multiversallogs | Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

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Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

Who: EVERYONE.
What: Swap meet.
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Sukkardi the 14th of Haneden
Notes:
Swap Meet Spreadsheet: Pre-chosen swaps are green. Assigned are blue. There were a few characters that were selected more than once, so objects were assigned on a first-come first-serve basis. If you have any issues or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact the mod team.
For objects that might not be immediately apparent as belonging to their owners, there may be a picture or name attached, or players are welcome to have their characters ~just know~ it's for them. Drr drr drr, bb.
Party post nights are a great time to come join the chatroom.
The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
Warnings: None yet. Please put warnings up on individual threads.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap.

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One day, in theory, Lea will be able to go to a party and not think about all the points of exit and how easy, tactically speaking, it would be to attack said party. (Not that she has any inclination to do so, but you never know about other people.) Just like one day she'll stop feeling the urge to sleep in her shoes, just in case, and someday she'll stop contemplating the best way to kill every new person she meets in case they gun for her first.

That day isn't today, but she'll be damned if she's going to let that thought process show on the outside. In her little cream-white one-shouldered dress and ankle boots she looks pretty in tune with the general attitude of the evening. Maybe a touch dressier than is necessary, but she'll take any excuse to put on something cute that she chose, not a veritable army of Lucas's people treating her like a doll.

She reminds herself not to think of Lucas.

Out in the courtyard, there are strings, inevitably, of fairy lights that have happened to die out; it's nigh impossible to keep those things running consistently and smoothly. Unless you use a particular kind of extra kick. Though she gives a cursory glance over her shoulder, Lea doesn't really care too much who sees what she does next: she drags fingertips along the length of fairy lights that have died, swaying a little as she paces the length, and one by one, they spring back into life for her, illuminating that corner of the courtyard anew.

It's a small thing, but she's not drinking tonight, and she needs to keep herself amused until she finds her object and manages to pawn off the mysterious...thing she ended up with this evening.

It's the slight change in illumination that catches Steph's attention, because she's trained to notice those things even when off duty and her gaze drifts towards the fairy lights, and subsequently Lea -- did she just light those up somehow? Steph's handed the wooden box off to it's owner and she's been dividing her time between socializing and searching since then.

She recognizes Lea, of course, they only chatted a couple of days ago and Steph's definitely going to remember someone she plans to race. Not really thinking of her object for now, she decides to go say hello.

"Lea?" She marks her approach by calling out, not wanting to startle the other woman. Especially not if Steph is right in thinking she's responsible for fixing those fairy lights.

Lea turns; she knows when she's being approached, by the feeling of blood and heartbeat or sometimes lack thereof, but her eyes widen in friendly almost-surprise, anyway, one of those little social cues she's learned to present without thinking much of it. "Well, well. I half-expected to see you in the flesh with one of those fringed biker jackets on."

She has the peculiar device in one hand, and when she lifts said hand to greet Steph, it's held between two fingertips.

"Sorry to disappoint, but all my leather jackets are lacking in fringes," Which isn't to say she doesn't have any, they're just the regular kind of biker jackets.

She opens her mouth to say something else, maybe a proper greeting, but nothing comes out because she just caught sight of the device. Her brow furrows in an I think I know that but I'm not sure why sort of way and she comes closer, "What is that?"

Her eyes flick back up to Lea, just because it's impolite to stare so intently at a random device someone's holding, and because she wants to know the answer. Is it Lea's? Or is it something she has to give away.

"Hell if I know," she says, glancing at said item with some amused ruefulness, "I've thought about giving it a better examination, but...it's not mine, I'm meant to find its owner."

Steph's reaction, however, is pretty telling, and Lea watches her expression from beneath her lashes.

"Familiar?"

"I tried to pick the lock on the box I got," There is only a hint of sheepishness there. Sometimes a girl just can't resist and Steph is a Bat kinda girl -- it might've been dangerous, for example, and it would've been best to know that before handing it over to someone. She's also just lacking in sheepishness because her attention is focused on the device.

"Yeah, it's-" She's not quite sure, it's so familiar, but it's been a while since she'd seen it back home, "Can I..?"

Lea proffers the item, wordless. She's pretty sure it's Steph's, if only because a) that reaction and b) her instincts, again, which have been dimmed since her arrival in Baedal to the effects of Lucas's poison leaving her system, but nevertheless remain, to a degree.

Right now she's mostly curious as to what that thing is.

Steph takes it, a little cautiously, and turns it around once in her hands. As soon as she spots the S.T.A.R inscribed on it, she laughs, "Holy shit." Because she knows what it is and this is possibly the best gift ever.

And then she's busy opening it and putting in the keycode she remembers setting it with, "C'mon, c'mon," muttered under her breath and she's rewarded when the display comes on, the words active disaplayed on the screen.

She looks up at Lea, her eyes wide in delight and her smile mischievous, and then without another word, she closes the device and squeezes it between her hands, her body shimmering briefly before disappearing from view.

She's still there, just invisible.

...well. That's a neat trick, though, after her initial surprise, forgive her for taking a moment to be very glad human technology has not, as far as she knows, progressed to mimic magic so much in her own world.

Lea aims a look out at the courtyard itself, and then back at where she can tell Steph is, aware that most people probably have no idea anyone else is even present anymore. It's only her senses that allow her to keep track of Steph's presence.

"Now you are just about legally obligated to eavesdrop on everybody else," Lea says, a tremor of a laugh in her voice, "Tie somebody's shoelaces together."

Steph stays relatively still for a few moments before switching the device off. She doesn't want Lea to look like she's talking to no one, and it's probably for the best that not too many people find out about this. She's still grinning, though, and Lea's suggestion gets a laugh.

"That was the plan," Both eavesdropping and trolling people, "Man, I don't know what I did to make the gods like me, but I'll have to keep it up."

Not that her last gift was terrible, per se, it was just, kind of depressing. This is much more fun and useful; she's already thinking of ways to use this against the militia.

"Now you know I have to ask where a person gets a thing like that," Lea says, as though this inquiry was an inevitability--and maybe it was. She moves to lean against the wall of the courtyard, framed by the dim glow of the fairy lights.

"Unless the K-mart in your world is a lot different to how it used to be in mine."

Steph can understand that, she'd been curious about Sebastian's gift, too, and she likes Lea so far.

"Science and Technology Advanced Reserach Laboratories," She shows the acronym on the back of the device to back that up, "It's an international organization that works on ridiculously advanced tech. The main division deals with aliens and metahumans - helping people with their powers, reverse enhineering alien tech and detaining supervillains; stuff like that."

That's a very condescended version of what STAR Labs does, but Steph figures Lea doesn't need to whole business plan. Although, with a smirk, she adds, "I stole this from them a couple years ago."

That very description is enough to set her teeth on edge--sure, this place might advertise as 'helping' metahumans, but in her experience, that can often go awry. It's funny that she has a substantial science background and no longer trusts it on an institutional level, but maybe that would have happened regardless of apocalypses. Her body language remains relatively relaxed, anyway.

"If you stole it from them, should I take that as your not being a fan...?"

"Nah, I mean, I don't know much about them, but if they've got Superman's stamp of approval, they're probably alright," She's a bit caught up in thinking about home, and has forgotten that Superman doesn't mean anything to a lot of people. STAR Labs is actually an alright place, criminals aside, all the metahumans are there consensually and are free to leave whenever they want.

"I stole it 'cause I needed it and they weren't gonna just let me borrow it."

He could take the tape in his pocket back to the table set up for exchanging items, but where's the fun in that? Boring.

He's clad in a dark gray suit, no tie, deep purple shirt open at the collar, his hands tucked in his trouser pockets as he surveys the courtyard from the doorway. He spent the last thirty minutes occupying himself indoors with studying every young woman the right age to be any of the girls in the video, narrowing it down further by facial bone structure, posture, and other physical cues. He's approached the likely candidates to say hello or ask a question, anything to get them to talk, because ~~John Watson isn't here to tell him that's creepy~~ he wants to hear them speak, to let the accent the tape's rightful owner must have confirm the identification.

There are two--no, three young women out there who could be the person he needs to give this to. He's not sure how much he believes in the supposed wrath of the local gods, but it doesn't cause him any harm or particular trouble to give back the tape (after viewing it. He thinks, for a moment, that he'll approach the lady nearest the door first, but a subtle rise in the light level elsewhere draws his attention. It's happening right where the second candidate is standing, and he's sure he saw her withdraw her hand from the string of lights hanging there as he refocused his attention on her.

He fixes his best attempt at an affable smile on his face (it's not bad, he might get away with it in the low light and party setting) and he moves out into the courtyard, pretending to wander aimlessly, until he reaches her. "Oh, aren't they lovely," he says, glancing up at the lights. "Rather festive, don't you think?"

It's her body language that communicates being the youngest girl on the series of tapes best: a certain alien reserve, a confidence that comes from knowing you could disintegrate the molecules of any organic matter that pushes too hard. (Of course, there would be consequences for such a thing, but consequences are something she's become accustomed to handling.)

She knows when she's being approached before it happens, but only turns to look at the stranger when he speaks, and even then, a moment of silent stillness follows. Lea's expression indicates an amiable ambivalence more than her voice does; she just says, "Yes. As ice cream socials go."

It's really not that bad, she just thinks there's something about the whole set-up that is irresistibly reminiscent of year 9 when on the first day of school they made everyone write down little slips of paper with facts about themselves, trade them with each other, and have to socialize to reclaim them. It may be the circumstances she's come from coloring her perception, but she supposes there are worse things than slightly contrived ice-breakers.

Speaking of ice-breakers, she regards Sherlock with a certain expectant note in her expression, but doesn't say anything else.

He lets out a sound that might almost be a chuckle, drawing his coat around himself as he takes a seat--near enough for conversation, but not so close as to invade personal space. "Mm. Forced socialization. It seems you can't escape it, or the conviction that it's the best thing for all personalities, even in another dimension. I suppose it's a small price to pay for receiving an item from one's life back home. One can always flee once their boon is received."

He's been studying the fairy lights in the tree opposite as he speaks, though he's clearly addressing her even as his eyes dart around, taking in every detail. He reaches up and turns down his collar, so it lies flat, revealing more of his face and the blue scarf that covers his neck. "Which is what brings me here. I suspect I have something that rightfully belongs to you."

He leans over, ever so slightly, and he lowers his voice as he turns to face her. When he speaks again, it's in French--Parisian, or as close to it as a man clearly taught the language by the finest English education money could buy him in his boyhood will manage.

[Did you ever manage to summon one to clean your room?]

He asks with raised eyebrows and a hint of a genuine smile; there's no threat, no judgment, he merely wants to confirm she is the young woman he seeks, and to perhaps indulge a bit of curiosity.

There is a moment not of realization (she'd already guessed, though not what the object itself would be) but vague relief at the language switch--her English is fluent, but it's her sixth language and she is most comfortable in French or Arabic, at least out in public. Lea tips her head slightly to the side, mouth curving up in a lopsided kind of smile.

"Of course." Now in her own, Quebecois-accented French. Her tone suggests it should never have been in doubt. "Which I hear is not the appropriate use of Hell's own, but whoever invented that rule had clearly never been trapped in a room full of teenage girls with awful magic powers."

Well. One girl with awful magic powers, and three girls with...less awful dosages. But similarly awful temperaments!

Speaking of the girl herself, now a grown woman: there are a few noticeable details, such as the fact that she has body language indicating she's relaxed, but something about the way she holds herself is vigilant of her surroundings, even when she doesn't appear to be. Though she's olive complected in the first place, there's a slight tan line on one hand, where a wedding ring used to be, but was probably only worn for a few months and has been recently abandoned.

"Lea bit Eshtazin. I hope you enjoyed that mortifying little home video of mine while you had it." Since she's rather eager to reclaim it. A mostly-Kurdish girl who uses her paternal grandfather's Assyrian tribal surname--there are layers and layers of complication to her presentation. She likes to keep things labyrinthine, not for the sake of playing mind games, but because how people respond to said presentation serves as a litmus test for who she'll like and who she won't.

For now, she's waiting to see if he'll do the handshake thing, but she won't initiate it herself. Some people's customs are not other people's customs, etcetera.

He gives a short nod in return. Handshakes are not part of every culture's meeting rituals and he would hate to cause offense. He's also generally inclined to give ladies every opportunity to avoid physical contact. (Not that he's that shy or thinks girls have cooties or anything like that; he simply prefers not to assume touch is welcome, particularly with a lady he doesn't know well at all.)

"Sherlock Holmes." He reaches into the breast pocket of his overcoat, producing the tape and handing it over. He's content to carry on in French--he'd switched to it because it seemed to him, in his study of the network, that very many people spoke English, so shifting to Lea's native tongue was a gesture to guard what he knew of her, from the tape.

"I found the tape enlightening. I come from a world where such things are mere fantasy; I've had quite the steep learning curve these last few weeks since my arrival." He smiles, genuine, but awkward and brief, like it's something that just doesn't come naturally to him, doesn't get much use. He also notes the way she's on alert in her surroundings, the way she holds herself that says no, really, I'm not keenly aware of everything happening around me, and it's likely she notices a similar quality about him. He certainly projects the appearance of affability, of a man merely making small talk, but his eyes never stop, taking in every detail, every change, even as he carries on talking with her.

"I assure you you may rely on my discretion, if that concerned you. I've no intention of divulging what I've seen, that's a private matter. No matter how much my landlady back home might delight in learning how to summon a household helper. May I ask, is it an innate ability one is born with, or is it gained through some sort of training, or study?"

Forgive him. It's so rare these days for him to find a subject about which he knows little.

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Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

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