multiversallogs | a day in the life.

Who: Sonja Garin, open
What: Errands!
Where: Assorted.
When: Rebecca Black knows what's up.
Warnings: Sonja exists. Put on a real shirt, Sonja.
Note:

Since returning from the boat trip, Sonja has settled a little bit. Not, notably, to any degree that indicates she has given up on going home, and that probably won't stop for a while, but she has the little house in Raven's Gate where she and Ilde stay, and that's good enough for right now. She leaves early, armed beneath her jacket, but not before going over a list of what they need for the household with Ilde, which...has some specializations. They're particular girls. Sonja's aware she needs to stockpile magically as much as she does weapons, but that's considerably more obscure in terms of resources.

Her first stop involves seeing a man about jailbreaking her CiD, a process which is turning out to be more involved than she thought. The neighborhood is dubious, and she at one point has to side-step a fairly inept pickpocket, who receives nary a backwards glance--the withering one she sent him moments earlier was enough. Not long after, she hears a woman cry out, and watches the boy go racing through the crowd, inexpensive ladies' handbag clutched in his fists.

Next, weapons stores. This takes her all over the city, comparing and contrasting what it has to offer--there are a couple of locations, but they tend to vary considerably due to the diverse neighborhoods. Ammunition is extremely difficult to come by, so the fact that there are places which sell more modern arms is fascinating (what is there to equip them with? They're treated almost like collectibles, not functional items), though she observes bows and swords are in greater supply. She ends up picking up some throwing knives, figuring she can at least amuse herself with practice.

She walks along the river's side for a while afterward, at one point hopping deftly up onto a tall stone wall that should be...entirely too narrow to walk the length of, and yet she manages. Bar one Skyrail trip, she's mostly spent her time traveling on foot--it gives her a better idea of the city.

There's a pretty nice-looking bar nearby. That's where she's headed. Predictably.

[ OOC: How this works! Sonja will be at each of the locations mentioned throughout the day and evening, and can meet characters at any ol' location. Just specify the where, and we're good to go! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

jesus, better you than me. at bar. [address]

Please do imagine Sonja in that line of work.

Faintly amused by the response, Ilde finds a pair of shoes instead of texting back and hops on a train to save time; barhopping is probably not a good idea for her, generally, but Sonja's there, she'll be fine. She can always wander out and fall in the river later, if need be. (Problem solving the fey way.)

Sonja is generally sort of hard to miss in a crowd, so it doesn't take long for Ilde to find her way to her. By way of greeting, and the air quotes are audible, "'Interior designer'."

Sonja drinks old-fashioneds, apparently. She had to do a little finagling with the bartender, who's used to a different breed of alcoholic design, but they figured it out.

"Really."

She pauses.

"How much are you getting paid?"

Priorities.

"Not sure yet. I have to meet with them - Luthor, Veidt." Ilde's going to order something pathetically weak and probably still weave when she walks out of here, but by this point her alcohol tolerance is like the running gag of their buddy cop movie and it's fine. "They're renovating first."

If all else fails, Sonja will pick her up over her shoulder like a sack of drunk fairy potatoes.

"That's so...domestic." She supposes people do need to do that sort of thing here, it just strikes her as funny. "You like them so far?"

Ilde makes a so-so gesture, with a little laugh, accepting her glass from the bartender - if they stay long enough (...likely) she'll probably end up trying to find out if she can get a decent brandy alexander here - to taste. "So far. They're a familiar sort." She considers for a moment before saying, "I used to know how to get around men like that."

Sonja used to...sort of handle men like that--well, she handled them for Lucas, who is the epitome of men like that, but her methods are probably not Ilde's. (Sex and violence, always, sometimes the crossing of the streams.)

"As an adult, now, not a teenager." She watches Ilde for a second. "I think it's one of those things you don't forget."

While Ilde is not as much of a stranger to trying to get her way around such men with sex as she should be - self-destructive teenage girls who are presented avenues of misbehaviour tend to take them, especially when they think they can handle it, that they're in charge, that they're so much fucking smarter than everybody else - for the most part as a young girl her methods were a little more doe-eyed than that. People have a habit of making a pet out of her, and she accordingly has a habit of taking advantage of it.

(She got away with a lot.)

"I hope so," she says, raising her glass in a lazy, brief salute. "I have my doubts the cello is going to be much use to us."

They both spent their teens trapped in a lot of ways, both even having to do with how they looked--but Sonja looks human, and it's the physical attributes she has that are most obvious that kept her locked up. It's probably no wonder she uses sex as a weapon now, too; she learned it professionally before she was old enough to vote.

They all survived the apocalypse in their own ways.

"If they get out of line, just say you're going to buy a lot of wicker furniture and leave it on their patio."

"I'll put rows of plastic ducks in their bedrooms," she suggests another idle threat, tipping her head back for a moment to consider the ceiling. There's nothing especially interesting up there, she's just not in the mood to be as still as she sometimes is; stillness is a defense mechanism from traps both metaphorical (pre-2006) and literal (post-2006), and Ilde's inclination to defiance doesn't stop at her own instincts. "Rows and rows and rows."

"Ducks?"

Why ducks, Ilde. Sonja gives her a sidelong look.

"You know, those-" there's a gesture here that serves mainly to indicate that, predictably, the alcohol doesn't have to be very strong to go directly to Ilde's head, "-those little rows of ducks in flight. Made of plastic. They're tacky." Surely this makes perfect sense.

a day in the life.

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