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[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

[rhinemaid]

Oh, whoops.

Ilde doesn't register the cough, but movement in the corner of her eye stirs her - she turns her head, then pauses, and there is a visible moment of deliberation before she touches the arm of Mycroft's chair (not his arm) and half-smiles, collecting herself and her assortment of things to go and find Ivan. He'll be fine, she figures; Ivan had been awfully specific, and Mycroft isn't, as far as she knows, a young lady.

Wouldn't that be a twist.

I've got to go, she signs, lollipop in her mouth to leave her hands free before she grabs her camera and clutch. Apparently I'm not supposed to be around this man - I'll talk to you later.

[diogenesis]

Mycroft notices Hal before he approaches.

The man isn't exactly subtle; his stare is so intense it's almost tangible, and his fear and nervousness could be spotted yards away. At some point, he notices something about Mycroft that gets him to relax (marginally) and finally come forward—but then Ilde sees him, and her reaction, Mycroft must admit, is a surprise.

Who is this, that Ilde isn't supposed to be around him? It sounds like she was commanded. Sonja? Or Ivan? The 'apparently' means it was probably recent and without explanation—likely at this party—which means Ivan. Which means this is someone Ivan knows. Vampire? The way Hal looks at Ilde makes it more than just possible. What with this and Hal's unstable introductory post on the Network, Mycroft isn't surprised Ivan warned her away.

He nods to her in understanding, then looks back to Hal. As soon as Mycroft had spotted the other man, his expression had turned cool and illegible, and it's no different now. In the space of a moment, his eyes flicking up and down once, he takes in everything a mortal view of Hal could give him.

There are a few anomalies; the most obvious one is Hal's fear of him. While fear and confusion and apprehension and nervousness had all been things he'd inspired throughout his life back home, he's not had much experience with that here (something he's still not used to). Hal's reaction is a puzzle, but it's not an unwelcome one. On the contrary—it feels comfortable, expected, like the sole of a well-worn shoe or a bath drawn at the perfect temperature. Of course he's frightening, even surrounded by all these other monsters. That's the way the world works. (Isn't it?)

He can see Ilde weaving through the crowd, away from him. (Isn't it?)

"You have something for me," he says to Hal, only just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise in the bar. His tone matches his expression: vaguely expectant, but otherwise a chilly neutral.

[incaptivity]

Hal looks grateful for Ilde's departure, although his eyes do follow her, the rest of him paused, for just a moment before he resumes his approach, slow and wary like his feet would much rather be headed the opposite direction. It's funny how little it matters, ultimately, that this isn't the vampire he knows, when the man's face and mannerisms and presence are so similar. So much of Hal's reaction to Mr. Snow is instinctive, visceral, and therefore beyond reason.

It probably comes as no surprise, then, that he doesn't sit. He barely comes near enough to be in conversational distance, and when Mycroft speaks, he responds with a small wince, as if expecting the sound of his voice to be dangerous in itself—and there's that relief again, though very slight, when it isn't. Still, he never quite makes eye contact, even when spoken to. It's safer, he thinks, not to chance it.

He nods in response. The folder he carries is newly worn around the edges, held carefully away from his person, while his own object—a poster-sized roll of white butcher paper with a few stray bits of glitter having escaped to the exterior—he holds at no such distance. He transfers the latter to the other hand, offering the folder forward.

"I found it this morning– wholly unintentionally." The last added like he wants to be very sure Mycroft knows he hadn't (would never) come into possession of something of his on purpose.

[diogenesis]

Mycroft takes the offering while continuing to study Hal in an attempt to decipher what could be scaring the man out of his mind. Hal's own gift, some sort of hand-decorated poster, doesn't hold any relevant information (at least not while it's rolled up). He won't meet Mycroft's eyes, which certainly holds some sort of meaning, but what that meaning might be is impossible to immediately deduce in a place like Baedal.

If Mycroft didn't know better, though, he'd say Hal had met him before. His expression, underneath the terror and uncertainty, is one of absolute recognition.

But he can't consider what that might mean right now. Instead, he turns his attention toward the folder he's been given. It's relatively new and not one he recognizes; its weight and balance indicate a series of prints or photographs, undoubtedly something private. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, for Hal), his deductive abilities work perfectly well regarding all things mundane, and he's quick to notice a flaw.

“I suppose you were forced to open this in order to identify its owner,” he says, his voice still quiet and even but with an edge indicating strong displeasure. Despite his disapproval, he continues on to open it himself, drawing out one of the photos.

The picture shows Mycroft and Sherlock at ages 15 and 8. It's obviously the winter holiday, and they're both dressed very properly and have serious expressions. Mycroft is seated and Sherlock stands next to him, a perfect portrait. Five minutes after the photo was taken, they'd gone upstairs and done horrific damage to Sherlock's jacket with at least seven different chemical compounds, fulfilling a promise he'd made in order to secure his little brother's good behavior.

He keeps his face schooled as he looks and remembers, then slides the picture back into the folder.