[Molly Quincannon] There's a bar on the Mile. It's a nice sort of bar; upmarket but not too stuffy or trendified. Soft lighting, some fairly nice stuff being served from behind the bar ... it's not precisely mellow, as it's a place to go to see and be seen, but it's nice.
The woman seated at the bar might not actually be recognisable at first glance. Well, perhaps because of the laptop bag. She never goes anywhere without that. But without the trademark jeans and geek-T and glasses, it'd be hard to identify the woman in the Chinese-embroidered red satin dress with the thigh-high slit up the side and the dark, dark eyes (contact lenses; hers are naturally hazel behind magnifying lenses) is Molly Quincannon. But the laptop bag and the tattoos - stylised dragon wings visible on the shoulder blades, gearwheels slightly mangled by former wounds on the collarbones, other designs on the arms, heavy Celtic designs on the legs - might be a giveaway for anyone who knows her, who gets close enough.
Molly's pushing her boundaries tonight.
[Jarod Nightingale] [Awareness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod wouldn't have been pushing his boundaries in any way if he showed up at an upscale bar in something sexy and elegant. That was essentially the norm, for him. What someone like Jarod's boundaries actually were... was anyone's guess, really, though they probably involved doing things that most people took as fairly ordinary. (Everyone had their own lifestyle, their own expectations of themselves.)
Tonight, he had indeed ventured out to just this sort of drinking establishment, and in just these sorts of clothes. It was the third time this week, now, that he was repeating this pattern. As had been established last night at the HD&Q with Nico, the urge to escape could become rather pronounced when one was a single parent halfway through Christmas break. Ilana was, by all accounts, a wonderful kid, and far less annoying than most people her age. But she was still a kid, and Jarod was still... Jarod. By the time evening rolled around, he was generally more than eager to go out and remind himself that he was an adult.
He checked his coat inside the door, then gradually progressed to the bar. He wasn't in any particular hurry, and the relaxed gait showed that. And Molly, well... she looked different tonight. He might very well have not even recognized her, had it not been for the fact that he felt her presence halfway across the room. Dark blue eyes scanned the backs of those seated at the bar until they landed on one with dragon-wing tattoos and dark hair. (And yes, there was the telltale laptop bag.) When Jarod reached her, he tilted his head to one side and made a slow, appraising sweep of her with his gaze. "...You really must wear this more often."
(Though the holster on her thigh was slightly suspect, and probably contained a tool of some variety if not a weapon.)
When Molly turned to look at him, he offered her a broad, seductive grin, and slid into the seat next to her. He was wearing a pair of tailored black dress-pants and a deep burgundy satin shirt. The top two buttons were left undone at the neck, leaving bare the hollow between collarbones.
[Molly Quincannon] [[Aware - does she notice him as easy?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Molly Quincannon] She doesn't notice Jarod quite as quickly as he does her (she is Frantic in a room full of mellow, while he is Cold and Sensual and frankly fits into the mood rather better than she does - isn't it so often the way?), but she does register that familiar Resonance at least soon enough for his approach not to be a complete surprise. The compliment? Well, that's something of a surprise, apparently, to judge by the extra flush of colour that comes to her cheeks aside from the tasteful amount courtesy Revlon or MAC (or, more likely, Urban Decay; it's still Molly we're talking about). It could be taken for coy, the little blush, the duck of the head as she tucks dark hair behind an ear, but it's truly not, and it's likely Jarod can tell. It's just ... pleased, slightly flustered embarrassment.
She recovers reasonably, though; after her hair's adequately tucked behind her ear, she meets his eyes, smiles (still a bit bashful, for all the echo of mischief that marks most of her smiles is still there) and says, "I thought so myself, actually. Thought maybe I should break out of the jeans-and-T-shirt rut. Glad to see someone agrees with me." Then she tilts her head a little, the last of the bashful fading out in the wake of grin. "Hi, Jarod. How's things?"
(This close, he can likely see that yes, there's some kind of tool in that holster. He might recognise it if he's a Doctor Who fan. If not ... it's a bit of metal that might be some kind of pen.)
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod was not a Doctor Who fan. It was probable that he'd never seen a single episode of any of the numerous seasons and incarnations, and frankly... fairly likely that he'd never even so much as heard of it, beyond perhaps a brief flash of an ad on tv some evening while he was bored and flipping through channels (though he so rarely even watched tv beyond BBC news and the pre-recorded episodes of a few shows from the premium channels that even this was a stretch.)
Suffice to say, he had no idea what Molly had in the holster, and was probably happy enough to remain oblivious. He noticed the contact lenses (as he was fairly sure that Molly normally had light eyes) but didn't comment on them. People did stranger things than that to play with their appearance. Jarod himself was extremely well versed in the philosophy of appearance-as-costume, being a (soon-to-be-former) model, and a Disciple of Life. If he wanted to, he could look like any person in this room. But it suited him to look like himself, most days. He was lucky enough to have been born with a face and body that most mere mortals would kill for, so of course he took advantage of it.
Molly blushed at the compliment, and Jarod's smile lingered as a result. He was fairly used to these reactions, but that didn't mean he didn't still enjoy them now and then. When she asked him how he was, he considered his response thoughtfully, his eyes sliding across the various bottles of expensive liquor behind the bar. "Things are well. It was a quiet holiday, as I prefer. And I've been taking a break from work for a few days. What about you?" He glanced back to meet her eyes again.
[Molly Quincannon] "All the better for charming company," is the response. It might be flirting. It might be politesse. It might be friendly teasing. It's probably all of the above. "And would be better still if you'd let me get you a drink." Yes, she had noticed his surveying of the bar. "But beyond that," she adds, actually addressing the question in the spirit in which it was meant, "I'm doing pretty well. There's stuff, but there's always stuff. Tonight, stuff is taking a backseat to a little bit of what I'm supposed to be all about. I wasn't kidding when I talked about the rut. You know me and mine aren't built for ruts. If I'd kept that up, they'd take away my membership card. And since I could also do with a drink or three - relaxing from stuff, which I'm trying not to let be a backseat driver, y'know - I decided to kill a few birds with one stone."
Then she leans down, reaches into her laptop bag and pulls out a small box wrapped in grey wrapping paper which has what appears to be small cartoon zombies in Santa hats shambling across it. Some of these zombies hold brains wrapped in festive red ribbon. "At least three birds, looks like. I noticed this hadn't got picked up from under the House tree so I thought I'd take it for an airing, see if I couldn't find a way to get it to you. Happy Holiday-of-Choice."
[Jarod Nightingale] [Subterfuge]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Molly Quincannon] [[Do we Notice Stuff?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] If memory served correctly, Molly had been a little reluctant to flirt at their last meeting. Well, no... not exactly reluctant. Reserved, perhaps. In the way that someone who was unavailable might approach the interaction - with a little bit of playfulness, but no real intention. People advertised themselves this way (with subtle and not-so-subtle cues.) There was an assertiveness (demure blush aside) about her tonight that may have suggested that her situation had changed since then. It fit with the dress, and the desire to push boundaries. Jarod noticed these kinds of things.
When she suggested that he let her buy him a drink, his eyebrows lifted slightly with amused consideration. "You can if you like, though I was going to order Macallan, 18 year. Buy someone a drink like that and you should definitely expect something in return."
Whether Molly decided to follow through with her plan or not, the bartender would be flagged down, and soon enough a glass of the expensive scotch (neat) was set before him, and Jarod breathed in the scent of it before taking a sip. Molly talked about her life in general terms. Evidently, there was a great deal of stuff, in the italicized sense. Jarod listened to this, but didn't really react to it, except to chuckle quietly when she mentioned having her Cultist status revoked.
But then... there was a present. Jarod set his glass down and looked at the small, gift-wrapped box with what may have been muted surprise. Evidently, he did not quite know what to make of the thing that Molly was offering him, though whether this was because they didn't really know each other (and thus, the gesture was unexpected) or because it happened to be decorated with... zombies... (or, more likely, a combination of both) was anyone's guess. After a long moment of hesitation, he reached out to accept the box from her, one corner of his mouth turning up with amusement.
"From the looks of things, I'd say Halloween."
But after a moment he did open it, dexterous fingers gently peeling open taped seams without causing any tears in the wrapping paper. (This wasn't because of some misplaced sense of value, but rather a tendency toward tidiness.) The paper was then re-folded neatly and set aside, and the box opened. He gazed at the cuff-links inside of it with what might have been a consciously neutral expression, picking one of them up to inspect the tiny gears.
"I think I know a guy who would love these," he commented. Then he grinned a bit and set it down, closing the box back up again. "I didn't know they made cuff links with gears in them. Somehow I'm not surprised that you found them, though."
[Molly Quincannon] The look of slightly amused consideration gets a similar look in kind, and she says, "Well, expectations take the fun out of things. I think I'll stand you the Macallan 18 year and see what happens. If there's something in return ... you're an inventive person, I'm sure." Flirting? Friendly teasing? Cultist? Eh, spin the bloody wheel. For herself, it's an apple martini. Evidently she's going for class tonight.
The comment about the wrapping paper might have got bashfulness from most people. But then, that's expectation talking again, and Molly just gives a quiet laugh. "Hey, given whose birthday some people say we're celebrating on the twenty-fifth - historical inaccuracies and the poaching of perfectly good indigenous festivals aside - technically speaking, that could be considered less Halloween than Easter." She lets him consider that (that is a quip she would not make anywhere near Emily or Solomon or even Israel, but she doesn't really reckon Jarod as much of a Christian) and watches as he opens the gift. Curious, she; she wants to see his reaction to what's inside the paper as well as without.
The reaction she gets seems to please her well enough. "Yeah, they turned up on Geek Alert and they seemed classy enough to pass muster. You're not easy to shop for. Probably because I don't know you overly well as yet. But at least now I know you like expensive scotch--" (and thank Kibo it hadn't been bourbon. Had it been bourbon, this whole scenario might not be going so well, but since it wasn't bourbon, we don't need to get into that) "--and are not totally put off by steampunk cufflinks. Who's the guy you think would love them? Out of curiosity, is all."
Then she clears her throat, grins and raises her glass, offering a toast. "Anyway. To quiet holidays, a back-seating of stuff and fortuitous meetings?" Then, after clink and sip, she looks around the place and says, "I've been past this place maybe a hundred times and never been in. I've missed out, I think. You ever been in here before?"
[Jarod Nightingale] Molly's teasing comment about the Christianization of the Yule holiday was probably more appreciated by her current audience than most. It earned back a couple of points that may have been lost with the choice of wrapping paper. (Jarod had a wicked sense of humor, but unfortunately little appreciation for whimsical geekdom.) And she was correct in her assumption that he wasn't much of a Christian - or even remotely Christian, for that matter. He'd grown up around it though, which might have accounted for some of his deep-residing disgust with that particular religion. Anyone who could walk into a Mega-Church in Dallas and not be disgusted had to have something intrinsically wrong with them.
You're not easy to shop for.
"I get that a lot," he offered by way of consolation. Jarod was that infuriatingly difficult combination of wealthy, finicky and enigmatic. Chances were, anything he could want to buy, he already had. And he was less than revealing about himself. Even his own family usually stuck with the old stand-by of giving perishables, such as expensive bottles of wine and imported tea. He and Ashley had had a conversation about this subject only a couple of evenings ago, to both amusing and (later) pleasurable effect. There may or may not have been discussion of diamond-studded sex toys.
When Molly asked who it was that Jarod had thought of when he'd seen the cuff-links, he took a drink of his scotch before going on to explain. "One of my business partners. He's an engineer."
The Cultist offered a toast, and he returned it, tapping his glass against her own lightly. "And to revealing silk dresses," he added playfully. "I have been here before. I think I've been pretty much everywhere worth going in Chicago."
[Molly Quincannon] Molly's smile when Jarod offers consolation is a little wry, as if she's been through this a lot this year. That supposition is borne out when she says, "Well, whether it's the Man Who Has Everything or the Girl Who's Not Used To Having Anything and Thus Never Got Around To Wanting Much, it's been a challenging year. Which is good. If it were easy, it wouldn't be half as fun." She sips at her martini and contains herself to a nod when he talks about his engineer business partner...
Mostly because the blush reasserts itself at the mention of her dress. "Oh yes, those too. I don't wear it often - the fabric, not just the dress. I'll have to fix that, somehow. Points for tactility. You'd probably know a lot more about that than I do, too. At least as far as it concerns the wearer." Funny how she blushes when anything complimentary is said about her, but she'll drop little teases the feel of silk and skin under someone's hands (at least) with just that mischievous little smile and, more importantly, meet his eyes when she says it.
Sometimes, contradictions are fun.
His last comment turns her grin into something that's quite pleasantly wicked. "Really." It's not disbelieving; it's just interested. "Well, we'll just have to add that to the things that make you a good man to know. So tell me, what else am I missing out on?" Then, after a bit of a thoughtful look, she asks, apparently seriously, "Also ... if I made reference to you as a probable libertine, would you be offended or pleased, or both?"
[Jarod Nightingale] Molly spoke about the positives of wearing silk clothing, and something about the way that Jarod's lips curled up into a knowing smile suggested that he not only agreed with her, but was also extremely familiar with the benefits himself. The shirt he had on tonight was an expensive satin, and therefor made of silk fibers rather than nylon or something else hideously unnatural. The dark fabric resembled a pool of wine under the soft light (or maybe dark blood.) It was a luxuriant piece of clothing, and the kind of shirt that someone who liked to feel soft things against his skin would wear. There were assumptions one could draw from that, of course. Jarod... was an extremely tactile person. Molly seemed to have guessed this, and the direction her thoughts traveled down made her blush, but he didn't mimic this when it came time to affirm her suspicions. (One might wonder if it was actually possible to make someone who was so brazenly open about his sexuality blush at all.)
"I would imagine that I probably do."
She asked him what else she was missing out on, and Jarod considered this while he drank his scotch, mulling over the innumerable possibilities. Finally, he smirked a bit and said, "You should try Berlin, if you've never been. It's a Cultist's wet dream. The club, not the city. Though, well... the city too. But that's an entirely more involved sort of outing."
And then, without missing a beat, "Only boring people are ever offended at being called a libertine."
[Molly Quincannon] Jared gives that knowing smile, and that little comment, and Molly is Curious. That's the excuse, anyway, for why, after holding his gaze for a moment, she reaches out and touches the collar of his shirt - gently, so as not to muss. She's got a deft and delicate touch, probably something to do with the time she spends working on delicate pieces of technology. And if there's a light graze of her pinky finger across his collarbone while she does so ... it's brief, light, and could be passed off as an accident if one was that way inclined.
"I'd imagine so too, from the feel of this," she tells him, taking her hand away ... and maybe she's watching, to see what he'll do in the face of that. She's used to people who have so much in the way of boundaries; she hasn't talked to anyone like this in quite some while. That's clear, and it's just as clear that she's enjoying it. It's like stretching after sitting in one place too long.
The bit about Berlin gets a nod. "The city? I know nothiiiiiing. I've been all over the US, but never actually left the country. Or been on an airplane. One helicopter, but no planes. The club ... I've heard of it, got a bit of the FAQ on it, but never actually been. Which sucks, if what you say is true, and I don't doubt that it is." Let's be clear - this is not a declaration of universal trust; that's too deep for what's going on this evening. This is just a compliment - he surely knows all the good places. Particularly given his reaction to the libertine thing, which gets another chuckle. "Hey, the boring people - at least, certain flavours of boring - wouldn't earn the name in the first place, but I guess you're right."
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod could be extremely subtle, when it suited him. And patient, when he needed to be. There were also times when he could be forward to the point of shocking his target or the people around him. Suffice to say, he wasn't particularly phased when Molly reached over and touched the collar of his shirt, or when her fingers brushed his skin, but he did look at her with an expression that suggested he was well aware of the fact that this gesture had not been an innocent one. (But then, given their conversation, that wasn't really difficult to surmise.)
He didn't seem to mind the touch, though. There was no tensing of the muscles along his spine when she reached into his physical space, or flicker of irritation in his expression. Certainly there were times when he didn't welcome a stranger's touch, just as there would be for anyone, but as a rule, he didn't attempt to flirt with those people.
Jarod was most assuredly not Chuck Carmichael. Or Nathan Spriggs, for that matter. There wasn't a hint of boy-next-door about him, or a trace of jittery, nervous energy. In this way, he was also rather unlike Molly herself, whose resonance seemed to him almost glaringly hyper-kinetic. Like an eight year old on pixie sticks and red bulls. She wasn't bouncing off the walls tonight, though. Maybe it was the martini, or the dress, or the ambiance. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was the bit about going outside one's comfort zone.
"I lived in Berlin, once upon a time. For... oh, about a year, I guess." He mentioned this off-handedly, as if it were of little importance. As if everyone spent their lives hopping around the world. "And I suppose, were a person to actually exhibit the qualities of a libertine, then chances are they'd also be the kind of person who would be pleased to take the title."
He took another drink, then set the glass down and pushed it slightly out of the way, so that he could turn to one side and rest the near elbow on the bar, facing Molly fully. "Maybe I can pay you back for the drink by taking you there sometime. The club, that is." A quirk of a smile. (One would imagine that flying her to Germany would require at least the full bottle.) "Or do you have something else in mind?"
She'd already said that she didn't like expectations, but he didn't really mean it that way. This was perhaps more of an inquiry as to the seriousness of her flirtation.
[Molly Quincannon] Jarod's look at Molly's touch ... well, the response is a sort of look that blends innocence, mischief and curiosity. She knows he knows, and the response is, Yes, and? Since he doesn't seem to mind, she follows the look with a smile and a sip of her drink once she's taken her hand away. No, he's not Chuck Carmichael or Nathan Spriggs. But he's interesting. And possibly trouble. Molly doesn't necessarily need to be hyperkinetic tonight; she's got enough to keep her occupied without the usual bouncing-off-the-walls shtick.
The mention of his having lived in Berlin gets a look that's closer to what he's used to from her - it's an avid sort of thing, though still ... well, relatively calm, and she stems the flow of questions somewhat, at least paring it down to, "How many places have you lived in? I can't really figure the accent, which I guess isn't surprising, and it's nice to meet someone who's more of a nomad than I am." She frowns a little and adds, "...Was, maybe. I mean, I own property here and everything. That's new."
The thing about the club, the gauging of the seriousness of her flirtation has her turn to face him fully, as he is her. Likely their knees touch. One thing can be said for her; she's not timid by a long way. The look's considering, but more in that way that's drawing out a potentially pleasant bit of anticipation than an actual second-guessing. What she says, in the end, is "Oh, my mind's a busy place. There's always at least three or four somethings going on in it at any given time. But Berlin sounds like a pretty good start to me. You never know; I might end up having more expensive tastes in drinks than apple martinis that night and then we'd have to ... renegotiate. In your favour, even."
And this, it's quite clear, translates to: Oh, I'm serious. But this is too much fun to wrap up in just one night, don't you think?
[Jarod Nightingale] Had his own interest been stronger (less a matter of curiosity and more of a primal drive) he probably would have reacted to her behavior a little differently. (For that matter, he'd have been behaving differently throughout the evening.) But he tended to respond in kind to the particular shifts in tone that he received from other people. Molly wasn't shy, by any means, but she also wasn't making a strong claim on his attention.
She did, however, seem fond of asking a lot of questions. Which inevitably resulted, when dealing with Jarod, in something akin to an enigmatic smile and a lack of forthright details. Not surprisingly, this was pretty much exactly how he responded now. There was the smile, and a light chuckle as she attempted to wrap her head around the idea of spatial permanence. "A few," he said, in response to her first question. He didn't attempt to explain why his accent was so hard to pin down - why his voice didn't seem to hold claim to any particular territory, except in very small hints and flashes, but those inflections were often mixed and unclear. Like Emily, he was from everywhere. And nowhere.
He finished off his drink, then slid down from his chair. "I don't think you'd want to know what that kind of renegotiation might result in." He reached back and grabbed the box with the cuff-links in them, then regarded Molly again. Fingers touched the skin at her wrist, tracing their way up the outside of her arm, to her shoulder. There was a dip down along the line of a collarbone, and the edge of his thumb brushed against her chest before he lifted his hand away. And then, a smile. "Or maybe you do. In either case, to be continued."
And then he turned away from the bar and walked back to retrieve his coat, before making his way out into the balmy winter night.
