[Ashley McGowen] Ordinarily, in order to discuss anything of import Ashley would be inviting Jacques to her home. He knows where it is - he was there when she invited him and Wharil into her sanctum around this time last year, in order to hunt down Dylan - but the consor hasn't gotten that invitation. She's been more protective of her own space, of late.
But there are plenty of places that she knows of that are quiet and safe enough to discuss things without needing to whisper or dance around their language, a game Ashley has traditionally always hated. Still: most of the places she frequents are bars or teashops, and those are really not appropriate for the nature of the discussion. Awkward as she may sometimes be, she does grasp some things.
It's a small park near her apartment that she's asked him to meet her at. It's a bit cold, but close enough that if they decided to they could go back to her place, and in the middle of the day it's unlikely that it will be very noisy. People are at work or in class. Besides, Ashley likes to be outside; she feels comfortable there.
When Jacques arrives she's taken up space on a stone bench. It's a small space, fenced in with a decorative iron rail that hails back to the time when this was an older and wealthier neighborhood. It's not so much, now, and the branches of the bushes and trees are bare and limned with a dusting of snow, leaves of grass poking up through what remains on the ground. Ashley has her knees drawn up to her chest and doesn't appear to be doing anything at the moment. Silent, listening, watchful, or maybe just thinking.
[Jacques-Marcel] His car had parked somewhere nearby, as close as he could so that the walking in the cold was limited and perhaps, if he's lucky, he can keep an eye on the vehicle. It's insured, for sure, but such things are still an annoyance in the course of life if he actually had to report his car, which isn't as beloved as some might think, damaged or stolen.
When he approaches along the path his hands are deep in his pockets, his hair is swept back from his face, and a scarf hangs undone around his neck. The pale gray fabric of it has a hint of blue, trailing down the length of his lean frame, over the black wool woven trench that hits the back of his thighs. Beneath he wears jeans and a cashmere v-neck over an undershirt. Black loafers aren't his finest, not when he's come to meet someone in a park, when there's still snow strewn across the ground and leaving dirty gushes at the edge of paths.
"Hello Ashley." He greets her quietly as the distance is eaten by a casual and almost lazy stride. There's no cigarette in his hands, but maybe she can smell the hint of it on his clothes, hidden under the subtle cologne. He had smoked before getting in the car, not whilst in it, but had fought back the urge to light another while wandering into the small city park.
[Ashley McGowen] While Ashley's sense of smell isn't as finely attuned, perhaps, as that of someone who is fully blind (Israel, for example), she is more aware of that and her tactile senses than most people would be. It's part of what she falls back on in order to gather information about her environment, and she can indeed catch the scent of the cigarette smoke on Jacques and how it carries in the crisp, cold air.
"Hey, Jacques," she says, scooting over to allow him some room on the bench. It isn't as though she takes up a lot of space, but she intends to make the invitation clear.
She's been out here for a while; the tips of her ears and her nose are a little reddened by the cold weather. It makes the cornflower color of her eyes stand out stark. She's wearing the heavy black wool coat he saw her in last winter, with a gray scarf stoppering up the throat, but no hat or gloves. She's not really a cold weather person, but she seems to be dealing with it well, or at least well enough to want to sit out here in it.
"I thought maybe it'd be a good time to talk," she says, and he probably doesn't need to ask (or really even think) about what she means, considering the discussion the last time they saw each other.
[Jacques-Marcel] Walking to the bench, he turns around and eases to sit. His hands stay in his pockets, loathing to leave them. Inside the car had been warm and he seeks to keep his hands that way. This is the primary reason for not having a cigarette dangling between two long fingers.
Sitting back, his gaze scours the ground at his feet, debating whether he was going to stretch out his legs and cross them at the ankle as he usually does, or whether the ground would dirty the hem of his jeans. It's decided that he'll sit with soles flat to the ground, knees lightly parted. Jacques doesn't hunch, though, even relaxed, or trying to appear as though he's chilling out like those his age and younger, he somehow comes across as much more stiff - no, proper.
"I think you're right," he agrees, lifting his gaze to look over the park, "I've been avoiding it for awhile now." It's an understatement of the year, and while he's not ready to approach the subject it was time to rip off the bandage and let the wound heal properly.
[Ashley McGowen] There is a moment in which Ashley very nearly rolls her eyes and agrees with him, tempted as she is to call him a coward (that had been a parting shot this summer - he probably hasn't forgotten.) But she catches herself just before the action can be undertaken. She isn't always sensitive to the feelings of others, but there are times when she can exert self-control in order to make sure she isn't insensitive, at least.
And true to form, she doesn't try to dance around the subject and try to figure out how to soften things for him to make it easier to hear, even though he had to make an effort to show up in the first place. She doesn't apologize for Willing him out of Kage's apartment, either. (She probably isn't going to.)
"He'd been turned into a Marauder," she says finally, reaching back and running a hand through her hair to rake it to the side. It falls over the scars just past her left temple, tumbles over an eye before she irritably shakes it out. "So there wasn't going to be anything we could do. I tried, though, and looked into his head to see if I could guide him out. But that...he thought he was trapped in Hell, and it wasn't going to happen." A beat. "I was going to try again, but the Euthanatos killed him. And honestly, he was probably better off."
Her tone isn't unnecessarily harsh. But as her words might imply, she doesn't go out of her way to be gentle, either. She gives it to him straight, glances out of the corner of her eye every now and again.
[Jacques-Marcel] There is only one way for him to absorb it. Which is simply that he sits there, listens, and takes it in whatever form that the Mage offers it. It's not kind, sugar coated, or in any attempt to soothe him. But that's okay, he doesn't want that from her, and wouldn't, ever. Whether she tells him like this because she's incapable of any other, or because she thinks this is the best way to deal with the Consor, of which she's had a rocky past with, isn't something that he tries to figure out. They are thoughts that cross his mind, if briefly, along with plenty of others. Some of them are memories.
He doesn't look at her, not once. Face forward, eyes roaming the park, leaves only the profile of the lines of his narrow features. The dark brows over his eyes don't say much either, nor does the gray-blue colouring that watches forward. Inside his pocket, his thumb and index finger roll over a cheap lighter, twisting it around and around, slowly so that he can feel the smoothness.
"Was it anyone I know?" His voice is even and quiet. Jacques is good at disguising many things, even now. Especially now.
[Jarod Nightingale] This may not have been the loveliest neighborhood in the city, but it wasn't the worst one either. Much of it was student housing, as with the building that Ashley lived in. Jarod knew that he was near the Hermetic's apartment, but he didn't give any indication that he was familiar with the place to the man who'd brought him here, despite the fact that it was fairly likely that Nick and Ashley knew each other - at least in passing. They were, after all, both graduate students studying sociology at the same University. Most members of the Awakened world made some attempt to keep their magical lives and their mundane lives reasonably separate, and the Verbena was no exception.
The pair of them were walking past the park on the sidewalk, talking companionably about a book that Nick's father's publishing company had just bought the rights to. The grad student was shorter than his tall-dark-and-handsome friend, with sandy-blond hair and a dark grey peacoat over a pair of brown corduroys. He also seemed a little more lively, speaking with animated gestures and occasionally laughing. Jarod, for his part, cracked a smile a few times, but was otherwise more reserved. When he spotted the pair on the bench, though, he stopped walking and looked at them, and Nick turned around and looked at him curiously, then also glanced at the bench. He was actually the first one to greet them, as he lifted a hand and waved. "Hey Vanessa"
But Jarod distracted him by leaning over to whisper something in his ear. Whatever it was, it had the desired effect. Nick hesitated a moment, looked at the park once more, then turned and began to stride off in another direction. (Sent on an errand, perhaps. He had that kind of purposeful gait.) Then Jarod found the entrance in the fence and walked over to where Ashley and Jacques-Marcel were seated. He glanced at the other model for a moment, then looked at Ashley and smiled. "I can't seem to get away from you lately."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley is not sure what Jacques means by this question, and during one of her sidelong glances her eyes don't move away: they just fix on him, searching, but if she can't parse out the ambiguity from his words she's certainly not going to be able to parse it out from his expression. Ashley's a mind reader but, unfortunately, it's only when she Wills it so.
"It wasn't him," is what she finally says, thinking that it's the most likely interpretation. "He was...just totally out of touch with reality and his own Mind. Even when I was in there with him all he could do was ramble and try to get out. I don't think he was even aware of me." She bites the inside of her cheek, and that's when her eyes flick away from him, out toward the park. "Kage and I talked about reNaming him, because I know it can be done or was once, but it probably would've taken a Master, in all honesty. Just take my word for it. He was better dead than trapped there."
Ashley, thus far, has been rather lucky to not have had her Awakened life and her mundane life cross paths very often at all. There'd been an incident where she'd been speaking with a professor about her thesis and they'd realized they were both Awake, and Justin tends to ask uncomfortable questions about the people who come by her apartment, but it's been the sole occurrence. Nick calls her Sleeper name and she raises her head before she can stop herself.
And sees him there with Jarod. "Hi Nick!" she calls, and lifts an ungloved hand to wave back, but it's by the time he's already making his way off. Jarod himself gets a glance that is amused, if distracted by the heavy subject matter they'd been discussing before the two men walked by. "You're the one walking in my neighborhood," she says. And then there's a gesture to the man beside her. "This is Jacques-Marcel."
[Jacques-Marcel] "No, not that." He had cut her off, meaning to, hoping that he could get an answer before the young, handsome man walking towards them reached earshot. "The Euthanatos."
But it wasn't to be so. There had been the distraction of someone called Nick, which had made Jacques' gaze divert from Jarod to the fleeing figure. It wasn't the Nick that Jacques knows, and he finds this strange relief that flops through him. That is quickly chased by some admonishing background thoughts, none of which are shared or becomes obvious on his face.
He sits straighter, just a hint, as Jarod comes to stand before them, and after a shared look and a quick introduction from Ashley, Jacques shifts across to the outside of the bench to leave room for a third. It's a silent invitation that may leave them fighting for elbow room. His hand reluctantly leaves the warmth of his pocket and is offered out. "A pleasure." There's an accent there, educated, old-world New Orleans, flavoured by the French. It's growing fainter.
Jarod is familiar but not yet placed.
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod was not actually as young as he looked. In fact, he'd just turned 30 a few weeks ago (a fact that he had yet to actually share with anyone but Emily, though Ashley, with her new knowledge of his Life Pattern, had probably been able to suss out an approximate age.) And despite having both made a living in the same industry, Jarod had never actually worked with Jacques. This wasn't really too surprising, considering how the bulk of his modeling work had been done in Asia. But there'd been more stateside jobs recently, since traveling abroad was noticeably more difficult when one cared for an eleven year old child, and as such, he'd become a little more recognizable in his native country. Not a lot, mind. But to a certain subset of the population who paid close attention to the fashion industry, he was known. (And Jacques, being a model himself, was probably one of those people.)
But that wasn't why they found each other vaguely familiar. It was because they'd met before. Once, very briefly, and a long time ago. There may or may not have been some mutual snubbing going on. But if Jarod actually remembered that, he didn't say so. He just broadened his smile when the blond man offered him a seat, and sat down in the vacant spot. "Jarod," he offered in return, at Ashley's introduction. "And thank you."
Today he smelled like jasmine and a hint of lemongrass - something light and exotic. And he was wearing a pair of dark jeans (designer label, naturally) and an expensive black wool coat. He did not have much of an accent to speak of. Not local, but not clearly of any other place either.
To Ashley, he added, "This is very true, though I claim innocence on that count, as it was someone else who brought me here. Speaking of which, I couldn't help but notice that you and Nick are familiar with each other."
[Ashley McGowen] He'd asked her about the Euthanatos, likely wanting her to name Names, and maybe it's lucky for her that Jarod and Nick showed up when they did. Ashley doesn't like to lie or even hide the truth, generally; she thinks people should be able to deal with it (and we're all a little hypocritical, sometimes, when it comes to exactly what we're willing to say and show.) But she's protective of Wharil, in particular.
So maybe that quick, calculating glance betrays all Jacques needs to know, in that regard.
Ashley, who is huddled on the bench with her legs drawn up to her chest, glances toward Jarod when he sits down, and maybe she's remembering that time when they met. She was there too, back when she'd barely known either man and her sole Awakened acquaintance in town prior to that night had been a Dreamspeaker; it was indeed a long time ago. "I've seen Nick in class and around the sociology department," she says. A wry smile and then she adds, "I think we have a completely opposite take on the field and its uses, though."
[Jacques-Marcel] His hand returns to the depths of his pocket and the fact that the two of them are dressed so similarly doesn't escape his notice. It had even made him smile, just a hint, but it was far from reaching his eyes. A passing detail that amused him only briefly.
Now he sits back, in his own narrow space, and listens to them talk while he's watching the park. Although he hears their words he's not actively listening. Their conversation isn't important and doesn't include him, and Jacques doesn't mind. He's thinking about the Mage community and how small it is in Chicago. While their numbers turn over, there are still some of the same faces littering the streets, and even the new are drawn to one another. He had known the answer to his own question before he had asked it of her. While they remained unnamed, he knows that it was somebody that he would be familiar with.
As for the fashion world. Jacques had made his mark on American soil and more so the European market, who like men like him. Pretty boys. While he was tall and lean, almost slender, underneath the heavy winter clothes, he has definition, like most of them must have. He simply lacks the bulk of the typical American jock.
[Jarod Nightingale] They both held rather similar places in the modeling world, these two men. Both of them were fit, but lean. Both of them were more beautiful than handsome, though Jacques was perhaps slightly more feminine. The latter though, was undeniably more European. Jarod, being half Chinese himself, was more of the exotic type - and there wasn't typically as much call for that in the domestic market.
And yes, they were dressed rather similarly, though Jarod had boots on rather than loafers. (They were both more than a little catty, too, though Jarod - being what he was - projected that sense through more than just his personality and mannerisms.)
He laughed when Ashley pointed out the disparity between her social philosophy and Nick's, and there was a kind of wry, knowing sound to it. "That does not surprise me in the slightest."
He glanced for a moment between Jacques and Ashley, before asking, with a hint of curiosity, "Did I interrupt anything? I can go, if you'd rather. I'm sure Nick will be back soon, at any rate. I sent him off to get some tea."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley, by contrast, is quite average. There was a point where she would have felt very self-conscious sitting on a park bench with the two of them; that was before she got to Chicago. Let's face it: somehow, a large number of the Awakened population manages to be at least moderately attractive. Ashley has been characterized as "cute" on many an occasion (she hates it) but would not stand out from the average person on the street.
It's one of those things she's gotten used to about Chicago. It distances a person from the mundane in a lot of ways.
She can't see Jacques at the moment unless she leans forward or backward to peer around Jarod, so she can't see his expression or whether he's listening or looking at the two of them; she just knows he's gone quiet. And that he's probably thinking about Dylan, or the circumstances related to how Dylan died.
She hasn't forgotten anything about that day. She'd been standing three feet in front of him trying to talk him down when he'd been hit with the shotgun; she'd nearly been hit with the spray herself. She'd washed off all the blood and gore when she'd called Jarod to her apartment later. But she hasn't forgotten it.
"I was catching Jacques up on some of the things that've happened around the city while he's been gone," she says, but offers no more than that. Her expression says she doesn't mind Jarod's presence, but she leaves a more definitive answer up to the Consor.
[Jacques-Marcel] "What she means is..." and here he falters. He draws his gaze away from details no found in the park and back towards the two at her side; mostly Jarod who now sits between them. What he was going to say, a remark clipped with some sarcasm and plenty of self loathing, dark humour, has faded away. Instead he replaces it with something that is almost genuine if for the fact that it doesn't reach his eyes. But then, as Ashley would know, rarely does much. He's not an honest sort of person, often not even with himself. "... you're welcome to stay."
And then, as his eyes flicker over the other, which he would never have pegged as being thirty, his mouth curves and a glint runs across the surface of his coloured eyes. "You're a welcome distraction." When in doubt always go back to the base instincts of either flirting or pissing people off - hopefully both in the one line. It's his old trick. He relies on it plenty.
[Jarod Nightingale] Disciples of Life tended to look younger than they actually were, though in Jarod's case, probably by only a few years (five, tops.) It came with the territory of knowing and perfecting one's body. Give him a few more years and he might very well be able to keep himself looking this way for the rest of his life. (And wouldn't that just be awfully Dorian Gray.)
It was interesting that the two models did not seem to be taking much issue with each other tonight, as with their last encounter. Ashley might find this amusing, if she remembered it. Perhaps both of them had changed over the last year. Perhaps it was just a quieter, more contemplative sort of day.
In any case, neither Ashley nor Jacques seemed to desire his departure, so for now he stayed put. Jacques called him a welcome distraction, and for a moment Jarod turned his face so that he looked at the pretty blond man directly. They both had blue eyes, but the other's were paler. Closer to the color of the sky (especially on a day like today, when it was a little cloudy.) (Jarod's were darker - more like the ocean.) He smiled, just a little out of one side of his mouth, and there was a subtly flirtatious note to it, to answer the one that Jacques had directed at him.
He glanced back at Ashley though, before responding with some amusement. "I'm not sure if the Dean would agree, after all the trouble I've gotten her into."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley's memories of that day are primarily colored by the fact that she'd utterly missed the fact that the other people she was talking to were Awake, and that she'd been speaking to Jacques about the aforementioned Dreamspeaker. She'd been interested in the aforementioned Dreamspeaker, point in fact; the woman disappeared without much warning, though, as magi in Chicago have a tendency to do. Ashley has decided that Dreamspeakers, by and large, exhibit signs of being mentally unbalanced, and this probably has more to do with it and thus she in all likelihood probably dodged a bullet.
Regardless, she doesn't recall either of the two being particularly catty - though if either of them were to mention it, or if either of them were to start acting that way now, either toward the other or toward her, she'd hardly be surprised.
Jacques calls Jarod a welcome distraction and there's a way in which Ashley's eyebrow quirks, a touch awkward, before she lets it all slide by. In order to respond to Jarod's comment, actually, which earns him a sidelong glance. "You have no idea how much time I spent on the phone yesterday," she says, with a roll of her eyes.
Kage's teasing about how the unTraditioned weren't required to explain themselves to anyone didn't particularly help matters. "I'll find appropriate revenge, though, don't worry." It's hard to tell whether or not she's joking. She lets a beat go by before saying, "Jacques, before I forget, let me know if you want into the chantry. My acquaintance finished building the addition I mentioned to you before Jarod pissed him off."
[Jacques-Marcel] His interest perked. Both at the smile and the following conversation. It seemed that Ashley had many problems to deal with. If he cared to sit back and think about it, he's sure to realize how hard her lifestyle must be and the responsibilities she carried. But the point of fact was, he'd also recall a conversation in which she was interested in climbing that ladder and putting herself forward as a capable leader.
Which leads to now, and his decided lack of interest to get to know Ashley better - because he also remembers what she had done to get him out of that apartment, Maurderer or not, and he'd probably never forgive her even if he understood why. She stole from him a choice, or the freedom of it, and he would never forget. Also that she thinks him a coward.
To add insult to injury, perhaps to bring him back to that painful reminder, she tells him about the place in the Chantry. This chases away any idea of flirting with the man sitting next to him, sobering him up entirely. It makes him look away from where he had been watching Jarod, and across the park. "Yeah," he tells her, "I want to come by." Consumed by some sort of twisted guilt, he even overlooks the pleasure in the knowledge Jarod also pisses people off. Its another trait they share, apparently.
[Jarod Nightingale] [Empathy (-1 diff due to secondary ability) - There's some back-story here, I can just feel it...]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Jarod Nightingale] When Ashley made that remark, Jarod chuckled, and it was difficult to tell if he actually felt apologetic or not. (Though, to his credit, he had apologized to her later that night, and at the time he'd seemed, for a flash of an instant, to actually care.) To her teasing threat, he raised an eyebrow and shot her a knowing look. "And here I thought I'd already made up for it."
There was some kind of history here, though whether it was between Ashley and Jacques specifically or just had something to do with the conversation, Jarod didn't know. What he did know was that the Consor (was that what he was? he wasn't certain about that either) wasn't exactly in the best of moods. Jarod swung his gaze back to Jacques, and at this distance (they were so close on the bench that they could feel the heat from each other's bodies) there was very little that his perceptive gaze missed. He'd been hurt, this man. The lingering shadow of a loss still lingered there.
Jarod pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, but he didn't pry. (That was something he usually saved for one-on-one encounters.) Instead he let his leg shift just a fraction, so that their knees touched, and he leaned over to whisper, conspiratorially, "if she tries to stab me while I'm not looking, let me know."
[Ashley McGowen] She hadn't intended to chase away Jacques' attempts to lighten his own mood, even though that was what she did: it just didn't occur to her that the comment might do exactly that. Other peoples' feelings generally aren't something she considers before she talks. Whether or not she'd actually feel sorry if she knew, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter (and she actually might, sometimes. It's rare.)
Which isn't altogether unlike Jarod, who had actually seemed to care the other night - and she noticed. So he gets another amused glance and she lets the subject drop, and if there are any hard feelings they don't seem to be around right at this particular moment. She would've had to speak to Bran about it regardless, and say what one will about Ashley, but she generally isn't a person to hold a grudge. (She's not entirely even aware of the fact that Jacques does.)
There's another look over at the two of them after a moment, though, then her eyes wander back out into the park and she reaches back to tug at the hair at the back of her neck. "Never while you weren't looking," she says, lightly.
[Jacques-Marcel] His eyes are, at first, drawn to the knee now pressed against his comparing the shades of their jeans before he looked up to Jarod at his whisper. Despite himself and the situation, his mouth curls again but his chuckle is a suppressed thing, barely a sound in the throat.
Ashley quips, and his soon follows hers. "Oh, don't worry. It's not a knife you need to worry about." There's plenty of other concerns to be wary of, but he doesn't take it down that path - as he would have, if he was in some horribly angry mood. Those moods seem to be less frequent now days. "I've seen her in a fist fight, and she's not all that great. Spaghetti arms, isn't that what they're called?" It's probably not the truth, but such things are hard to tell when uttered by the consors lips.
Leaning forward, he looks around Jarod, smirking at Ashley.
[Nico Brady] It's too damn cold to do much of anything tonight, if one were to ask someone from a warmer climate. Anyone who grew up with winters starting in October and wind chill bringing the temperature down into the negatives isn't complaining too loudly right now--they're just walking quickly to get to where they need to go.
Nico, as it is, is leaving work. It's late, and given what had landed him in the hospital in the first place he probably shouldn't be walking around at night, but either the man is much, much stupider than he seems, or he has an overinflated view of his own mortality. The man is young, and one of those rare creatures scientists have identified as Optimists.
At any rate, he's walking, dress shoes clopping against the pavement, a cigarette in his hand, when the thrum of resonance, powerful and by turns familiar and not at all, tugs at the edges of his awareness and draws his eyes up. He knows better than to walk the city at night with ear buds in place, music cranked up; he doesn't have his cell phone out. Nico wears a knit ski cap to keep the cold off of him, a jacket zipped up.
He's not just better, but healed. Whole. Not sedated or medicated.
When he gets within a few yards of the trio, Nico sticks his thumb and forefinger between his lips and whistles, sharp and short, before waving. He's thinner than he was in October, paler, but that will happen when one is attempting to subsist on fucking hospital food.
[Nico Brady] [HAH! I didn't crush the screen on my intro post! SOMEONE TAKE A SCREEN SHOT!]
[Nico Brady] [Yeah, I'm an idiot. Pretend my post makes sense.]
[Jarod Nightingale] [Awaaareness?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Damn. We are AWARE tonite.]
[Jarod Nightingale] Never while you weren't looking, Ashley said, and Jarod did not doubt for a moment that this was true. If Ashley ever did intend to do him bodily harm, she would probably undertake the task in a completely straightforward way, because that was the kind of person that she was. Jarod... was slightly more devious. He played by a different set of rules than she did - one that was designed to give him the advantage.
He didn't move his leg. One would presume, then, that he didn't mind the contact. (Or perhaps he just hadn't really noticed.) Jacques mention of spaghetti arms and Ashley's potential (or lack thereof) for causing bodily harm through non-magical means elicited a brief huff of amusement, but to his credit, Jarod did not join in. She'd asked him not to be a dick, and he was at least making a marginal attempt at this.
He looked like he might say something, just then... but the piercing sound of a whistle caught his attention, and though Jarod himself did not move (or even appear to tense) his eyes snapped in Nico's direction with the instinctual alertness of a wild animal. (Or perhaps just someone who'd been Awake for awhile, and probably been in life-threatening situations more than once.)
He didn't recognize the man, but there didn't appear to be anything notable about him. Except, of course, for the fact that he, too, was Awake. "Oh look," he commented offhand, "they really are attracted to you like moths."
[Ashley McGowen] [Huh?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Nico Brady] [I wanna roll dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley bears the comment on her spaghetti arms with as much good nature as a person can. This is mostly because, insecure though she might be about some things, she is quite secure in her ability to Will other people down. Jacques came upon her while she was hitting someone whose mind she'd already broken, for the time being - she'd taken down all five of the people who had been scattered about on the ground, in fact. (And she didn't really miss an opportunity to tease James and Alex about it later. They missed; she didn't.)
She takes full advantage of her small (delicate?) stature, contrary to what she'd just said, the thing that might lead people to believe she only attacks when other people are expecting it. And gives Jacques a smirk, her eyes flicking only briefly across Jarod's form toward the consor.
Whatever response she might have made, though, is wiped away by a sound that travels around her deaf side to her good one, muted, and she knows it's Nico by sensing him before she can see him. "I know, right?" she says to Jarod. "I should hire a damn secretary."
Except that, in spite of the dry comment, she is actually quite pleased to see Nico. Moreover, she's quite pleased to see him when he isn't lying in a hospital bed covered in bandages with tubes snaking out of him, telling her that he's scared. She waves him over. "Hey, Nico," she says, once he gets close enough. "You look a lot better."
[Jacques-Marcel] Magnets.
They were like magnets. But Jarod had beat him to the punch, which earned the other man another close look and a slight raise of his brows. This was all too coincidental to his liking, far too similar and close to home. Though they probably come from very different worlds and have a very different view of life, and although they react and act similar enough to unnerve the Consor, he's sure its from another angle.
Instead he removes his hands from his pockets and rises from the chair, with a brief contact of hand on Jarods knee. With a quick glance to Ashley, he asked her quietly, just in case Nico has supersonic hearing; "Does he still have that problem?" Jhor, or whatever it was called. The one he's meant to be helping watch and fix. By the fact he's standing now, it's clear he's about to go over and greet Nico, whom he obviously knows, and likes enough to go out of his own way rather then wait for the other to come to him. The sudden appearance of Nico had subtly brightened the features, lighting the darker colour of his gray-blue eyes.
[Nico Brady] [This is horse shit.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 6, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 7)
[Nico Brady] Plenty of Awakened have noted the incongruity between Nico's resonance and his demeanor. The aura that surrounds him is one of change, of action; there is a pizazz about his Work that doesn't seem to carry over into anything about him, physically. He isn't dressed to draw attention to himself, and besides that sharp whistle neither Ashley nor Jacques have seen him do too much that could be described as 'flashy.' The man isn't comatose or dry, exactly, but he isn't what comes to mind when one is asked to describe the stereotypical gay man.
Until he calls someone "Girl," maybe, or is caught flirting with another man. That tends to do away with whatever lingering suspicions a body carries around.
Because it is actually daytime and the goddamn sun is out anyone looking at him can see that while he's paled significantly since summertime, he isn't sickly or suffering. He's a little wan, perhaps, but Nico looks better than he did even as long ago as last week. Both of his arms are through his sleeves. He isn't wearing a sling to keep his arm immobilized so his collarbone can finish healing.
Before he comes within personal bubble range, Nico gets rid of the cigarette. The smell clings to him like a caul, but the smell of cold buffers it somewhat. He glances between Ashley and Jacques, his chapped lips pulling into a smile.
A beat, and then he seems to say What the hell, stopping just short of actually shrugging, before hugging Jacques. It's not an overly long or embarrassingly intimate hug, but it happens. A second later he looks Ashley over, and he ducks down to hug her as well. It's even less long and less intimate than the one he'd given Jacques.
He looks a lot better.
"I feel better," he says.
There is nothing about Jarod, mythically, that draws his attention. Plenty of other reasons exist for the younger man to look at him, such as the fact that he's clearly an acquaintance of both Ashley and Jacques. That alone ought to be reason for Nico to think to himself that perhaps he isn't just another Sleeper. Nico, however, spent most of the time between pre-Halloween and post-Thanksgiving in a hospital room. His brain is somewhat understimulated.
[Jarod Nightingale] Evidently, both Jacques and Ashley knew the new arrival, so Jarod was content to sit back and let the three of them greet each other. But then Ashley called him Nico, and Jacques asked if Nico still had that problem, and Jarod's attention grew more direct. His sensitivity to the resonances around him was heightened enough tonight that if there was something wrong, he'd likely feel it. And he didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. (Just a whole lot of flashy.) But Emily had said that she was letting someone named Nico stay at her place, once, and since there probably were not a whole lot of magi in the city of Chicago named Nico, then this was probably him.
So Jarod watched closely, but he didn't get up. In fact, he made himself a bit more comfortable on the bench, stretching out gracefully and lifting his arms to rest along the back of it. Like he owned the damn thing. And didn't he just look so thoroughly gorgeous and feline and sure of himself. Nico hugged both Jacques and Ashley, and mentioned that he felt better, so one could surmise that he had previously been sick or injured.
Jarod might have mentioned that he knew about Nico's acquaintance with Emily, but he didn't. He just said, "Hello new boy, nice to meet you."
[Ashley McGowen] Jacques asks her whether Nico still has that problem, and Ashley realizes, belatedly, that while she'd informed Emily that she and Israel had gone to look him over she had mentioned nothing to Jacques. There's really nothing more than a flicker of guilt for the oversight, though, because it isn't going to make much of a difference now (and in Ashley's mind, people are lucky if she spares them a second thought to begin with.)
Other people might shake their heads or otherwise subtly indicate that Nico is all right; Ashley just looks at the consor and says "No, he doesn't. I was wrong." But better to be wrong about something like Jhor, really, than let it go unaddressed.
She doesn't have the awkward reaction that she has when many a person initiates physical contact, when Nico leans down and hugs her. She even returns it. Apparently he's one of the handful who can get away with it without her stiffening up in horror.
"I came to see you before I left for Boston for Thanksgiving," she says, "but you were asleep." A glance toward Jarod, after he calls Nico new boy; they're unacquainted, apparently. "Jarod, this is Nico. Nico, Jarod."
[Jacques-Marcel] The answer comes with a little relief, for many different reasons, and by the time he's turned to Nico fully he's being embraced in a hug that wasn't too long or intimate, but he had taken with a little surprise registering in the quick flick of his brows. His smile is honest, and rare for it, as he hugs Nico back, rubbing his back briefly and reluctantly letting him move to Ashley as he forces himself to step back.
Hands diving into his pockets is a way to keep them still, and the reminder of the lighter in his pocket tempts him to keep them busy by smoking. For now he holds off on it, admiring Nico's state of health. "You still have a few pounds to put back on," he tells the other man, after looking him over. "Maybe I can take you to the restaurant this time." Instead of bringing the food to the hospital.
The way Jarod calls Nico new boy gets him a glance and another look over, taking in the newly adopted pose. His expression quiets and he remains standing now, leaving a seat for the previously gravely ill.
[Nico Brady] Once they separate, Nico returns his hands to the pockets of his jacket. His gloves are fingerless, likely to make manipulating his cigarette easier, but it leaves him vulnerable to the weather. He comes to stand about equidistant between Ashley and Jacques, leaning no closer to one than the other; his attention on Jarod is clinical, almost detached, as though there is something keeping him from greeting him with the full force of his usual friendliness.
Jacques mentions going to the restaurant rather than smuggling in food, and Nico laughs, quiet but nonetheless amused as he watches Jacques.
"I've got both hands back," he says. "Eating will be easier but way less entertaining."
There isn't a lot of defensiveness in Nico, even on his bad days. He isn't quick to try and correct others' misinterpretations of what he's said, or to try and clarify their opinion of him or something he's done. Being called 'new boy' doesn't result in a history lesson. He smiles, and Ashley introduces them, and Nico doesn't move to take the seat that Jacques had vacated. What he does do is step forward and extend a hand to shake.
"Nice to meet you, man," he says. He doesn't say 'You look familiar,' though there's a moment of recollection as to where it is he's seen this guy before Nico steps back again.
[Jarod Nightingale] He nodded at Nico when Ashley introduced them formally, noting the familiarity that the others seemed to have with him, as well as their apparent concern (Jacques in particular.) Nico might very well not be new at all to Chicago, or the rest of their little group, but he was new to Jarod, so the term was fitting, at least for the moment. When the other man stepped forward and held out his hand, Jarod let one of his own arms slide away from its perch so that he could reach out and take the hand being offered to him. His own gloves were soft and leather, and looked expensive (like the rest of his clothes.)
"You too," he said. But he wouldn't get a chance to say anything more interesting, because that was when his previous companion (Nick, Ashley had called him) appeared around the corner carrying two travel-cups of tea. The blond grad student pushed through the gate with his hip and walked over to hand one to Jarod, who finally relinquished his claim on the stone bench and stood up. "Thank you," he said, with a smile that was flirty without any particular intention. In a normal group of people, Nick would have stood out as attractive. He was extremely pretty, but not as much so as his dark-haired companion, or the other blond of the group. In contrast, one might be more likely to call him cute. And unlike Jarod, he was not Awake. (Though Nico wouldn't realize the difference.)
He glanced around the group with casual curiosity, then asked Jarod and Ashley (though, interestingly, he called Ashley Vanessa again) both how they knew each other. Jarod just smirked and said, "How do I know everyone?" (Because that wasn't untrue, and he couldn't very well explain the rest to a Sleeper.) There was a time when Nick might have been upset by this reminder, but that time had passed. Instead he just gave the handsome almost-retired model a bemused look.
"I suppose I have to be on my way," Jarod admitted with playful reluctance. "Have a good afternoon."
And then the two men made their exit, to go do whatever it was they'd been planning on doing before they made the detour.
