multiversallogs | It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife

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It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife :: [OPEN]

Who: EVERYONE
What: Réjean has decided that more people ought to celebrate and help raise a bit of dosh for one of his favourite bars. See: flyer.
Where: The Apache.
When: Misdi night and into the wee hours of the morning.
Warnings: Discussion of Pickman's manky feet.

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. Tonight, the bar is packed with people from all across the city, different cantons and cohorts, all out to celebrate surviving the fungal plague. Patrons are encouraged to buy tickets for a door prize with the proceeds going to repair the damage tunnelling ants made to the cellar.

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Sonja catches a glimpse of Isobel out of the corner of her eye, and doesn't quite double-take, but...that's interesting. She knows Ilde's general aura of faery being well enough to know it's not the same person, and there are subtle differences, but she finds it curious enough to say something.

"You look familiar." In some people, this would be a vaguely open-ended statement. The dry way that Sonja says it makes it more pointed. Her body language is relaxed, but she is definitely armed--just comfortably so. "Enjoying the festivities?"

Isobel hears someone approaching her before her eyes catch sight of the woman. She turns, letting her eyes take in the newcomer before she offers a very slight smile, one that doesn't reach her eyes.

"If you know Ilde, then I suppose I do," she answers easily, offering the information that she's met Ilde. Whoever this is automatically interests Isobel if she knows Ilde.

Isobel takes a sip of her wine and glances to the rest of the party. One might say she was enjoying it. She was definitely getting to know the populace just by listening and observing. But enjoying? It wasn't really on her menu at the moment. She was, however, equally prepared, leaning comfortably against the bar, but ready to flee at any moment should she need to.

"It's interesting. I wasn't aware so many people were here in this cohort."

Sharks, as it were, tend to recognize sharks, and Sonja smiles right back. She doesn't have many judgments made yet, but she tends to track people for tactical purposes. (No one is exempt from her analytical nature, not even Ilde, whom she tends to trust as much as something like Sonja is capable of trust.)

"Oh, we're a motley crew, aren't we?" she drawls, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Ilde and I are from the same world, so we live together. We've also been here roughly since this cohort began its formation--trust me, it was a hell of a lot less impressive a month or two ago."

The admission about being from the same world as Ilde makes the connection click into place for Isobel. That would explain lingering familiarity. The vampire is mildly amused that this woman has used the exact wording she used when she first saw Ilde.

"It could be worse," she replies, swirling her drink a little bit in the glass. What she wouldn't give for some actual blood soon. "I'll have to remember that its numbers swell at odd times. Assuming there really is no reason for it. If there is, no one's been able to tell me so far."

Which is far more frustrating than Isobel will admit.

"Well, for that kind of information, you'd have to ask the gods," Sonja says, leaning forward just a twinge with a dry tone to her voice, "There's always a reason. It's usually just a matter of clearance level."

She sees no reason in copping to this to a relative stranger; she's not shy about her opinions. (Unless it's part of some game, but she suspects the people who brought her here know a few things about her history. It'd be more suspicious if she were complacent.)

Isobel's expression turns into a lazy smirk. Sounds like these gods had a habit of toying with things they shouldn't mess with.

"Let me guess: those in this cohort don't usually count as having 'clearance level.' Something about giving us too much information."

This is going to be awkward and annoying. Isobel hates being toyed with and the slight darkening of her expression says as much.

"Oh, probably. I don't even know if any cohort does." She gets the impression they tend to slowly dissolve as their generations move onward; it's eerie that there are people here who are descendants of the earliest cohorts. It really is a city on the rise.

Sonja pauses, as though something occurs to her. Her tone is bland when she speaks again.

"The Militia might, I suppose."

Isobel's eyebrows rise slightly at that and she tilts her head, turning that bit of information over in her head. "I suppose, depending on what exactly they do and whom they really serve."

She has a sense of self-preservation, but at the moment, she has no idea where the boundaries are and that's putting her a little more on edge than she normally would be. Still, she wants her information and if this woman has it, all the better.

"I doubt they'd be willing to share anyway, no matter whom they serve." Which is a shame, really.

"They're not as secure as they think they are," Sonja says, thoughtfully. "Of course, it's probably remiss to say as much to them."

She's not actually scared of the militia, but she does think they have a lot of information locked up in their creepy headquarters. She then makes a slight show of remembering herself, flashing another quick, brisk smile. "Oh. I'm Sonja, by the way."

"Isn't that always how it is?" Isobel answers with a touch of displeasure. "Point out the problems with something and everyone gets angry about it." Personally, she doesn't care much for that sort of thing, but there's not much she can do about it anyway. Aside from anger everyone and that might not end well for her. She does have a sense of self-preservation underneath all that neutrality.

Sonja's introductory smile is met with a slow one from her companion. "Isobel. Pleasure to meet you, Sonja."

And it really is. Isobel's gathering so much information to use and she's loving it.

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It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife :: [OPEN]

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