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

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

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.

Comments

[tropfatale.livejournal.com]

"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.)

[vampiringly.livejournal.com]

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.

[tropfatale.livejournal.com]

"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."

[vampiringly.livejournal.com]

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.

[tropfatale.livejournal.com]

"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."

[vampiringly.livejournal.com]

"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.