[Kemp Oates] ((I forgot I was in a room LOL!))
to Marni, Moira Murray
[Moira Murray] (Now you’re stuck playing with us!)
to Kemp Oates, Marni
[Kemp Oates] With the cold weather, he had naturally ended up during his rounds, in a diner. If fast food and grease could kill you, he might die before something else did because it was what he lived on. It was here in a dinner across from the park that he stood in line at the counter, ordering a hot drink.
[Kemp Oates] His hair was matted down, sticking out in a shaggy brown curtain from beneath his stocking hat where it spilled over his collar. Still bundled in the old coat he wore as he fished his wallet out to lay money on the counter to pay for his order. A few moments later he was turning to head for a table where he could still see the door.
[Marni] Across from the park, there’s a diner, and inside it a garou waits in line for something to warm his bones. Outside, there’s a bus stop, and a bus rounding the corner, intent on picking up and dropping off a few of it’s riders. On top of that bus [yes, on top of] there is a shadowy form that’s barely discernible in the darkness – mainly because no one expects to see such a shadow up there. Because that would be fun as hell suicide. Never the less, this bus stops, and the shadows move, moving hunched over until sliding down over the back end of the bus, and dropping to land lightly on the balls of her/his feet. The figure stands, though remains low, and scoots around to the sidewalk, there to straighten up as if she – and under the light it’s definitely a she – weren’t just surfing atop of a bus in the middle of Chicago.
Cuz that would be fun as hell suicide.
[Moira Murray] The diners on this side of the city were a better quality that ones you would likely find in Bronzeville or the Cabrini Green. The food was no matter how fast was sometimes borderlines on healthy. Moira sat at a table, staring blankly out the large window panes. Her right hand cupped her cheek, dark eyelashes drawn half-way closed over her eyes as if she were about ready to fall asleep, giving her a sleepy expression…
Her mind was drifting, she was still unusually quiet after last night. Her left arm draped across the table’s edge, the fingers of her left hand toying with a simple gold band ring on a long chain that dangled against her chest. The ring zipped back and forth clicking against the chain as she waited for Kemp to come back from standing in line.
[Marni] .
to Marni
[Marni] She hitches the pack on her back a little, and surveys the area a bit. A diner, pedestrians, and well, a whole lotta shiny. She reaches up and pulls her knit hat down a little bit lower, keeping the dark mop of curls under some sort of containment as she starts to measure her marks. People on the street, some more generous than others. There’s a meal somewhere – it just takes finding it.
Common sense says the diner.
Empty pockets say otherwise.
[Kemp Oates] ((Well shit, no wonder you are so slow, it didn’t refresh!))
to cricket, Marni, Moira Murray
[Marni] (LOL I was wondering!)
to cricket, Kemp Oates, Moira Murray
[Moira Murray] (tsks)
to Kemp Oates, Marni
[Marni] .
to Marni
[Kemp Oates] He slide into the seat across from Moira like a panter taking a lounging position on a tree branch. One of the cups he had was slid her way.
“If you keep looking so glum, your face is likely to freeze that way.”
And for a moment he was looking towards the window of the diner to the bus pulling up, stopping, then leaving.
[Moira Murray] His shadow passes over her eyes, sliding into her peripheral as he sat down across from her. She comes alive then, stops playing with the ring to let it fall against her shirt, shifting in her chair to straighten up more and drops her right hand to the table, reaching out for the cup that slides her way.
She wraps her hands around the cup, head canting down to stare into it briefly and then back up at him. Her cheeks suck in as she pokes her tongue out at him childishly and then grins a little. “I guess I’ll just have to live with that.”
A bus had pulled up, stopped to drop off its passengers and then continues on. She didn’t see the person that had been surfing on top of it.
[Marni] She slips her pack off, and then settles to sit on the ledge under one of the windows of the diner as she weighs her options. She hooks one hand around a strap of her pack, and then studies each person that wanders by.
Finally, she decides on a mark, and pushes from the window and is seen talking to a lady as she walks past, talking fast and animated, as much with her hands and expression as anything else. The woman walks on – but that was part of the plan, because the soft hearted man behind her stops and offers Marni a bit of cash. Marni hugs him quickly, and then, pack and cash in hand, enters the diner.
Somedays it’s like taking candy from a baby.
[Kemp] He had paused to watch the figure that had come off the top of the bus. Maybe there was something in his drink? He looked inside the cup and then back out. Watching the figure until it finally entered the diner.
“Heh, that was weird.”
[Moira Murray] Moira angles her head to the side, watching his expression. Her left eyebrow crooks up, crinkling up her nose a little as she lifts her cup up to her mouth and sips from it.
“Something wrong?” She hesitates for a moment, glancing back down into her own cup and then shrugs, drinking more.
[Marni] She counts what she has, tucks some of it back, and then orders at the counter with a grin. When the waitress turns her back, Marni shifts her weight to the side, her fingers slipping out to snag something off the counter, where it disappears into her pocket, all with the waitress being none the wiser. she takes her change, and tucks it away, and waits for her order to be filled, taking the chance to look around the establishment, looking for an empty table.
[Edward Talbott] “Well when can they get here?” A blonde man in a dark camel-hair coat stands outside the diner. There’s a scarf wrapped around his neck in the European fashion, doubled and then pulled through in a slip knot. Cashmere, the real thing, not some cheap farmed-Chinese version of it. He is tall and lean, dark against the dark except for his head full of close cropped blonde hair, blue eyes narrowed against the burn of the Chicago wind. His posture is neat, sharp, but his mouth is flat with irritation. “A car service,” he explains, low and slow, his voice tinged with the venom reserved by the priviliged for the irritations of ordinary life. “Is meant to be efficient. An hour is unacceptable.”
He shifts positions, tugs at the cuff of his tailored coat to frown at the face of his wristwatch. The Blackberry is evident, then, in the other hand. The edge of the black case runs liquid with light. Then: “I expect so.” A pause, before he continues impatiently, “The park. The Art Museum. In front of – ” he looks up at the diner’s marquee, “Blossom Dairy. Jen,” he says the name familiarly, evenly fondly, though not quite intimately. The sharpness of his tone dissipates into something like humor, though it is far from good. “Have someone here soon.” The conversation concluded, the phone disappears into his pocket. He shoots a glance at the menu mounted in the window beside the front door, then walks inside.
[Marni] The waitress gets her attention, and Marni turns back to take her order with a grin and a thank you. To go container in hand, she weaves through the tables to a quiet, empty corner, where she can watch the rest of the diner. Backpack goes in one chair, her butt in the other, and as soon as she can peel out of her coat, revealing a non-descript t-shirt underneath, she’s digging into that greasy double-decker burger like she hasn’t eaten in a week.
[Imogen] Popular diner tonight.
Imogen steps in a few feet after a blond man in a dark camel-hair coat, reaching up to catch the door as it swings shut behind him.
She is a slender woman, pale skin, vibrant red hair. Her eyes are dark, catching blue in the light as she casts a brief glance toward the unknown Edward, a flick of a gaze, passing strangers, for now.
She is an attractive woman – fine features, well dressed in slacks, black wool coat. A glance about the diner finds Marni – digging into a greasy burger, then Moira and Kemp in a corner. A copper eyebrow arches, and the woman moves around Edward, stepping past the ‘Please wait to be seated’ sign and into the main dining area.
[Katherine Bellamonte] The moon is barely a thing at all to be counted, so barely has it emerged from the nights when it wasn’t a presence at all.
Yet, it’s there in the sky tonight, a sliver dusted with clouds as was fitting for the time of year. It’s below freezing tonight, and the elegant figure walking the streets has her collar turned up against the icy wind. She could be driving, had her sense of decency not be so abused the night prior by a fallen Kinswoman of Thunder who decided to drive off in her car after she went to the [supposed] rescue of her family in the Woods.
As it turned out, she had been the quarry, along with others.
One never did grow accustomed to being shot at, now did one? Car reported stolen, another in the line of purchase, Ms K. Bellamonte was abruptly without transport for the evening; her brother’s scooter not withstanding — it did not quite appeal, the idea of blazing the streets, hair flying, an icicle on legs by journey’s end — so she walked.
Of course, even in boots, and a winter’s coat, with gloves on; it was still too cold, and her breath fanned before her face, cheeks reddened by the time she approached the little diner that appeared to be teeming with life. Familiar red hair beat her to the door by perhaps seconds.
A little bell chimed above the door as she retreated inside, bringing with her a gust of Rage and cold wind.
[Marni] The door opens, closes most of the way, opens again. The second time it’s the redhead from last night, and in between bites, Marni lifts her fingers from the edge of her burger in something of a wave.
And then..
Oooooooh Shiny. Enter one Katherine Bellamonte in all her splendor. Imogen is stunning. Katherine just smells like money. Lots. of. money. Her eyes drift over her, shamelessly, and then she wrenches her attention back to her burger and takes another bite, catching a bit of katchup on her finger and licking it off.
Needless to say – Marni is at the complete opposite side of the spectrum of those with cars and drivers and moneymoneymoneymoney… from the toes of her beat up boots, to the top of her curly haired head, covered in a 4th hand knit hat.
[Edward Talbott] (I apologize for being slow. I’m getting used to it again. I have a post written that’s sort of half-contracted by what y’all have written, but I’m gonna post it anyway since it’s not like he’s starting a fight. Yet! For Garou, he’s a playtest kin, but will hopefully be a Fang w/PB 3. I’m discussion some background familiarity with Imogen’s player as humans in the human world, to make interaction a bit easier there. Anyway, here comes my post, and I’ll get more responsive after this. Thanks!)
to Imogen, Katherine Bellamonte, Marni
[Imogen] (*raises hand* This was totally my fault. *lowers hand*)
to Katherine Bellamonte, Marni
[Imogen] (*raises hand* This was totally my fault. *lowers hand*)
(this time, remembers to include Edward in the PM)
to Edward Talbott, Katherine Bellamonte, Marni
[Katherine Bellamonte] (*gasp!* How DARE you, Mei. Haha, it’s really no worry at all. Take your time. :] )
to Edward Talbott, Imogen, Marni
[Edward Talbott] The door swings open once more. A blast of cold air assaults those unlucky enough to have seated themselves too close to the front door. Edward stands just inside the front doors, an air of expectancy about him. When the weary-eyed waitress turns back to the counter, having called out Marni’s order in a practiced patois, the thirty-something stranger looks her directly in the eyes and offers her a brief, charming not-quite-smile. “Anywhere, then?”
“Well, sure sugar,” the woman nods, resting her hands on her hips and gesturing to the tables beyond. “You have a seat, and I’ll be around to get your order.” That’s not her job, precisely. Blossom is a strictly counter-service sort of waitress, particularly late on a chilly Saturday night. Somehow, though, she doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t seem to mind. He turns and walks in Marni’s wake. It can’t be said that he follows the clever young grifter, as he doesn’t seem the following type. Indeed, he doesn’t seem to notice her until she stops abruptly at the corner table on which he seems to have set his sights.
She strips off her backpack, and then her coat. Before her butt has hit the chair, Edward nearly walks over her, avoiding collision with a warm hand on her shoulder. “Pardon me,” he excuses himself, the same not-smile of apology sketched across his mouth. If Marni glances up, he meets her eyes directly – a practiced directness, it must be said. “I seem to have overshot the mark.”
Edward takes the next booth forward, stripping off his gloves and scarf and tossing them onto the table. Imogen arrives behind him; he cannot miss the sharp contrast of hair and skin. A frown bisects his blond brows. The familiarity is enough that – for the moment – he barely glances beyond the redhead’s shoulder as Katherine enters the diner as he struggles to place her.
[Katherine Bellamonte] It’s true enough that the young Silver Fang that has stepped in the door does wear her apparent wealth very well. Its threaded into each earlobe, a single pearl-drop. It’s coiled around her neck, buried beneath layers of clothing. It’s in the clear quality of the white winter’s coat she wears with its large round buttons and matching belt fastened around her waist. Its there when she slips black leather gloves off on one or two of her fingers; the gleam of rings; the slender wrist-watch.
Its there in such material considerations, but its also in the manner she interacts with the world at large, in the way she walks without a trace of modesty as if [she had every right to say] she owned the very ground she walked on. Nobility was writ across her features, it was plain as day that the high cheekbones were crafted from Warriors of olde, that the proud line of her nose came from Kings and Queens, that the pale, pale blue eyes that surveyed the interior of the diner were the very ones that belonged to her Ancestors.
She was directed to a booth across the way from the others; something more subdued, a touch quieter but where she could still listen, still observe. The stranger, Edward, perhaps struggles to place the Fianna Kinswoman and so does not focus on the Rage-hued female that follows her inside; but he is glanced at, more than once, less than a handful of times as she waits for her order.
[Imogen] The weight of another’s gaze on her turns her head. She regards Edward for several seconds before it clicks.
“White Williams, wasn’t it?” she enquires, her accented voice lovely – rich, a singer’s voice, a trained voice. “Last year.”
She’s placed him. And though she has noted Katherine with a glance, she does not greet the other.
An incessant vibrating, then the drill of her mobile phone. Imogen mutters an apology, reaching into her handbag to retrieve the slender piece of technology. A glance at the display and she flicks it open.
“Av.”
[Marni] Marni, for her part, just grins up at Edward, practiced eyes sliding over him quickly, taking in the expensive clothing, the watch that costs more than she’d see in a year, and other little things that are shiny enough to gather her attention…
While through it all? She just keeps eating. Licking the grease and ketchup off her fingers.
Oh, but those little pearl-drop earrings catch her attention again, and rings, and another watch that likely costs more than Marni could get if she sold her left kidney… Not that she WOULD, but, ya know… it’s an idea.
[Edward Talbott] Edward unfolds himself from the booth with an efficient grace as Imogen approaches. He does not place her before she places him, but as she addresses him White Williams, he offers he a quick, familiar quirk of his mouth. “Dr. Slaughter,” his voice is deeper, and not so refined as hers. There is, however, something more refined about it, than the ordinary American twang that so constantly drills her ears. “You did us a valuable service. Will you joint me?” A question is to follow, but then her phone rings, and he foregoes further pleasantries for the moment.
Edward does not sit down, however. He remains standing until she either sits, or walks away. As she speaks into the phone, however, he focuses for the first time on Katherine, beyond her shoulder. There’s something there, too. The tall man’s brow furrows again.
[Edward Talbott] (join! not joint. Please do not fillet my kinfolk, Dr. Slaughter!)
to Avery Bainbridge, Imogen, Katherine Bellamonte, Marni
[Imogen] The corners of Imogen’s mouth twitch – but no, the word is too large, too ostentatious. A muscle in the corner of Imogen’s mouth spasms, then eases. She half turns away, creating distance for her conversation. In part, it is politeness; more, it is distance.
“You should not,” she says to her caller. “At least not without proper protection.
“Join me now if yeh want,” she says. “Blossom Dairy in Grant Park. Good old fashioned American food, if you ignore the family.”
[Marni] Marni – well, you guessed it. She watches, while reaching for the ketchup to squirt some all over her fries, and keeps eating.
[Katherine Bellamonte] The blond over toward one corner is looking down at the menu in her hands with a frown of concentration, a kink developing in her brow just over her nose as she deliberates over what it is she desires to order. She raises her face twice — once because she feels the niggling itch of being observed and traces it to Edward, looking at him without any sense of modesty, but rather a directness that belies what she was — and a second time because she has the particular sense that someone else was looking at her.
She pivots a sharp glance in Marni’s direction, and her hawkish stare narrows to one of unfair suspicion. She has no cause to suspect the girl with the bad table manners as being anything more than a tad overzealous with the condiments and so resettles herself, her manicured fingernails rapping idly against the plastic covered menu.
A waitress eventually bustles over, and the lean blond puts in her order in quiet, subdued tones. A salmon salad, and a decaf short black with no sugar.
[Imogen] “Ta,” Imogen closes her phone and turns back, her eyes sweeping over Katherine in the rotation.
“Mister -” a pause, “Talbott, wasn’t it?” she says, as she steps back to Edward’s table. “I ha’ a friend joinin’ me fer dinner, but I can stay fer a coffee if th’offer t’join still stands.”
Business contacts, after all.
[Marni] Well, to give Katherine the benefit of the doubt – it might not be a completely unfair suspicion or estimation about the streetrat with bad table manners. When Kate looks over and narrows her gaze.. Marni? Waves. Not just a little wave like the one she’d given Imogen either, but an exuberant ‘I know you’re watching me and judging and I don’t care’ kinda wave, with a grin to match.
Right before she shoves some more fries in her mouth and glances at Imogen and Edward again.
[Edward Talbott] Edward remains standing beside the booth claimed as his territory. There’s not much there – the cashmere scarf, a muted, professional gray and burgundy, the discarded gloves, tossed casually on the formica tabletop. Good Florentine leatherwork there, custom made to fit his hands like a second skin, which still hold a shadow of the shape of his hands. Still, he stands in the aisle, bisecting the line of sight between Marni and Katherine, his head cast aslant as he studies the young blonde Garou and cannot quite place her.
When she returns his glance, he meets her eyes, blue against blue. The corner of his mouth quirks. It is not a smile. It is not a grin. It is, however, most assuredly a pleasant little look, and one accompanied by a certain gleam in his pale gaze. Talbott breaks the eye contact only when the waitress approaches.
“Another round,” he says, in his deep voice, “for the young woman behind me.” He means, of course, the hamburger that Marni has devoured. “On me. And two coffees,” he continues, as Imogen concludes her phone conversation, “for us. A fresh pot.”
As the waitress retreats, Talbott turns the full force of his blue gaze on Dr. Slaughter. “Coffee it is. Do have a seat.” He remains standing, just so, until she sits.
[Imogen] The slight doctor casts a glance to the waitress as Edward makes the order. She has nothing more to add to the request. She removes black leather gloves, a black coat; blue scarf, pocketing the first and hanging the remaining.
When Imogen takes her seat across from Edward, they create a small pocket of breeding within the diner. Each with their own flavours, Imogen’s one tribe, Edward’s another. Red hair, pale skin, dark eyes, Imogen’s tribe is clear on the surface and beneath the skin.
“Visiting, are you?” she enquires.
[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine’s age was hard to place simply by scrutinizing her from a distance.
Certainly she looked young, perhaps in her late teens to early twenties. She could not be any older than twenty-five but even that seemed unlikely. She played with one of her earrings while she read things, or twisted the string of pearls that had been hidden beneath her coat while she contemplated a matter — little habits that implied that she was still something of a girl, even if she was also a monster, with a young girl’s habit of fidgeting instead of sitting, entirely still.
The Half Moon in fact unbuttons her coat now as the warmth of the interior begins to melt her ice-cold skin. She unbuckles the thin belt and shrugs the article of clothing off entirely; neatly folding it and laying it across the booth beside her with her purse. Beneath her coat, she was wearing a rather lovely white cashmere sweater with a vee-neck collar, and a pair of dark-washed jeans that fit against the contours of her shape unfairly well.
Her fair hair had a natural kink to it, and fell in loose, unbridled waves around her cheeks, brushing her shoulders whenever she bowed her head — which at present, was frequently, as she’d pulled out a glossy covered magazine and begun thumbing through it while her food was prepared.
She licked her thumb before she turned each page. There seemed to be a common theme on each, of rather impressive cars.
[Marni] She blinks, and looks up at Edward, a wide grin splitting her face. “DUDE. AWESOME. Add a soda and I’ll have your babies.”
Ok, maybe not? But well, it saves her actually LICKING the bottom of that togo container to get the last bits – and you know what they say, eat every meal like you don’t know where the next one is coming from.
Or something.
[Edward Talbott] Once Imogen is seated, Talbott folds himself back into the bench seat, sliding back easily to the far side, taking up the space easily, carelessly. He is someone born to plenty. The waitress returns – first with Marni’s suspiciously less-than-fresh (how did it come out of the kitchen so quickly) burger and fries, then with the fresh pot of coffee. He takes his black and oily, savors the bitter bite of the first sip.
Marni will have his babies. He shoots the girl a wry look and gestures to waitress a wordless whatever she wants. That’s a gesture he has honed down to a science, refined to its perfect point of self-reflection. The woman retreats, to retrieve sodas and whatever Marni wants from the counter and kitchen. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Slaughter.” Talbott looks back to Imogen, a twist of elegant apology written across his mouth. “I am – ” here he pauses, considering, then affirms her question with a dip of his head, ” – yes, visiting for the moment. We’ve finally repaired the tangle left behind by Richard, thanks in no small part to your able assistance, and will be reopening our Chicago branch.”
[Edward Talbott] “Jen and I – ” Talbott fixes Imogen with a look. It is too knowing to be a grin; it seems too good-natured to be a smirk. There’s amusement, though, and a certain level of wry self-awareness all too lacking in the sort of man the he is, or could be. ” – will be relocating. I hope we’ll be able to work together again. Perhaps under less strained circumstances.”
[Imogen] Marni’s loud comment draws a glance from Imogen – but there is no reaction to her face. There is the potential for subtle layers to what Marni has said. A moment where a kinfolk might become offended or flustered, reminded of their duty. A moment where a Garou was not making a joke, instead, making an overture.
It was a joke – and while Imogen does not seem to find it particularly funny, she does not find it particularly – well, anything – either.
Imogen drinks her coffee unadorned, taking a sip of it carefully, sealing her mouth against the taste, which is the harsher, uncomplicated tones of diner coffee.
“Hm,” her mouth twists – a facsimile of a smirk. “Do be sure to let Jen know that I found her suggestions quite inspiring, would you?” her eyebrow arches.
“As fer working together,” she pauses, taking another sip of her coffee and setting it back down, “I’ve left the privatized life and gone back t’work fer the county. So my involvement in your company would require someone’s death.”
Her mouth twists slightly again, “Which by its definition would be strained.”
[Katherine Bellamonte] Anyone coming or going from the little diner is actively avoiding going too near to Katherine’s table. The Philodox’s Rage was never slight, and always there when one needed to interact with her. Thankfully, it was not yet near to her moon, and her internal anger was quelled enough for her near proximity to be tolerable; even pleasant should she temper her sharp tongue and set her able mind to more pleasing designs.
Even the waitress does not linger overlong, but sets down the Garou’s salad and coffee without fuss and a rather tight-lipped smile, before quick-stepping it back to the kitchen, wondering what it is about the lovely blond that reminds her of being stalked. Of the adrenaline after a scare.
Maybe she was just overtired.
She folds down the corner of a page in the BMW magazine, and then turns to fetch her cellphone as it trills with a choir of birdsong that she has a call. The Aristocrat’s lips twist minutely at the caller ID, and she flips it open to answer with: “Katherine Bellamonte speaking,” before listening, and stabbing at a piece of salmon with a fork, raising it and then hesitating.
“Yes, I did report it as stolen last evening, Detective. Correct. Yes, it was parked in Tekakwitha Woods.” A beat, something stirs an eyebrow to rise, a sharper retort. “I did not simply hand over the keys with the suspicion in mind that the young woman would drive away in my car, no. I was under the impression that she was in shock.” A longer stretch of silence this time, the pale blue eyes wander over the man whose blood was her own, curious perhaps. A touch eager to know, before they shift back to her plate.
“Yes. Very well, you do that and let me know. Merci.” She snapped the phone shut, and began in on her salad with a certain detached interest.
[Marni] Hopefully he realizes she won’t REALLY have his babies, but whatever, it got her a soda and a slice of death by chocolate and that’s close enough to heaven. She doesn’t care if it’s less than fresh either – likely sent back by someone with far more delicate tastes than the little Gnawer who’s happily slathering a second helping of fries with ketchup and taking a very large bite of that burger.
She’s gonna sleep good tonight! Nothing brings more contentment than a full belly.
[Edward Talbott] “I’ll pass your compliments along to Jen.” Talbott inserts the words neatly, just after Imogen’s, his voice laced with a sort of acerbic good humor. “She’ll be pleased to hear they were such a hit. You were quite the inspiration for her. She’s almost worked up the courage to ask her personal trainer about maybe trying the rock wall herself.”
Then, a snort of low laughter flares his nostrils. “That it would. If we can avoid all deaths, audits, Congressional hearings, and SEC violations for next month, though, I’ll have earned my salary. Though, if you don’t mind my asking – what is it you do for the county now?”
He catches Katherine’s name in the air then, spoken at just a lull in the conversation. Talbott’s gaze rises again to the blonde in the far booth; this time, he places her. If Imogen can read expressions, she might just note the eureka moment, when the puzzle of her identity resolves itself into a name and a face and a fortune.
Some people never can forget a fortune.
He flashes back to the redhead sharing his booth, however, easily and naturally, a spark of apology in the half-watt grin he bestows upon her. When the waitress returns, Talbott digs through his wallet and pays with a folded bill and a keep the change gesture. It’s her biggest tip all day.
[Imogen] The sound of vibration again. The buzzing in her handbag. Just as Edward is offering her a half-watt grin with a spark of apology, she is waving a hand absently in dismissal and apology of her own as she answers her phone, starting to slide out of the booth.
“Av.”
It may well come across as a British greeting, at least to someone who has not seen the display window on her phone.
[Imogen] She pauses, part way from the booth. Perhaps she feels this won’t be a long conversation.
“Tomorrow then, shall we?”
[Katherine Bellamonte] Edward Talbott has placed Katherine. He looks over at her as the wheels in his head turn and lock into place. Only, when he glances over he finds her with her head lowered once again, absorbing whatever it is she finds interesting about the new all-leather interior of a BMW splashed across two pages.
She does look up though, before he returns his attention to Imogen, and ghosts him a vague half-quirk of her lips upward as if she somehow understood that he had just put two and two together and found his eureka moment somehow amusing — and in truth, were she to know, perhaps that would exactly be her reaction. She holds his eye for a moment, probing; thoughtful, and then returns to her magazine wordlessly.
[Imogen] She shuts her phone again, moving back into the booth, fitting her phone back into her handbag.
“I’m a medical examiner,” she says. “I identify and record cause and manner o’ death fer unattended or suspicious deaths that occur in Cook County.”
It is a rather impersonal way for Imogen to say that she cuts up dead people and weighs their organs, studies their wounds and tests their blood to find out how they might have died.
She had not missed the glance between Katherine and Edward.
“Know her, do you?” her question is reserved; almost mild.
[Edward Talbott] Talbott retrieves his blackberry from the left pocket of his dark wool coat when Imogen’s phone vibrates. She answers; he glances away and down, giving her a modicum of privacy as she turns away to speak. She returns, and glances up. His head is canted sidelong, and the light catches upon the sharp line of his cheekbones, casting the rest of his jawline in shadow.
“Is that a political appointment?” He responds with a question; it seems to be what he really wants to know. Not, then: what do you do. Instead, perhaps: how useful are you. “Or do you have civil service protections?”
Know her? His pale gaze tracks up again, when Imogen marks out Katherine. He takes her in as a whole, the spill of the fluorescent lights across her golden hair, the glossy reflection of the magainze against the fine skin of her hands. “No.” Talbott responds, returning his attention to Imogen. He is exactly correct, in the fine-print way that lawyers and their MBA broodmates so often are, while lying through his teeth. “Although I think the family may be a client of ours, in the main office.”
[Marni] Marni grabs her meal, scooping what she hasn’t eaten into the to go container she started with, grabs her stuff and makes her way out the door. As she passes Edward, she winks at him. “Thanks for the grub.” And then with one more look at the lady with the pearl drop earrings (…shiny…) she zips out the door to places unknown.
((Am being pulled away to ST. So! Thanks for the play! :) I appreciate the help breaking the newgirl in!))
[Edward Talbott] Thank you…! Sorry I am so slow tonight!
to Marni
[Marni] (no worries – the other guys are slow every night. :) have fun!)
to Edward Talbott