multiversallogs | everybody's got a deal to make.

Who: Sonja Garin, Réjean Sept-Heure.
What: Sonja goes to see a man she suspects is capable of trading in materials slightly more sensitive (and useful) than Nutella.
Where: Some fancy miscellaneous cafe in Aspic.
When: Early evening.
Notes: N/A
Warnings: Idk, Réjean is in it?

Sonja is quickly figuring that the world of Baedal that she's presented with is probably not its entire truth--it's natural for governments and their PR systems to smooth over reality, so she's not surprised, but the divergence between truth and fiction seems even broader here, maybe because she's an outsider's perspective. Assimilation is something she never managed at home, and she doubts it possibility here. Consequently, she's even more unwilling than usual to accept its ostensible rules as fact.

And that means making connections to see what she can get, and what she can't. The walk to Aspic isn't the shortest, but it's good for her to see the city, to expose herself to it and learn what it's like. The destination is nicer than she expected, but that makes sense for the purpose of this meeting, and her apparel is versatile, so she'll blend in adequately...in as much as she ever does. She steps into the cafe, low heels of her boots unsettlingly quiet on the floorboards, and makes her way to the designated table.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Réjean is already there, sitting at one of the smaller side tables, glasses down and reading through a copy of the want ads at the back of The Wildflower Times. As promised, he is wearing a rather vibrant blue shirt and the jacket hanging off the back of his chair has an equally electric blue colour flower in the boutonniere. It's not subtle, but sometimes the old tells are the best.

She slides into the seat across, easy as anything--she knows how to look like she's not up to anything, although she always attracts a little notice here and there, at the least. That's fine. Sonja doesn't smile, exactly, but her expression is cordial enough, and she tilts her head in greeting.

Before folding the paper away, he looks up at her and grins, broadly and a little sharply but the show of teeth is more out of habit than any actual menace.

"Réjean," he says by way of an introduction. "What can I help you with?"

The girl across from him doesn't look like much--while context is different here, she's always expected to play the armcandy role in 'civilized' places like Boston or New York at home, and in a way, it's made her grateful for the desolation of everywhere else. She's decided she'll have to prove her ability to run her own corner of things here--build from the bottom up, as they say.

Starting with supplies.

"Sonja." The direct nature of the name-exchanging suits her. "And I've got a few things in mind, but I'd like to know what's feasible. You know? So I don't get my girlish hopes up."

"All trips are one-way; there's no going back," he says while making a checkmark on the edge of his paper.

"Constants are easier than specifics. Your very own puppy isn't going to happen, but any old mutt can."

"Larger, more complex items can be done, but it causes problems."

"And, since I'm just a fogtrader, there's no guarantee you'll get what you want on any deadline." A final check and the first lie.

"Constants are considerably closer to what I want. And that's fine." Her tone is matter-of-fact, elbows resting on the edge of the table.

Complexity might eventually be a problem, but she'll start slowly and test his reliability, anyway. If the guy's difficult, well...she hasn't been here long enough to have any kind of brand loyalty, let's say.

everybody's got a deal to make.

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