View source for Log:Barbarians at the Gate

{{ Log
| cast = [[Amber Watson|Amber]], [[Dorian Crystal|Dorian]]
| summary = A quest to catch 'em all leads to interesting conversation, and hopefully drinks sometime in the near future.
| gamedate = 2017.05.06
| gamedatename = 
| subtitle = 
| location = [[FB09|Frog Haven Pond]]
| categories = Changeling, Spring
| log = Amber looks entirely out of place among families out to enjoy the small pond; if corporate secrets were handed off to someone in passing in a nearby dead drop, it wouldn't be entirely out of character. But she shows no signs at all of feeling anything but at home in her tailored slacks and vest, one leg neatly crossed over the other as if to show off the impressive heels. Parched on one of the benches, she's brought a newspaper with her, about half of it folded up on the seat next to her -- the 'done' pile, perhaps. She's only casually reading, spending just as much time people-watching from the look of things, even as the thick bed of green moss spreads around her like a living carpet.

Pokemon GO. It was huge when it came out last year, and now it's still a thing, but not so many are obsessives as that first burst of a weekend. It's one thing that makes Dorian stand out as he walks around the frog pond park; one, he's unaccompanied, and two, that may be because he's chanting: "Bulbasaur, stay in the ball. Stay in the ball. Don't run. Don't you run, you little -- " as he walks, pointing his finger at the animation on his phone. It's one thing that makes him seem younger than his years, though he's got a fresh-faced way about him in general. His T-shirt reads SURELY NOT EVERYBODY WAS KUNG FU FIGHTING and his corduroys are slouchy for the nice weekend...and there are just hints of dark circles around his mirrored eyes. Those and dancing motes of light give him away as unusual, as someone out of the ordinary in a most specific way.

It's hard to say whether it's the overheard murmuring, or the dancing lights that attract her attention first. Amber arches a brow over an eye that appears to be actually smoldering, as if the flames dancing in place of hair on head weren't enough of a sign. Lips purse as she tries to fight a smile, but she doesn't win that battle for long; rather, she waits until the mote-lit fellow wanders by again and then deliberately folds the section of paper she was reading as she asks lightly, "Do they actually sneak away if you don't catch them in some sort of time limit? If so...forgive me, I'd hate to foil the hunt."

"Sneak..." Dorian's head snaps up and, truth be told, he looks like a doof with his mouth hanging open as he spots Amber and tries to downshift into a reply from his gotta-catch-'em-all singular pursuit. "Ah...Oh. Well, they despawn," he explains. "A certain catch is only in the area so long once it appears. Plus, they do run. Not so much sneak. If you don't catch them on the first go, it gets more challenging, I seem to remember. It's an event this weekend. The Bloom. Just like spring here. An excuse to get outside." He grins. "Pardon my saying so, but...Did anyone remind you it's the weekend? You're making me feel underdressed." He plucks at his funny t-shirt and stares down at his battered Converse sneakers.

Amber laughs warmly at that, and rolls her shoulders easily even as she deliberately lets her eyes wander over his attire. "I think /someone/ mentioned that," she admits. "But sadly, most of my casual wardrobe is still...well, not with me. I figured this was better than coming out to the park in a cocktail dress, at least." She looks down at herself, then shrugs again as she looks back up. "Or less than that, but I think they still frown on that as not being particularly family-friendly. I know it's 'when in Rome', but sometimes you just have to embrace being one of the barbarian invaders, or at least looking like one."

"That depends on the cocktail dress. Or the barbarian invader," Dorian quips right back, and without invitation, approaches Amber with hand extended, sitting to the other side of the paper pile on the bench. "Dorian Crystal. It strikes me we might have some things in common, even if you're classing up the joint so much I can hardly stand it." Like the Spring mantle; his feels at the moment strangely like the sound of spring-peeper frogs, matching the park altogether too well.

Amber chuckles. "Can't argue with that. I've seen some terrible dresses in my time." No complaints as he settles on the bench; in fact, she moves the newspapers over to the other side. "Amber Watson, and...yes. Please, don't worry about who's classing up anything -- this?" She waves a hand absently down at her attire. "Costume, just like anything else. Put on the right costume, you can get the right people to give you anything you want -- and usually think that they want it themselves." She studies him curiously then, half-turning on the bench. "I get the feeling you've been around here longer than I have, if nothing else."

"Oh. I like you already," says the Mirrorskin, who then cracks a smile like a tiny shift in the glass. "Though you're making a point to speak my language to cater to me, talking about costume and approach that way." He has an easy, funny air, as breezy as he is. "And if you get that feeling? You have absolutely been conned," he says. "But I feel pleased that my bullshit is working a little. I actually haven't been in town long at all. Not even long enough to get official with...well, certain things we have in common and their working community associations, if you follow me. I've met very few people at all."

Amber grins broadly, eyes twinkling, and absolutely shameless about being 'caught' catering her approach the conversation to match the little signs. "I've managed a few...group outings, all very brief. A soiree here and there, and I managed to sign my name on the dotted line, so to speak. But most of my attention has honestly been turned toward getting the more mundane stuff settled. New house, new offices, that kind of thing. Being ignored by those supposedly meant to reach out, which...definitely says /something/ about vacuums taht could be filled around here, you know?"

"I'm not even signed up yet. I'm not new-new," Dorian says. "I've already been asked that by...Did you meet an "Oberon"? He acted as representative, and it was like being visited for Amway or Jehovah's Witnesses. That kid is trouble." He doesn't elaborate, but this seems pointed. "Gave me a little pause before joining up, honestly. I've met him and not very many others. No parties yet. No fun." Because he puts on the self-pitying tone, it's clear he's not feeling sad about it after all, so exaggerated. "I ''wasn't'' ignored, but I kind of wish I was. Feels like a problem to be solved, I agree." He rolls a shoulder. "I'm cautious by nature, despite having just...you know. Plopped myself down here and started to tell you my life story."

Amber grimaces. "I met him out of context, but...that description is unmistakably him, yes. If it helps, most of the rest of those I've met don't set off my bells and whistles /anywhere/ like he does. But I can't fault you for the hesitation." She then half-smiles, and shrugs. "Sometimes, people just have one of those faces. Or that sort of cleavage, I've noticed." The smile turns up even more, even as she casually reaches down and adjusts the lay of her tie. "It's a little strange for me, honestly. I grew up here, originally. Whole other perspective, like I'm an outsider who has some really good intel."

"Do you notice how we're dancing around a few things, you and I? In public. Well, this Oberon did ''not'' dance. He...didn't quite streak the room with his balls out, but it is the best analogy my brain lands on right now. It made me wonder if ''that'' is a representative way of going about things." Dorian leans back, and observes, "Your cleavage ''is'' magnificent. You dress like you're aware that it's more obvious in menswear, actually. Kudos." It's ''exactly'' this sort of remark that makes it hard to tell if Dorian is gay or straight or what. That could really go either way, that ogle and fashion recommendation combination. "But more than that, you've just made the case that I should pick your brain for real intel," he says. "I'm not local. Actually, I'm still floundering to find my feet. Though...you look just a trifle...familiar. I can't put my finger on it yet, but I wonder if you are. Sometime, some way."

Amber just stares at him for a while, then covers her face with her hands and sighs. "I saw him in private," she murmurs. "So I didn't know it was as bad as /that." She tears her hands away and looks up with a grimace. "If it is, then...we've got bigger problems than I thought." She then looks up curiously, flashing an uneven smile at the compliment. She starts to say something more, then stops as the conversation shifts. She pauses visibly, then purses her lips slowly as she gives him a closer look. "I was just thinking much the same thing. Not a local, but..." A beat, and another cant of her head. "What do you remember of...the other side? I imagine it's not much, if this is still pretty new, but...anything?"

"You know that town gossip column? It might also be about others, but I'd bet he's one who's been overheard. Hot button words. Not certain, but if I had to make a bet -- that'd be my bet." Dorian really gives pause before answering the more difficult question. His eyes drop down. "Not a lot of specifics, but I could paint you a general picture of some elements. Do you -- I think --" Here he stammers. "Think of it like a great big tower," he says. "If you work on,say, the sixth floor, you might not get to know everyone on different floors, but you still see some things as you ride the elevator in the morning. And every so often, someone's got to go upstairs or downstairs to handle a...thing. Or some people." It's very nearly a shy admission, there, as couched as it is in figurative language.

Amber blinks very slowly as she listens, confusion evident in her expression until suddenly...no. Like that, that metaphor snaps into the proper angle for her, and there's a widening of her eyes. "And every floor, definitely different than the one above and below it -- as if the landlord was trying to make a point about something to the visitors, if only they rode the lift the whole way?"

"Ah, so you've been there," Dorian says, and his manner changes just a little bit. "Very much like that. Even if we never landed on the same floor's house parties...well. You didn't...necessarily miss much where I was. And most of my time was spent as a...homebody, you might say. In one place. Lots of visitors, though." This is wry. "I prefer it here," he says, summing up much in just four words.

Amber studies him intently for a long time, then nods very slowly. "Every floor needed...dedicated staff, after all. I know that feeling /all/ too well." She purses her lips, then nods once. "It's been....years. And useful as the tricks I picked up may have been....fuck ever going back." She sighs then, sinking back slightly against the rear of the bench, stretching one arm out along the back. "Not a whole lot of time spent in the employee lounge either, as I recall it, but...maybe enough. Clocking in time, as it were."

"Any given person's employee lounge there was somebody else's nose to the grindstone," Dorian observes. "So there may have been overlap, just not much. Makes life pretty lonely. That's the other good part about being out. Even with metaphorical Amway streakers, it's still...nice and free to operate on my own time. You've been back for awhile, I take it, then. I...well, not so much. Not new-new, but not out long enough to really establish my life all over again down to the fine details." He looks away as if kicking himself. "Man, I'm talking too much. I hoped not to do that when I first met someone from back there."

Amber nods. "Enough time to get my head back together, leave town, make a new name for myself...and then find myself back here, for some gods-forsaken reason." She grins wryly at that, and shrugs. "Life is funny that way, I've found. And hey...think of it this way: sure, we've all been through shit. But if anyone is going to understand your particular fucked-up-ness, it'll be someone who....worked for the same asshole, right?" She purses her lips, then turns more fully to face him, sitting sideways now. "Just how long has it been, since you took your walking papers?"

He waggles a hand. "Two years. Ish. Somewhat less," Dorian confesses. "Long enough that I'm gainfully employed and I have a name -- those mortal going concerns you first mentioned. Not long enough to have truly ''settled''. No long term ties of any kind yet, unless you count...well. A fondness for a Spring like this one." Now that might be flirty. As well as confessing to a Court at the same time. Someone's been trained to be a charming talker, now and again.

Amber aahs softly, and nods. "Good. Definitely better than it could have been, and...the way you were selling it, longer than I thought by a good factor. Settling is...tough," she admits. "Though it does get better. But that's what we all say, isn't it?" She smiles quickly, and even laughs at the talk of the season with all its implications. "Even knowing that much about you...and not falling for Winter's urge to just keep your head down in the sand? I count that as progress, myself."

"I thought about that." Dorian goes pensive. "I did come back...sad, I guess. There was some heartbreak to deal with. I just...I realized that sinking into it would be bad for me. It would push me back there. It wouldn't get me free of all the things I needed to get free of. I had to move forward to new places and things and...people." A twist there, covered with a smile. "It gets easier all the time, even if I have...real challenges. But it's reassuring to see an example of someone who's making it out of the same difficulty. You are a reassurance, I think I'd say."

Amber nods slowly. "I can't blame anyone for starting there," Amber agrees. "No matter the details, there's always /something/ lost." She looks briefly away herself, and sighs gently before she shakes it off and turns back. Does she notice the twist? If so, she doesn't comment on it; instead, she gives him a quick smile as she bows her head deeply. "I don't know that everyone would consider me a fitting role model, but reassurance...I'll take it." She winks as she straightens, then sucks on her lower lip thoughtfully before she asks, "You said the mundane was at least a little settled. Have a job, id, all that kind of thing already?"


He gives a funny little laugh. "More than covered," he says, and the humor of the way he says it might suggest...something underneath. "I work out at one of the local motels. Night clerk," he adds. "It doesn't pay a lot, but it suits me in a number of ways, schedule not the least of which. Plus, the gossip is good. Better than Enid Schmidt. She should really get me on retainer if she wants to know the good stuff," he jokes.

Amber definitely doesn't miss the curious tone of the statement, but she just nods in the end, and flashes a wry smile. "Well, then I'll just leave it as -- if you decide you're looking, or need to find something else to do? Let me know." She fishes into the pocket of her vest, and ends up tugging out a business card. She finds a pen then in another pocket, and scribbles something on the back before offering it over. "Cell number is good. Really, so is the number on the front, but it's for the office in Chicago, which...won't do much good most of the time." Watson Development -- and surprise, Amber Watson, President.

Dorian flips the card over when he accepts it, then back to the front. "You've wasted no time when getting back," he says, impressed. "If I decide I want to break out, I might give a call. There's...well. There's ways that my choices are designed to suit what I've become," he says, as close as possible to a kind of admission while still saying nothing. "But only a fool won't look around a little bit. So I have a question: the party I've heard about coming up for our particular seasonal enterprise. Safe to show?"

Amber grins. "Worse case? Give me a call and we'll go have drinks -- on me." At least she doesn't pry when there's clearly mysteries on the table, but maybe it's a matter of where they are, out in public -- or not wanting to scare the new guy off. She frowns briefly as if trying to recall, then aaahs. "The retreat? Well, I'm going. If it's not safe...well, if it gets too dangerous, you can follow me out. Safe as houses." She beams then, teeth bright white against her skin. Whether it's a comforting sort of smile when paired with the rest of her visage, well, that's an excellent question.

Dorian chuckles low. "Are drinks with you safe? Never mind, I'll call anyway," he assures her, leaned back a little bit. And then he thinks something over, flips the card hither and yon as if both sides tell him something. "If I look different the next time we meet, do you mind rolling with it?" he says. "I don't always do this, but you've been more...worthwhile to be frank with than most people are. Some are smart enough to expect it of me." His fingers swirl around one mirrored eye as if to say 'that gives it away'.

Amber smiles toothily, and doesn't even bother floating an answer for that first question. Then there's the new question, and she tilts her head thoughtfully for a moment before she nods slowly. "I think I can manage not making too much of an ass of myself, if that happens. I'll certainly make an extra effort not to be an idiot about it." She looks up toward the swirly finger, and nods once, with a small smile. "I have managed it in the past, with other folks in similar straits."

Dorian pushes himself to his feet, and offers his hand again. "Then until next time, in whatever form that takes." But if she accepts his hand, he kisses her knuckles, which would be more charming from a man who didn't have Bulbasaurs spawning in the phone in his other hand and the rattiest of t-shirts. You take what you can get.

Amber does indeed offer her hand -- and grins all the more as she kisses her knuckles. Maybe she's charmed by the pokemon? Or the fact that it wasn't meeting another Oberon. She doesn't make any move to stand, but does give his fingers the faintest of squeezes before he lets go. "Good luck at the motel -- and know I'm looking forward to it."
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