Log:Happy Friday

Happy Friday
Participants Tini, Billy Ray, Gisa	31 March, 2016 '
Location
It's Friday night, a few hours after sundown, and as the hobs near the hearth tend their fire, there are two other -- not usual -- flames burning, little candle lights off to one side, sitting on one of the tables. That's likely the first thing to catch a person's eyes: extra fire, however small. To be precise, those two small flames flicker atop white candles about the length of an average palm, halfway burned down. They're set in collapsible silver candleholders, those ornately decorated with tiny cityscapes. Next to the candles, a small collapsible silver cup with similar cityscapes, and on the other side of the candles, a small silver plate from the same set, with a piece of bread on it. One might be forgiven for thinking that the creation sitting in front of this little tableau is part of the scenery: wire hair wrapped and covered in dark blue cloth, her shoulders draped in a blue and white prayer shawl whose fringes dust a few inches from the ground, her ceramic hand open on top of a book that's in front of her on the table. Gisa is totally motionless, her eyepits completely dark. The only sign that she might not be a permanently-installed statue is the shin on her forehead, which dims and brightens intermittently. Billy Ray makes his way into the meeting area. He's clad in jeans and hiking boots, a hoodie that he takes off in the warmer cave and has a backpack over both shoulders. He drops it down and shrugs off the hoodie to reveal a steampunk looking rapier at his hip and a heavy belt stuffed with tools. He sits down, pulling a six pack of beer out of the backpack and setting it nearby, and putting himself down in a seat, pulling out a pistol that he function checks before putting it down in front of him on a soft cloth, pulling on latex gloves and pulling out a small case to open it and reveal an array of small tools. He glances over to Gisa but doesn't bother her, just giving a polite nod. He has plenty of time to unpack: Gisa doesn't move for a good long time. Her hand stays splayed, resting on the open book, and eventually, before she seems to notice Billy Ray, a low murmuring in a language which is not English can be heard. It's a rhythmic, musical thing, with a few sets of phrases that repeat over and over again, and she turns the pages in her book, right to left. Eventually, though, she finishes the ritual, closes the book. Twin small flames come on in her deep-set eyepits, and she rises. A heavy canvas messenger bag to her right is lifted up and she puts the book away, then takes out a small zippered canvas bag in the same material as the shawl. Folds the shawl neatly, tucking the long fringes to the inside, puts that away in the zippered bag, and then into the messenger bag. The candles are left to burn, the cup and the bread left where they are for now. Only then does she offer in Billy Ray's general direction: "Shabbat shalom, my friend." B-ray has time to open a beer, taking a few gulps from it and adjust a small light to shine down on the weapon. He takes it down with small fingertips and tools, peering at the trigger assembly and working with a small tool on it. "C'mon, you sumbitch, loosen up, it ain't that hard," he mutters under his breath, angling the tool. Then Gisa speaks and the little man with the oddly metallic skin and writing along it that seems to shimmer looks up. "Oh hey. I uh, y'know, don't like, speak that language an' whatnot, but heya. Good Friday, happy Friday? Didn't wanna disturb y'none, hope ah ain't disturbin' ya at least. Wanted somewhere away from th' wind. Billy Ray Johnson, at yer service." That sparks laughter in Gisa, something that sounds like a deep bellows working in a blacksmith's shop. "That language is Hebrew, my friend. Shabbat shalom means 'a peaceful Shabbat'. It is Friday night, so for me, it is Shabbat. The Sabbath. The seventh day. I wish you rest and peace." Each word is carefully chosen, it seems, her every motion deliberate, and she speaks a little slower than most. The golem raises and drops her shoulders, a slow motion that seems like mountain ranges rising and falling. She isn't that tall, but somehow -- perhaps it is the candlelight -- seems as if she ought to be taller. "Happy Friday, if you like." She turns slowly, picks up the silver cup, and raises it in his general direction. "L'chaim." Downing the rest of whatever's in the cup, she collapses it in her hands, and places it in a case that looks like an oversized makeup compact. Her ceramic hands clink against the metal. Click-click. Then that, too, goes into her bag. Have Judaism, will travel. "Gisa Cohen. It is my pleasure. What are you making?" Billy Ray is sitting down, a soft cloth is in front of him and a semiautomatic pistol is broken down in front of him - tools arrayed around him, and open beer - and he has a five-pack of beer nearby, his Token rapier is in it's scabbard to one side. "Happy Friday. It's a good day, ah may got a job which is good times! An' mebbe a place to live, so ah can bust outta that hotel room." He gestures to the pistol. "This be my carry gun - well, ah want it to be. Sig Sauer P320. But I wanna polish the feed ramp - make it feed better, redo the barrel by hand, and ah think the trigger pivot and trigger bar got a tiny imperfection. Won't kick in mebbe but one in what, a thousand rounds, but if'n ah'm usin' this sucker stuff done gone straight t'shit and ah'll need every little bit of accuracy ah can get, ah ain't whatcha call a 'gunslinger', per se." he offers to Gisa. "Can ah offer ya a beer, miss? Got water, too." And in front of Gisa on the table are two candles in silver collapsible candlesticks, the white candles in them about halfway burnt down. A matching silver plate with half of a small loaf of bread on it rests nearby with a cloth to one side. Gisa folds up the small white and blue striped cloth, then picks up the half-loaf and puts it -- in one swallow -- into her mouth. A soft 'whoosh' sound. Does she eat or incinerate her food? The silver plate, the blue and white cloth, those are both neatly packed away in the canvas messenger bag on the chair next to her, her ceramic fingers clicking against the metal. The candles, though, those are left to burn. "Then it is a good day for you. Mazel tov." Everything Gisa does happens at a careful, deliberate pace, just above glacial. "I see." And perhaps she does. "A beer would be very nice, thank you. I have wine, also. It is sweet wine. Some people do not like it." A small shadow with a hood and a bow slips through the entrance into the Broken Hearth. She looks around and spots both Billy Ray and Gisa and a smile appear when she pushes her hood back and shadows disappear from her face. "Hey! I thought I heard a familiar voice." Tini happily greets in her L.A. Distinct accent. Gisa gets a nod of her head and a wave before she turns to look towards Billy. "Hey, I didn't get a chance before I had to run the other day. When you have some time can we talk business? I don't want to distract you from cleaning your piece, though." "Sure, ah'll trade ya some of that wine for a beer, that seems fair," says Billy as he puts down his tool, leaning over to snag a can and open it, rising to offer it to Gisa with a dip of his head. "Ah was raised on Mad Dog 20/20, miss, so sweet wine is right up my, how you say, alley." A grin at Tini as she arrives, "Nah, nah, ah was just killin' time," he says as he gestures to the pistol, "Ah could tinker on that sumbitch for six years an' still have work t'do. Tini, y'know Gisa? Gisa, this be m'buddy, a Tolltaker. And," to Tini, "We c'n talk business whenever you want! Ah'm still settlin' in so ah got nothin' but time." he adds. It's possible that people do know Gisa, at least in passing: the Dawn is a founding member of the Freehold, just someone who took a long sojourn around October last year. Her accent is hard to place, unless someone's very familiar with Middle Eastern accents. "Good, good," agrees Gisa, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle (which looks oddly ketchup bottle shaped) with a white label. Manichewitz Blackberry Wine. "No trade, we just share." The distinction seems important to her for some reason. Tini's arrival earns her a head nod, and a slow, even, "Shabbat shalom. Wine?" "Sounds fair," agrees Billy as he hands over the beer. He digs into his pack, coming out with a camp cup as he dips his head at the bottle. "Ain't never had this 'fore," he offers as he pours some into the cup, caps the bottle and hands it back over. "Sharin' is good. Ah think ah heard a'ya, you're onna them foundin' members, right? From way back. Ah'm new - grew up here as a young buck but been gone a good long time, entire time since I came back from my Durance," he says. A grunt as he hears a clanking outside. "Ah think that's my table. Excuse me, misses. Ah'm sorry!" he says as he heads out, after drinking the wine. "Oooh. That is good!" he calls to Gisa.