multiversallogs | We have this strange obsession / You have the means in your possession

Entry tags:

We have this strange obsession / You have the means in your possession

Who: Rachel Conway and THE ENTIRE CITY, I guess. If you want.
What: Hanging out at the tea house for tea, conversation, and CR.
Where: The Shrove's Wing.
When: Shundi, from midday until well into the evening.
Notes: Note the time of day if it makes a difference to your thread.
Warnings:

Potential for people Rachel knows to get mashed together like Barbies IT'S FUN SHE ENJOYS IT OKAY.

Working the middle shift is a mixed bag. On the one hand, Rachel's day is pretty much shot for anything else; not long enough before her shift for much in the way of adventures, and while her later evening is free it's not like she has a circle of friends or dates or anyone to go out on the town with after.

But the trade-off in being there for this shift is seeing the customer base turn over, from the people doing lunch to the leisurely afternoon lollygaggers, from those arriving for midafternoon tea to the evening dates. A wide range of people, alone or with company, comes and goes over the course of her shift, and she's happy to wait on or hang out with them all.

She can be found manning the tea bar, or sometimes carrying pots, cups, and food to and from tables. Sometimes she even gets to crash at a table or in a booth for a few, or she gets to go upstairs to wait on someone in one of the private rooms. It's a busy day and there are a lot of people to see.

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She nearly shudders at the unpleasantness of that thought--being hauled in off the street without even really knowing why. She's definitely going to put finding a friendly attorney high on her to-do list.

"You got it." She leans on the bar a bit, smiling a tiny, warm smile. "So what else can I do? Do you need anything?"

"You're just a helpful sort of person, aren't you?" he asks, amused despite himself.

"Me? I--"

Rachel shrugs, turning a little bit pink. Her gaze drops and she shakes her head a little. "I guess. It's just what I do." She looks back up and tucks her hair behind her ears. "Everybody's got something they're good at, right?"

"It wasn't a criticism, ma'am. It's just... surprising." He's not used to people being helpful for no reason - polite, yes, but helpful was different.

"You had any luck getting other people to talk to you yet?"

"No-- no, of course it wasn't. I'm sorry." Meet what's very likely the most awkward person in the city when it comes to praise. "And I love your good manners, I do, but I'm gonna, like, declare us past 'Mr.' and 'ma'am' and all that. You can call me Rachel."

She nods at his question. "A few, yeah. The guy at the library--Martel--he's been the most helpful. We looked over old records. I found out that the cohorts, over the years, seem to come in waves. Like, one each generation. And they've been getting smaller with each generation." She spreads her hands; she has no idea what significance that has.

"There are some other people who want to help gather information, too. There's a guy named Sam Winchester--he was a pre-law student in California before he landed here. And then there's--there's the guy running the forge, Seoraj. There's a doctor named Mike Anders who was going to try to get himself set up somewhere and then get back in touch with me about what kind of help and information he gets from the city."

She closes her eyes a moment, taking a mental inventory of the names and faces she's learned. "Sebastian LeMat who seems to know a bit about the temples. Allen Walker wanted to learn more about the other cohorts. Lex Luthor is a businessman." She shrugs. "And then there are a few newer arrivals or people I've just met that I'm trying to get a feel for, figure out how we can help each other."

He mentally catalogs all the names. "Alright, Rachel." He smiles a bit, thought it's a mask over thought, reflexive. "So beyond finding a lawyer, next thing is probably finding if there's any record of anyone ever getting out."

"Hmm." She thinks about that a moment. "Martel didn't say anything about that--but I don't know if he was specifically hunting down those kinds of reports or rumors. Or if that's even stuff the library would have in its records. Doesn't hurt anything to ask him. Maybe I could get Sam to go over there and give him a hand if he needs it, to look for that."

"Sneaky," he says with a smile. "And worth a look. Though we may have to rely on word of mouth for that one - I can't imagine the city wants us to know there's a way out, or we would know it by now." He's looked.

"Sneaky? What's sneaky?" she asks, with mock protest. "It's a good use of resources. The kid said he was good at research. But... The more I think on it the more I think you're right--if someone managed it, and if there was like, some official report, they sure as shit wouldn't put it where we could get it. They don't want others doing the same, that much is clear. The damn brochure tells you straight away, 'don't bother'."

She drums her fingertips on the counter top. There's got to be another way. "...But the library might still be useful. What if instead of looking for reports, we look for, like, legends and tales and things? A lot of those that get handed down have their start in some true event way back when."

Her literature studies in college are finally paying off. Who knew?

"Or even, like, look into some of the urban legends in the city. This place is named after a legend. There's got to be other stories out there and one of them might give us a clue."

"That's a good idea - people been here long enough, they might pass stuff on without knowing whether it's true or not, but it'd be a place to start." He smiles, almost sheepishly. "Just us few stubborn ones figuring if there's a way in, there's a way out, right?"

"Exactly." She smiled up at him, nodding. "Pieces of stories, they get passed down, changed in the retelling. There might be something out there that tells us how someone got out--or tried to get out. Even if they tried and failed, at least we know that's one option off the list, right?"

Rachel's gaze drops a moment; when she looks up again her smile is softer. The tone of her voice is gentler, too, in that way people have of not coming out and saying so maybe this is none of my business but I mean well before launching into some unsolicited explanation.

"I like the idea of staying here permanently about as much as I like the idea of gargling out of one of the toilets down in the basement," she says. "I intend to keep working on finding a way out, and getting some damn answers about everything that's happened to us. But I don't think settling in is the same as giving up, either. Like... the two ideas aren't mutually exclusive? I might as well have a decent roof over my head, and be able to support myself, and start being a part of this place so I get a better idea of how things work. And I feel like it's a little less power they have over me, if I'm doing things for myself and not living in their inn and relying on their charity. Just--"

She spreads her hands. It's none of her damn business at all and she knows it, and isn't going to tell anyone what to do. But it's something to think about.

"You don't have to apologize," he says, almost gentle. "Hell, I've been thinking of getting out of the inn myself, I just... I need to get back."

That need went a bit deeper than just disliking captivity, or stubbornness. Raylan was a man with a reason - or, at least, he hoped he was.

"I had a friend, showed up a bit after me, and now he's disappeared. I'd like to think he made it out." But he was enough of a cynic that he wasn't willing to just accept that Tim went back where he should be. That's not the reason he needs to leave, but it is a reason, and it's true.

Her smile shifts again, gaining a bit more warmth. "I'm not apologizing. I'm just saying... maybe we don't have to fight everything, you know? You gotta take care of yourself, too, in all this. Do what you can for yourself on that front, and save the fighting for where it's needed most."

Her eyebrows go up, however, eyes full of concern and her smile fading at the mention of his friend. "He's just gone?" she asks. "Oh, I'm sorry. But we should look into that, too, don't you think? Like--what if he did make it out? We'd need to know what happened to him. How he did it."

"I tried - maybe someone else'd have better luck." Tim had disappeared before Raylan'd been well again, properly. It made it hard for him to know as much as he'd like, and he blames himself some.

"It's been awhile, though, and I might've wasted the trail."

"I'll do it," she decides, on the spot. "I'll poke around a little, see if I can find anything out."

She grabs a paper napkin from a stack behind the bar, and a pen. "What's your friend's name? Was he still staying at the inn? And when did you last see him?"

"Tim," he says, smiling a little. "Deputy Marshall Gutterson. His dog was with him - don't remember the dog's name." He'd been on painkillers.

"He was at the inn last, but I hadn't got out of the infirmary yet, so I can't tell you as much as I'd like."

"Tim Gutterson," Rachel repeats, writing it down--and then her gaze flicks up a moment. "He's in law enforcement? Like a United States Marshal?"

And back to writing. He had a dog with him, he was at the inn. And Raylan was still in the infirmary, so... She presses her lips together, mentally counting back how long she's known Raylan, when they first spoke, and she writes down an approximate date.

"What's he look like?"

"Just like," he confirms. "He's a few inches shorter than me, middle build but athletic. Hair around my color, I'd say he's in his early 30s, maybe a little older. Very mild Kentucky accent."

It was easier to give a description of Tim than to consider what might have happened to him besides going home.

"Got it."

And it was easier for Rachel to write all of it down than to consider what might have happened, too. She hadn't heard of anyone going home and all the signs told her it was impossible. So... what? What could get the jump on a guy--a lawman, no less--and make him vanish?

"I'll see what I can find." She folds up the napkin and stuffs it into her pocket.

Raylan's friend was a lawman...

"So, what about you?" she asks, lowering her voice. "'Just like'--just like your friend? Are you a Marshal too?"

"A bit out of my jurisdiction, but yeah. Don't tell me my un-hideable lawman aura finally failed me," he added, amused. He's been in law enforcement way too long to hide the tells; he can be subtle, but he's never been undercover, and he hasn't tried to hide it in Baedal. Whoever brought him here had left him his ID and his gun, and that was good enough for him.

"What about you?"

"No." Rachel laughs, the color rising a few degrees across her cheeks. "No, it didn't, I just... thought I was being over-romantic or something. I guess." She looks up at him. "When I met you in person my first impression totally was 'old west lawman' but then I was like, you know, come on, they don't make 'em like that anymore. And here you are proving me wrong. But that's all right. As for me--I'm not a US Marshal," she deadpans, before breaking into another grin.

"I was--well. I was hoping to be something of an investigative reporter, someday. I was gonna write a book. I got as far as working for a publishing company, editing other people's work, and writing things like textbook chapters."

He laughs at that. "Hell, we're almost a movie - fish-out-of-water lawman and feisty girl reporter. All we need's a love interest for you and a couple of unsolved crimes and it's an old time matinee."

Rachel laughs too, holding up her hands in a good-natured echo of the universal gesture for surrender. "Okay, look, I'm totally down with this it-shouldn't-work-but-it-does team-up we've got going on here, and I'll even take the unsolved crimes, people need justice and all. But I'm good without a love interest for a while. Hopefully the movie still sells with that change to the storyline."

"No good, won't see any tickets. Unless we add explosions. Zombies?" But he's still laughing. He sounds like he could use it.

Rachel laughs again, making a bit of a face. "Zombies sounds dangerous. Explosions could work. Or-- I know. What if I wear a short skirt and punch a few guys in the face instead of dating them?"

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