View source for Log:Too Old For This Shit

{{ Log
| cast = [[Sterling]], [[Edmond Basumatary|Edmond]]
| summary = Philosophy, tea, history, psychology, and religion.
| gamedate = 2017.11.03
| gamedatename = 3 November 2017
| subtitle = "Ever had the feeling someone is really bad at pretending they don't loathe you?"
| location = [[Crossroads Cafe]]
| categories = Changeling
| log = 

;Directly follows [[Log:Blood_On_The_Leaves:_Anne's_Body]]



;GAME-- You spend 1 Glamour for Woodblood Kith Blessing
;Edmond rolled Dexterity + Stealth.Hilarious_Hiding + Wyrd for 4 Successes 
:<OOC> Edmond says, "ask me if i'm a tree"
:<OOC> Sterling says, "That elaborately painted mannequin totally isn't Edmond."
:<OOC> Edmond literally lying in the grass on the lawn outside with a single leaf on his face



"Ever had the feeling someone is really bad at pretending they don't loathe you?" comes a voice from the lawn beside Sterling, and then Edmond's propping himself up on his elbows, watching Vorpal vanish.



Sterling actually -jumps-, briefly, but then she resettles herself and briefly frowns at Edmond - it's a scathing look, but short-lived. She turns to look after the razor-y fellow again, thoughtfully, and then says, "I have the feeling he does not actually much like anyone. Very likely he is too far beyond simple human connections to truly care, one way or another." 


 
Edmond appears unphased -- in the shiteating grin way -- by the scathing look, and just pushes himself up further to sit crosslegged on the grass. Finally, he looks serious. "Then more blessings be on him for continuing to make the effort anyway. Sorry for leaving. He wished me to be somber, and that, alas, is something I daren't do; also, a clean fight is one thing, but I'm not ashamed to admit that the casual discussion of methods of torture was a bit much for me."



Sterling's lips pull down at the corners, and she says, "I'm accustomed to it in a... professional capacity. Sometimes it is best to know what was done, before the psyche can be used to heal the body." She lets out a slow, extended breath and then says, "I will not be participating in any such thing, unless I absolutely must." Her features soften then, and she looks over again, wondering, "Are you alright?" 


 
Picking himself up off the grass and dusting himself off, Edmond flashes Sterling a brief smile. "As all right as usual. We're all twitchy about some things, aren't we? I'm not accustomed to being disliked by someone who's not an enemy, but my ego is solid enough that I'll recover. Yourself? --and would you like to walk a bit? I'm in the market for tea, and expect I'll be heading toward it."



"I do believe that situation... struck him. In the sense he is genuinely, thoroughly upset about the implications and what happened to that girl," says Sterling, but she nods to the commentary about a walk and tea. One hand, coruscating with lightning beneath the misty skin, is given a wave for Edmond to lead the way. "He did explain it, and seems thoroughly angry - it is possible his nature is... screaming for action." She purses her lips. 



:<+travel> You travel to grid coordinate MT04.


 
As they walk, Edmond casually just sticks his wooden hands in his pockets and moves with a lazy grace, long-legged but slow to make sure Sterling doesn't have to trot to keep up. "It's entirely likely. It's just-- I have far more trouble actually understanding what's going on in people's heads than I did when I was a child. I've had to study a lot to compensate for the loss, and all I'm left with is patterns from observation. And when reacting with suspicion, friendliness, enthusiasm, irritation, camaraderie, and silence literally all net the same 'it is costing me psychological effort to tolerate your presence' result, I find myself at a loss. If, however, it's as you say-- and he both has issues with attention span and meaningful individual connections-- that ''does'' remove some of the onus from me to make up for my perceived failure."



"Standing next to Vorpal..." begins to say Sterling, and then she realizes they are outside. She slips into silence, rethinking her course of action, and then offers up, "He is not what he was. He likely never will be again, without much effort," there, that is more suitable for public streets, even though at night they are less busy. "Neither will I. Neither will you." One of her hands, laced with white lightning, lifts and she gives an idle wave of her hand. "I wouldn't take it personally, but perhaps avoid him if he truly feels so strongly and it makes you uncomfortable. Save for my... occupation I likely wouldn't be able to understand much. I still have problems with it." 


 
The overly pretty elemental makes a contemplative sound, silent for a moment as they continue on, mulling over Sterling's words. Eventually he says quietly, "As long we we try, as long as we don't give in, there's part of each of us that will always be informed by who and what we were. Depending on how hard we hang on to it, it may be more, it may be less, but either way it's ''there''." Several paces more, and he tips his head back and to the side, looking at Sterling sideways for a moment before smiling briefly again. "He did say, as I was leaving, that I could seek him out again-- and perhaps I will, once the current business is sorted. I like ''him'', after all -- or I suspect my annoying him wouldn't bother me nearly so much."



"Quite possibly not. I fear I can't agree with your optimism, regarding that things will... never truly overcome us. I think, at this point, I have seen too much to confirm otherwise," Sterling's breath mists a little in the chill air of autumn, showing she is still alive - in spite of her appearance as a walking x-ray. "I know that... I will eventually find my end. In one form or another. Whether I simply... fade away, or become much like the monsters I wish to hunt." 


 
"Or," says Edmond sidelong, entirely too amused, "you could die gloriously and spite the monsters. I'd be happy to die as long as I took one of Them with me-- and if I find I am become too much of a kind with them, then that is the route I shall endeavour to take. But! My optimism, as you call it, is not so much that as..." He trails off, thinking of how to put it. "It's only if we keep trying and don't give in, you see? I agree that we are all eventually forever lost, should we let ourselves slip. If we don't, if we can retain that part of ourselves that makes us worthwhile, then at least I have faith that we'll be given another chance, in another turn of the wheel. And maybe next time..." He shakes his head and smiles, looking down. "But that's getting into belief, which is obviously not shared."



"Here we have the beauty of religion, when it is not being used to blugeon others over the head for their own choices in life," Sterling comments in the wake of Edmond's explanation, her brows arching... presumably. It's more like her face readjusting, luminous eyes growing wider when she does so. Mist moves around, coalescing more thickly over some of the glow. "...It is what I intend to do. Either... fade away in my efforts to aid others; or die in battle with one of them. In part of why I am here. There is much... disease here to be cut out. Even if this is not the heart of things." She curls her fingers over, cracking her knuckles. 

 

There's another slight smile; they're coming up the road, finally, to where businesses dot it here and there. "Anything can be used as an excuse to oppress others," is all he says about religion when it's not beautiful. But then he glances at Sterling again, one of his own eyebrows arching, which makes him look rather like a starry blue Spock with the pointed ears added in. "Does aiding others take from your substance?"



"It is... more the method in how it's done. As I am able to twist dreams to aid the subconscious to heal, so too do I become more of dreams myself. As I become more of a dream, I am less... here," Sterling lifts a hand so that Edmond can see it more easily, should he wish. There's the pulse of lightning through her hand, but it can also be seen through - hazily, as if she really were made of mist. She certainly looks it. On closer examination, he might also notice she has scars along her palm (maybe? They could be something else), and around her fingertips, as well as down her forearms. 

 

"Hm," is all the noise Edmond makes for that, for the moment, at what she says and what she shows him. "Is there a way to stabilize yourself, to ground yourself more? Or would it cost you what you've earned in ability to do so?" And they're coming up on the Crossroads Cafe, and he looks up the street and squints. "Also, do you know if there's a safer place to talk in there? I've only been in town about a week."



"I could reject the mantle the Wyrd has given me, and remove myself from this path," answers Sterling, shaking her head slightly. She doesn't sound terribly concerned with it, in the end. Her luminous eyes turn towards the cafe, and she says, "I have been here perhaps as long. Maybe a little longer. I'm afraid that I don't know." 


 
There's nothing he can say to her summary of her state of being, so Edmond lets it go-- there are so many things he has to let go, but at least this one is a choice on Sterling's part. Instead, he shrugs expansively, wooden hands taken from his pockets to spread all the way out to his sides. "We'll find out!" he declares, his usual cheer back in force. "And at the very least, any place that calls itself a cafe must ''also'', certainly, offer tea. Shall we?"

He offers his arm with a conspiratorially mischievous grin.



"I believe I did agree to tea," states Sterling, in her British accent, reaching out to take hold of Edmond's arm. She, at present, at least seems to be tangible - giving like a human would instead of like the mist she seems to be. Her posture is straight, graceful. "So I'm willing to step forward towards this adventure with you." 



;Crossroads Cafe - Restaurant
:From the outside, the Crossroads Cafe is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of place. A long white brick building, with green-and-white striped awnings and a simple black-letter free-standing sign reading CROSSROADS, this diner could almost be mistaken for a low-rent church by the unobservant; a distinctly modest-looking place whose only appeal is big windows. 
:The same cannot be said for what's inside. Push past the glass door and the the tiny entry, and along one wall near the hostess station one sees some of the amusements and occupations for Crossroads patrons: crayons and paper for the kids, puzzles and board games in a stack available for the eaters, and multiple copies of the daily paper. They're the first choice to make before one takes a seat and finds the extensive menu, rivaled only by the revolving dessert case nearby to tempt those leaving.
:The squishy green vinyl booths along the big windows seat six, and are lucky enough to have tiny jukeboxes sitting on the tables. The tables are a series of two-toppers with sturdy metal chairs and benches that can be rearranged for different seating. Ceiling fans rotate lazily and their lights are warm; the floors are battered hardwood. The kitchen area is mostly obscured behind a low wall, but a large cutaway window near the back of the diner is where the waitstaff can communicate with the hardworking cooks. There's a green-painted door near that rear kitchen area that leads to some sort of back room.


 
Edmond's laughing as he walks with Sterling on his arm, delighted in several ways simultaneously; he, of course, holds the door to the cafe open for her as they enter. "Adventures in tea procurement." A glance around the room does, in fact, reveal the telltale green-painted door at the back, and he leans down slightly to observe, sotto voce, "I've only made the mistake once of blithely going into an green-painted door marked 'private' in a restaurant. Terribly unfortunately, it turned out to be the manager's office and she was engaged in salacious activities. On the one hand, it ought to've been locked. On the other hand, I ought to've knocked." He straightens up and looks at the menu, and it says 'tea'. The corners of his mouth turn down. "It's probably Lipton's," he says with a sigh. "But it'll do."



Sterling remains in her position at Edmond's side, arm curled around his with her hand flattened out on the bicep. There's a constant pulse of electricity, running along the back of her hands but focused around the palm. "She also should not have been doing so at work," the woman deadpans, looking upon the menu as well and presumably visually raking over it. "There are worse than Lipton. Sadly... but yes that will do, I believe." 



"Quite so," replies Edmond, trying not to laugh. He doesn't seem bothered by the buzz of Sterling's electricity against his arm, but -- he ''is'' an Earthbones, first and foremost. With his free hand, he fishes in his pocket and takes out his wallet, then walks up to the counter with Sterling. After their orders are taken, he enquires after the private dining room in the back, and the employee laughs and waves them back, putting their very American-style teabag-in-hot-water cups on the counter to take with them.



;Crossroads Cafe - Back Room
:The Crossroads back room is painted red and hung with twinkling lights, compensating for fewer hanging bulbs overhead than the cafe proper. That front room has windows, but this private area is enclosed and much quieter, with one long buffet bar against the wood-paneled wall nearest the kitchens, the better to offer more buffet-style or catering service as need be.
:There are fewer tables here, all of them round rather than square; and while their bench seats are similar to those in the main room, their individual seats are a little more plush. Only one wall is not bare; it has framed photographs of local historical interest and bookcases covering that side opposite the kitchen, floor-to-ceiling.

 
 
Once they're in the back, Ed's put his tea down, and is only momentarily distracted from pulling out a chair for Sterling with reflexive ease-- "I love it back here," he says in a tone of vast appreciation. "I love red. And the lights. I think this may be my favourite room in the entire town."



"I have often heard that red encourages the feeling of hunger," it's casually noted by Sterling, who is busy warming her hands on the mug of tea she carries, shadow and light fingers curled around it. When Edmond pulls out a chair for her, she looks surprised, but places the mug down before settling herself in the chair. "Thank you," it's said pleasantly enough, as she looks up at the twinkling lights as well as the books. Studiously, she examines the entire room, for the moment not paying terribly much attention to Edmond. 
 
But then, it's suddenly back to him, bright eyes focused there. "What of you?" she wonders, taking up a spoon to stir the tea a little more and press some of it from the tea bag. "What brings you to Fort Brunsett? You don't seem like a warrior." 


 
"It might do," Edmond returns absently, eyes still on the walls and the lights. "It also just feels like home." At her thanks, Edmond startles and realizes, again, that it's not generally done anymore. He gets a wry look, then sits down himself. "Thank you for not telling me off, actually," he says with a laugh as his wooden hands curl around his own mug. "I forget, sometimes."

He smiles into his tea as he just breathes in the vapour for a moment, after she asks her question, but it's both still too hot and still too weak to drink, so he sets it down. "It's literally just where I stumbled out of the hedge most recently. I got a bit turned around on my way to Canada, then heard about the freehold at Tamarack Falls at a goblin market. As to whether or not I'm a warrior--" He shrugs. "I'm a protector, a defender. I'm fast and efficient and deadly when I have to be, though I would rather talk an opponent out of a fight than end an encounter in blood. If talking's not an option, well-- it happens. Primarily, I hire out to do either research or very dangerous things. Bit of an adrenaline junkie."



"Why would I?" Sterling sounds genuinely baffled at the notion of telling Edmond off for such a thing, continuing to sit with the mug between her own hands. She presumably studies him, across the table, as she's wont to do with everything. "Ah, I see. Finding your fix while making yourself useful." She nods, lifting the spoon to fish out the teabag and put it down nearby. Afterwards, she tentatively takes a sip of the tea, throat growing faintly more luminous at the heat. 
 
"It -is- interesting," she agrees, when the mug is lowered once more. "This place. It is, in some ways, different than so many of the other Freeholds I have been to. A place where those who are entrenched, immerse in the Wyrd seem to walk freely or at least gravitate here. Where there is dream poison, Gentry activity..." 
 
Sterling pauses, pursing her lips, and then notes, "I believe you did well; but if you wished to return to Canada it is not far." 



There's a brief shrug. "Apparently while I was gone, many things I would consider courtesy have been rebranded as insulting," is all the night sky says in response to Sterling's bafflement. "I've only been back for four years, and I held on to what I knew for a very long time. Lifelong habits take time to break."

But then they're talking about the freehold. "This place is ''fascinating''," agrees Edmond even more emphatically, dunking his tea bag a few more times to encourage more of the tea to actually come out of it into the waterrrr arrrghhh. "I know Vorpal offered to show me to where to join the freehold, but--" He shakes his head. "I refuse to owe fealty to anyone. I'll help as much as I'm allowed, and if I see corruption I'll call it out, but from what I've seen thus far they don't ''seem'' to have a problem in that respect. I just-- I just can't be someone's vassal. I won't. Fortunately, this place also doesn't seem to mind terribly much if you ''don't''. They don't run people out of town."

At last, there's a quick grin. "I've just never been to Canada, that's why I was headed there."



"I intend to offer my assistance; but I haven't managed to properly speak to a Waykeeper yet. I may pledge for the season, but I have never pledged for more than two at any Freehold," explains Sterling, regarding her whole take on that 'fealty' thing. It's accompanied with a tone of indifference, and punctuated by another sip of tea brought up to her lips. "Oh, they don't? Lovely to hear. I do like to remain flexible, but I have heard the neighboring Freehold is not quite as... open as this one." 
 
A grin, perhaps a touch of a smirk, curves at her features and she says, "As to things changing? Yes, quite... they are very different from when I grew up. I wouldn't say they are -bad-, necessarily, but times have certainly changed... I wonder how much due to the civil rights time period. Still, older manners are nice to see now and again." 



For a second, as Edmond finally ventures a sip of his tea, he almost looks diffident. Almost. Very close. "It's not asking a lady her age if I ask when you were Taken, is it?"



"Sometime in the seventies, I believe. I have difficulty remembering when it was, the time has... flowed strangely," admits Sterling, her voice growing more quiet with that admission. Idly, she walks her fingers over the sides of the mug of tea she holds, tracing one around the top of the rim. "I was born in the late forties, if you are wondering. My exact age hardly has meaning now." 



There's a quick tilt of his head, and the rest of Edmond's reaction is a small, strangely affectionate smile. "I missed the forties. I think I'm both happy and glad of it-- but you were born around when my nation stopped existing as I'd known it. It's part of Kerala now, which in turn is only a small part of India... but you were born, so there's some good there." He drinks more of his tea, now, and finally takes the bag out: apparently he likes it strong af. "If ''you'' are wondering, I was born in nineteen aught-two, and taken the year the Great War began. I knew the passage of time. I thought I might age to dust upon stepping into reality once more, but you're quite right: age means very little. Context is nearly everything. I hope to find one that fits me."



Ever watchful, Sterling listens, sipping her tea in the meanwhile when it's Edmond's turn to speak and hers to lend him ears. "That may make both of us 'too old for this shit'," after that comment, she smiles. An actual smile, rather than the constant grin of the illuminated skull within her face. "I am sorry to hear about your country," she says more seriously, sincerely, even if her words are often verging on 'slightly flat'. "Being what you are, context will find you if you don't find it. As it has me." Several of the stars in the nebular storm that is her hair seem to shift around, and one tendril draws across her face. 



And proving Edmond's earlier words -- part of who he was is still part of who he is (in other words, in some ways, a twelve-year-old boy) -- his eyes widen at 'too old for this shit' and he practically bounces in his seat, waving a hand around. "Bruce Willis!!" he exclaims, then starts laughing. "Yes. Very yes." He shakes his head, then, smiling. "It's all right: the time for active monarchies is long past, and the people who were my family-- they prospered. My last surviving cousin who was alive when I was around died only in 1991, and still lived at our ancient home; the end of the Kingdom was not the end of the world." He actually finishes his tea, there, though it's still a bit too hot for comfort, and the grimace is an enlivening one. He shakes his head quickly, sucking in a deep breath of comparative chill as he gets up. "Haah."

Then his hands come up, palms together, and his crinkle-eyed smile is a true one, comfortable in the face of Sterling's strangeness. He brings his hands closer to his chest and bows his head very slightly over them, twinkling eyes regarding her through his starry hair. "Namaste, Doctor Sterling. I do need to go, but I am increasingly glad to have met you. I'm sure I'll see you very soon."



"I'm certainly glad you have not held my initial comment against me. Your company is... very welcome, Sunset Colada," Sterling says, a tease in that nickname for him, but the somewhat otherworldly, ghoulish smile remains on what passes for her facial features when she says it. The mug is lifted in toast to the man, and she states, "May your steps ever be firm beneath your feet. Do walk safely - and stay in touch. I would be delighted to do this again." 

}}