Log:Wolf and Siren

Wolf and Siren
Participants Seven, Poppy Devereux	8 June, 2018 Seven meets Poppy at the Crossroads Cafe
Location Crossroads Cafe
Seven has just finished a meal by the counter, and leaves it now. He was here with some friends till a few minutes ago, but now he wanders towards a booth to sit there instead, more comfortably so, while looking at the other late-lunchers or early dinner-guests. The lazy stroll is relaxed and slow and he's in no rush anywhere. The door opens, and there's a click of heels against the floor as Poppy steps in; the siren is dressed in black skinny jeans, a red t-shirt decorated with spindly humanoid characters, a black leather jacket, and stiletto boots. She has a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, hand resting against it idly as she glances about the cafe; Seven gets a curious look, and those opalescent eyes seem considering as she pauses just inside the doorway. Though not quite on street-bum levels yet, or today, Seven's wearing durable cargo-pants that look almost clean, and a blue tight T-shirt with several holes in it - it's not a fashion statement but some might think it is. He's barefoot, but that's cause he's got his shoes over a shoulder, laces tied together so one dangles in front, the other on his back. He drinks from a bottle of coca cola as his predatory yellow gaze swivels towards the newcomer; he stops dead in his tracks too and stares at her. Immediate wariness is his first reaction, like someone who doesn't trust another Lost to have good intentions. He lowers the bottle slowly and holds it like he's ready to hurl it at her. Poppy arches an eyebrow at that reaction on the part of the man in the booth; apparently her survival instincts haven't properly developed, or curiosity has overriden common sense, as she makes her way towards him, those stilettos still clicking against the flooring. The siren gives him a cheerful, if sharp-toothed smile, and offers, "Afternoon." Perhaps unsurprisingly, her voice is oddly harmonic, and somewhat eerie, over- and undertones making it rather choral in nature. At least she stops with a reasonable amount of distance between them. "Afternoon," comes a raspy and coarse reply. His voice isn't unpleasant but nowhere near her levels of harmony. And he notices this and he understands where it's coming from, her looks alone suggesting what her durance shaped her into. It's alluring and unnerving at the same time - some of the hairs on his neck stand up. And her Wyrd - he can sense that too. Stronger than his own. He offers an equally sharp-toothed smile back at her, canines gleaming. The people in here? They sense something too, looking nervously at the two before going back to their meals, trying to ignore it like most locals would. There's been stranger things happening than this. Seven deceptively relaxes suddenly and slouches back, gesturing for the opposite seat. "Seat free there." His accent is British, of all things. That return smile causes Poppy's to broaden, and she hooks her thumbs into the front pockets of her jeans, standing hipshot for a moment. The response of the other patrons of the cafe is met with deliberate inattention, opalescent gaze fixed on the Beast. That suddenly relaxation is met with a quirk of a thin brow, as is the accent, but at that gesture, she gives a small shrug before making her way over to join the other Lost. "Kind of you," she says wryly, unshouldering the bag and placing it on the seat before sliding in across from him. "Don't think I've seen your ass around before." There's energy abundant beneath that deceptively calm exterior, like Seven can explode any second if he has to. But it's also controlled very well, for a Beast. The cunning animalistic look in his eyes is not hidden however as he watches her across from himself, taking in the details of her appearance. "I've not been here long. I joined the locals," he explains quietly, scratching his neck with his claws. "You part of the local organisation?" One way to semi-subtly ask if she's a Freehold member. Poppy smiles and slouches back into the booth, despite those teeth, the expression seems genuine. "Yeah, that shit happened. Probably for the best." A wry look. "Surprised I haven't seen you before then, but life's been kind of fucking busy, so I guess I shouldn't be /that/ goddamn surprised." The siren offers him a hand. "Poppy Devereux." Nominally more trusting, after that - not that people couldn't lie about it - Seven accepts the hand and shakes it firmly, hand calloused and very warm but dry. "Seven," he says - that's the only name he has. "I've been keeping to myself and literally joined up yesterday," he explains earnestly. "I wandered this way just a few weeks ago." He sips that coke, and looks up as a nervous waitress comes over to take Poppy's order. Once she has, and the two are left to semi-privacy again, he asks; "Have you lived here long?" The siren's touch is a bit cool, skin somewhat too smooth, but the shake itself is firm, speaking of someone who's at least familiar with the rituals of greeting and business. At his elaboration, she ahs. "Well, in that case, I don't need to be as fucking annoyed with myself." Poppy grins brightly, then crosses her arms on the table, leaning against the slightly worn surface. As the waitress approaches, she smiles warmly at the woman before ordering a milkshake and chicken strips, then returns her attention to Seven. At that question, she shakes her head. "Fuck no, although 'long enough' might be a reasonable answer, since it's almost been a goddamn year at this point." A wry look. "Funny how time flies." "Why would you be? Are you the greeting committee? If so - where's my welcoming party?" Seven says with dry humor, flashing her a grin again. Her swearing has him faintly fascinated - he's never heard someone swear so much, not in a long long time. "It doesn't fly as fast here, does it though," he notes and that grin is wiped off; instead, he looks confused and rubs at his temple. Like he's hit with vague memories of something else, something he can /almost/ remember but not quite. Frustrating. He leans over the table too now, so their conversation can be kept at a comfortable quiet level, once he's forced his mind back to the here and now. "You're powerful," he notes thoughtfully. "Because I try not to live in a fucking hole," Poppy says dryly, then adds, "I'd be a pretty shitty greeting committee; there's a mental image. 'Welcome to this awesome fucking town, mind the gap in everyone's goddamn sanity.'" She smirks, but then tilts her head at that comment about time. "Time is always relative, and it's a hell of a lot more relative in some places than others," she replies, giving him a faintly sympathetic look before adding, "In short, shit happens." The siren falls silent then, as he leans forward; his observation has her wincing slightly before she confirms quietly, "For certain values of that shit." Her expression isn't particularly thrilled. "I'd have appreciated the honest greeting," Seven says, "though admittedly, I had a good enough welcoming. I could barely talk when I walked into town." That seems to have changed quickly - he's talking just fine now and his vocabulary isn't terrible either. He doesn't push about her powers - it's not a topic to talk about too openly anyway. "So," he says and grins again. "What is it you do?" He finishes that drink and sets the bottle aside to be collected next time a waitress passes by. "Do you live in the Falls?" Poppy grins sharply at that comment about honest greetings. "My understanding is the place has a bit of a fucking reputation, so most people don't necessarily need an entire goddamn disclaimer." That comment about talking has her giving him an inquisitive look, although she's polite enough not to ask more than that. When the waitress returns with her milkshake and chicken strips, she thanks her cheerfully before helping herself to a piece of chicken. "I work over at Alchemy - the bar - over in Fort Brunsett. Singer, bartender, and assistant manager, which is pretty much a fucking glorified cat herder." Opalescent eyes gleam at that. "I live over that way, too. Yourself?" She arches an eyebrow. "I'll drop in some time, when I got some spare cash," Seven says. He gestures out towards the street. "I got a place to stay here in the Falls. I do some work in construction - plenty of houses need rebuilding after that wildfire." A simple life in the village. Sounds idyllic. "Bit too close to the whole big business. Maybe I'll shift closer to Fort Brunsett, eventually. Calmer there, isn't it?" The grin offered is wry. The siren flashes him a sharp grin. "Whenever. We have pretty fucking decent live entertainment at least a few nights during the week," she say cheerfully. "Sometimes it's even me. And construction's steady work. Friend of mine used to do that shit before I roped him into bouncing." Poppy gives a musical snort at the comment about quiet. "It's something," she says dryly. Seven has already stayed here a long time AND been social for most of the day. He's eaten, finished his drink and he could stay longer - but he glances to the outside and realises it's time to go. So, he slides out of the booth smoothly and stands up. "I'll come over. I'd like to hear you sing," he says, throwing some Beastial charm around - he can be charming, if he wants to. And he can't quite hide the fact he thinks she's good looking, no matter scales or gills, admiring her now that he's stopped being wary. "But now, I best get going. I got a few things I need to take care of. It was nice meeting you, Poppy." Poppy smiles brightly at that suggestion. "You'd be welcome," she says warmly. "Seriously." A wink, even as he slides out of the booth. "And good luck with your day. Nice to fucking meet you, too." The siren gives him an irreverent sort of salute. "Hope to see you around."