take his eyes off the man across from him to hardly looking at him at all; now in the latter phase, his gaze is glued to the sturdy and elegantly-crafted table. "We just want to get home, that's all. It's -- a really long shot but I thought maybe. Luci might help." The man across the table has been listening with rapt attentiveness, periodically coaxing his otherworldly guest along with gentle questions. He's much healthier-looking than the Matt that Gaétan remembers, his dark brown hair glossy, his rosy cheeks filled out, and, perhaps weirdest of all, he's a few inches taller. His smart attire and soft, effeminate gestures are familiar enough, though, as is the fierce intelligence in his piercing green eyes. He finally lowers his hand from where he'd pressed knuckles to his lips. "This...is a lot to take in," he agrees, his tone deliberately even. "However, we can make some...discreet inquiries." He lifts his mug for a sip, though his eyes don't move or blink. "We'll certainly do our best to help you and your friends get to where you belong." --- Freshly showered, her still-damp hair gathered into a single thick braid, Kelawini has her legs curled up under herself on the couch where she's ravenously devouring the fragrant beef stew supplied by their host. "Dis fancy kine hale, dese ono haole grinds, aino can believe um! What you even call dis--" She plucks up one of the neatly crimped hand pies from a plate on the tea table, where a variety of delectable treats have been laid out. Her head shakes, slow and incredulous. "Dog luck we wen bring one human along ya?" Nanami has settled onto the floor, kneeling with her heels tucked under her neat. She's emptied most of her bowl already and even with her mouth full of stew is eyeing the hand pies when Kelawini reaches for one. "Call um any kine ting, odda kids get one taste dey no care." She's not at all surreptitiously starting to wrap the pies in napkins to cram all the rest of them into her backpack. "I wen tink, this whole trip goin come poho but mebbe -- Gae say dis one akamai guy dat everytime know wat fo do. Mebbe bumbye everyting come mo betta fo us, huh?" --- The game probably looks very leisurely to someone who cannot read a board. There's tea and cookies and cushions a-plenty where the players are seated on the floor across an exquisitely made chess table. White leads in both material and position, which is perhaps unsurprising given the man on that side of the board is a notoriously aggressive grandmaster, but black's situation is not wholly unsalvageable. Yet. "{...it does sound as if their companions in Maine have a decent shot at the border.}" Matt has just advanced his king's bishop, abandoning the defense of his e4 pawn, though his opponent likely knows better than to be too easily tempted by the offered gambit. "{But the ones down here, well...}" His hand turns elegantly palm up. "{They are all out of options, and I imagine Stark would love to get his tinny hands on them.}" Lucien's bright green eyes have been studying the board intently, tea in one hand and his other cupping at the side of his face. He pulls his gaze back up to look at his brother at this last, one eyebrow hitching minutely. His head rolls slow, eyes drifting away toward the cracked-open door as he takes a small sip of his tea. "{A shot}," comes his mild agreement, "{but it will be hard going for a group like that. Snake people and blue people and -- goodness, Marinov has already died here once.}" He lowers his tea slowly, lowers his eyes slowly. "Mmm." There's a minute more of consideration before he reaches for his knight, swapping it with the pawn on e4 and tucking Matt's claimed piece next to the neat, if smaller, line of captured pieces on his side. "{I leave the imagining to you, Matthieu.}" --- It's perhaps a bit late for a tea party, supper having come and gone, but Sera is a Tessier through and through, not so easily deterred from doing what's done when she has a guest to entertain. She's brought up a tray table for her tea service--fine porcelain in iridescent glazed pastel rainbow ombre, dotted with silver stars--and is in the process of refilling Spencer's cup, though he could easily reach it himself. "{You'll go help them, then?}" she pipes eagerly. "{My brothers will take care of the ones who are here, but the group trying to get to Quebec--you can find them.}" Though now she frowns, biting her lip thoughtfully. "{Will it still work, if they're--a different Marinov?}" Spence receives his tea graciously and takes a delicate sip. Though he's cleaned up since his arrive he still looks--with his jagged, overgrown haircut, layers of threadbare clothing and wary, darting eyes--very at odds with the fancy tea set, the brightly decorated bedroom, his elegant host herself. "{Of course I'll go help them,}" he says, all bravado. His French is heavily accented but perfectly comprehensible, clearly acquired from the Tessiers, to judge by his diction. "{I won't know 'til I try.}" | |
