Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

[baedalites]

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.

Comments

[agrat]

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.

[defenestrations]

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.

[agrat]

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.

[defenestrations]

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.