[Jarod Nightingale] It was an unseasonably warm day for late December, with the temperature reaching up above the freezing point for the first time in weeks. Outside, deep drifts of snow were beginning to melt, and the run-off joined the light mist of cold rain to sodden Chicago's busy streets. It felt like early spring, but soon enough that wetness would freeze to slick ice and winter would once again reign. In the meantime, this was exactly the kind of weather that made people want to be inside somewhere with a drink, and not surprisingly, this was exactly where Jarod Nightingale had ended up.
It wasn't long after his daughter's bed time that he'd taken leave of his penthouse flat in Wicker Park and driven the short distance to the Hung, Drawn and Quartered. Inevitably, its familiar ambiance reminded him of Ashley - who seemed sometimes to spend more time here than she did at home - but Ashley was on a plane headed for mainland China right now, so he had no expectations of seeing her. The last time Jarod had been here, he'd instigated an argument with a Hermetic friend of Ashley's, but tonight he was in a much more relaxed and languid mood. As always, he'd flirted a little with the waitress when she brought him his drink, but beyond that he seemed content for the moment to lounge in his booth and alternate between gazing pensively out the window at the foggy street and sipping scotch from the glass on the table in front of him.
He was dressed in a pair of dark-tinted jeans and a stylish-looking black sweater layered over a white collared button-down. The sleeves had been rolled loosely to his elbows, leaving bare the elegant, swirling tattoo on his right forearm. Nearby, an expensive black wool coat had been hung on a peg at the end of the booth.
[Nico Brady] This cold, this snow, this weather in general is nothing like what is hitting the plains. Winter is a miserable time of year out there in the flatlands, the forgotten midsection of the North American continent where there are no mountains or lakes to buffer against the blood-chilling Canadian wind or the piles upon piles of snow that fall down from the skies for months at a time. To those who have spent time in the Dakotas, the twenty-inch blizzard that the Big Apple received over the weekend is not worth the near-constant news coverage that has been gracing television screens and newspaper front pages across the country.
Nico can't say as he blames the city for mismanaging its resources and panicking under the onslaught of weather, but the rest of the country has kept moving despite far nastier conditions.
It's the middle of the week, and in Awakened society, that is as good as the calendar reading Friday. For no real reason that he can divine without speaking with one of his colleagues, Nico has made the executive decision not to go back to the Cultist's apartment, not to find someone else's couch to occupy tonight, but straight to the bar after turning in his pager and ensuring that a relatively detailed report has been handed in to the staff at the halfway house. The hour is late, but tomorrow isn't here yet, so the therapist honestly could not care less.
He walks in without fanfare or dramatics, dressed in business casual attire with a red ski jacket and a knit cap with ear flaps protecting him from the cold. His hands are unsheathed, chapped red from exposure to the cold during the walk from his car, and he stands still a moment as though looking for someone.
[Empathy+Perception: I LIKE TO ROLL DICE DON'T HURT ME KAHSEENO.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Nico Brady] [Not Empathy, Awareness. Jesus help me.]
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod was a fairly alert creature, even on lazy evenings and with most of a glass of scotch in his system. When he was alone, he tended to observe the people around him with subtle glances born from a combination of instinct and curiosity. Of course, he was seldom afforded the luxury of anonymous solitude in public places. Whether he was left alone or not, people nearly always noticed him and made note of his presence. For better or worse, he stood out, both naturally and supernaturally. Nico hadn't noticed the latter on their previous interaction, but he'd notice it now. There was an intoxicating and chilling mix of icy sensuality in Jarod's resonance, and everything about him seemed suffused with a feline hue. Not a house cat, mind. Something a bit more feral and predatory.
Nico looked a bit more ordinary at first glance, but his own resonance belied this. It made him seem a little intriguing. Or at least, a reasonable enough excuse to stop being anti-social. When Jarod glanced up from his drink to take note of the new patron, a brief memory clicked into place in his mind, and he lifted his hand to attract the other man's attention. "Hey New-Guy."
Not that Nico was actually new, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was possible that Jarod didn't remember his name, or maybe that he was just teasing him.
[Nico Brady] Nearly a month has passed since he was given the go-ahead to walk out of Mercy Hospital--or, rather, be wheeled, the hospital refusing to allow someone who had spent over five weeks in a bed walk himself from the fourth floor to the main entrance for fear of him falling and suing the administration at a later date--and return to what was left of the life he'd been leading prior to the supposed car crash that landed him there in the first place. Although he and Jarod had only been in each others' presence for a matter of moments, the man was memorable.
Blame it on his ethnicity, or the color of his eyes, or some inherent sensuality that Nico had thought was simply part of his nature at the time. It's more abundantly clear, now, that it isn't simply him but that essence of him, his energy, that identifies him to the rest of the Awakened community. It stops Nico at the door, and after a moment, he identifies the source.
A self-depreciating laugh sneaks out of his sinuses, and he swipes the hat off his head to reveal short, light brown hair. Jarod hadn't known him when his hair was a mess of curls that almost immediately endeared to him all those who made his acquaintance. It made him look young, approachable, harmless. Now he looks older, distant, more like a man of wizened experience than a fresh graduate who doesn't know a damned thing about life or the hardship that comes with it.
Collared shirts conceal the scars he'll have to carry the rest of his life. It's one of the few perks of his profession.
"Hey... Guy-Whose-Name-Starts-With-A-J?" Nico returns, a disarming smile ushering his sentence into being as he shrugs out of his jacket and slips into a seat beside the Verbena.
[Nico Brady] [God damn it... *changes clothes*]
[Jarod Nightingale] Point in fact, Jarod did remember Nico's name. He'd actually remembered it from long before he'd ever met the man. Once upon a time, he hadn't been able to tempt Emily back to his flat for the night because she'd been worried about leaving a man named Nico (who was evidently in bad shape) alone in her home for too long. These were the sort of circumstances that tended to assist in memory-retention, and Nico was a fairly easy name to remember in any case.
He didn't seem put out, though, that Nico did not remember his own name (assuming he wasn't simply playing along with the game, which he might have been.) They'd only met for a few moments, and this was weeks ago now. Jarod himself was difficult to forget, but his name was fairly ordinary. (Apart from the ironic surname.) There was a brief correction, "Jarod." And it was offered with good-natured ease. When Nico slid into the booth across from him, the Disciple shifted position to straighten his back and pull his legs out of the way (they were long, and had been stretched out under the table.) He played absently with the glass between his hands, rolling it slowly so that the amber-tinted liquid at the bottom caught the light and glistened.
"So what brings you out on this lovely evening?"
[Nico Brady] Despite the fact that his resonance seems to indicate an inclination towards attention-grabbing magic, the sort of happenstance, impulsive behavior that has Initiates going to their graves far too early, there is little in Nico's attitude or demeanor that lends the impression that that is how he is. His clothing choices are muted, his tie still in place despite his not being at work any longer, and as he settles into the booth across from Jarod he reaches to his belt and pulls off his ID badge, slipping it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt.
Depending on how sharp his senses, how acute his attention, Jarod might be able to make out his entire name, his title. The man on the picture has longer, more rambunctious hair. His full name is BRADY, NICHOLAS. Whatever he does is designated as CADAC. It vanishes, and then there's a question before him.
What brings him out.
The therapist reaches up to scratch at his neck, the smattering of facial hair under his jaw bristling with the assault of his blunt fingernails, as though he needs to stall before coming up with a viable explanation for what he's doing out at a bar in the middle of the week.
"My current roommate," he says, "is a recovering alcoholic, so I don't have beer in the refrigerator or a polite place to drink it."
[Jarod Nightingale] Nico's excuse for being here was actually a great deal more legitimate than his own. Jarod did not live with an alcoholic. He did live with an eleven-year-old, but his solution to that particular problem had been to simply put a lock on his liquor cabinet. In a few years, when Ilana becomes a teenager, this solution might prove inadequate, but for now it wasn't an issue. In fact, the scotch he had at home was the exact same brand he was drinking now - at double the cost. Such was the price of getting out of the house (or condo, as the case may be) on a drizzly winter evening.
Jarod seemed to consider Nico's response, and he gave a light nod of his head. If he had any opinion about it, he didn't say so, but it had been a partially-rhetorical question in any case. There was only a little of his drink left at the bottom of the glass, and he finished it off now, letting the familiar warmth and woodiness spread down his throat. When he set the glass down, he eyed Nico again. The brief flash of ID-badge hadn't gone unnoticed, and Jarod, ever-curious creature that he was, reached out across the table and dipped into the front pocket of Nico's shirt to pull the badge out and have a look at it. As if this was a completely normal thing for someone to do with a relative stranger.
"You're the guy who was staying with Emily for awhile, right?"
He was looking down at Nico's badge as he asked this, reading the information listed there. After a moment he offered it back, holding the edge between two fingertips as he looked up. "I think I like your hair better short."
[Nico Brady] For being as quiet and inclined to listen as he is, Nico is not the sort of person to leave threads of conversation dangling out of principle, or perceived lack of having anything to which he can respond. An air of amusement settles over him when Jarod reaches forward to pluck his badge from his pocket, curling the corners of his lips and making a light shine in his eyes--a muted gray the color of the sky during the day these days. He seems worn, but not exhausted. It's the look that many of those who work in the mental health field find themselves wearing by the middle of their weeks. It's draining. It's even more so when taking into consideration the necessity of functioning after being released from hospitalization, of having to live with lingering health problems.
That isn't what Nico talks about as soon as he meets people, however. He looks and appears to be, beyond that, well, and while his demeanor is not bubbly or saccharine-happy, he is not simply pleasant. He seems as though this is exactly where he's supposed to be right now, even if that isn't to be interpreted or extrapolated into any greater context.
They know little about each others' reputations, but from the sounds of it, Jarod knows far more about Nico than the opposite. The Orphan chews the inside of his mouth, frowning as though October was too far away to truly comment on.
"A few days, maybe," he says, his air distracted. He doesn't say what he's thinking even if it colors his speech; how many people did Emily tell he was staying at her place?
The badge is passed back, and whether absently or purposefully, their fingers brush as Nico reaches out to retrieve it. A half-smile quirks onto his lips, and as he slides the badge back into his pocket, he says, "Thanks. I look about fifteen with long hair."
[Jarod Nightingale] [Is that anxiety I detect? Per+Empathy! (-1diff for secondary ability, yadda yadda)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Jarod Nightingale] Considering how dangerous their lives could be, and the value of keeping personal information private, it really wasn't unusual for the Awakened to exhibit some reluctance in being open about themselves - especially when dealing with someone they didn't know. The fact that Nico seemed a bit less than pleased to learn that Jarod had been informed of his whereabouts at some point wasn't really unexpected. Jarod himself was almost unbearably inscrutable and cagey at times. Emily was the only one of their group who even knew where he lived. She and Ashley were the only ones who knew that he had a daughter.
Truthfully, he wouldn't have been pleased either, had their positions been reversed. He accepted Nico's response gracefully, choosing not to press the issue or question him further. Another time, perhaps.
Their fingers brushed. His were long. Dexterous, like a piano player (which, in fact, he was.) The skin was soft, and the nails clean and neatly-manicured. They weren't really feminine hands, though. The palms were too broad.
Nico mentioned that he thought he looked like a teenager with long hair, and Jarod laughed gently, one corner of his mouth curling up in an amused smile. "Not quite that young. Anyway, you've seen the kind of men I hang around with." The implication there being that he probably didn't have much of a right to judge someone for not looking their age. Nick, the blond grad student who'd been with him at the park, was 24... but he looked closer to nineteen. He was one of those gay men who was doomed to a life of perpetual boyishness.
Jarod, on the other hand, looked like an adult, but still a few years younger than his actual age. Most people tended to place him around 25-26, rather than 30.
[Nico Brady] "That I have."
Nico is quiet, compared to some of the other Mages who have passed through this city before, but he is not withdrawn or shy. When he laughs, it is more of the impression of a laugh than an outright chuckle, the staining of his voice rather than the expulsion of air. This happens now, when Jarod reminds him of the young man who was with him the first and, up until now, only time they ever met: though it turns out after the fact that the blond nymph was actually a classmate of Ashley's, he appeared considerably young, not even old enough to drink.
Of all the things in his life he has to be grateful for, Nico would have to place looking his age up near the top. With his hair this short, he actually looks older than twenty-three, which is the age that most people would guess the man in that ID photograph to be. He'll be twenty-four next year, assuming he can survive the next three nights. Given how many times he's gotten into trouble just since the summer, he wouldn't exactly bank on it.
New Year's will be spent inside, with sparkling grape juice and nowhere else to be. The last thing he and the Chorister need is to find themselves in a waiting room or the ICU when 2011 arrives.
They move on from whatever it is that Jarod picks up from the younger man, even if it's to something frivolous like physical appearance as it corresponds to perceived age.
"I'm going to go grab a drink... you need another?"
Whether or not Jarod asks for another scotch or for something else entirely, when Nico returns a few moments later it's several dollars lighter, with a pint of dark beer in one hand and whatever Jarod asked for in the other. He slides back into the booth, heedless of where his feet end up, and resumes conversation.
"So you're a, ah, model? I'm guessing?"
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod would have probably laughed if he'd heard Nico refer to Nick as a nymph. Frankly, the designation wasn't all that inaccurate, but Nick himself would have probably been irritated by it, considering how hard he worked sometimes to be taken seriously by a world that mostly wanted to infantilize him.
Nico got up get himself a drink, and when he offered to bring Jarod a second round of whatever he was having, the Verbena considered the offer briefly before saying: "Macallan, 18 year. No ice. Tell them to put it on my tab." (Because asking a stranger who probably made a more moderate income to buy him a glass of $150 whiskey was more than definitely pushing the bounds of courtesy.) When Nico returned with his drink, he took it with a smile of thanks. The expression, however brief and perfunctory, was charming and seductive. One could imagine that he tended to win people over rather easily with that smile.
Nico asked if he was a model, which could have been because he'd seen him somewhere before, or it could have just been a reference to his appearance, which was certainly very model-esque. Jarod took a sip of his scotch, smirked a little, then nodded. "I am. Though I'm attempting to retire. My last job will probably be fashion week in February."
[Jarod Nightingale] [And there was much pauseation]
